章 1090: 8
Chapter 8: The Quidditch Excitement
Two days before the Cup, #4 Privet Drive
Harry woke up with a start, taking shallow breaths and shaking slightly. That nightmare was easily one of the most vivid I had ever had. He shook himself mentally and tried to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. Blank your feelings. Clear your mind. After a minute the emotional turmoil left him. Harry glanced at his watch – it was half past six. He cracked his neck and with a groan got up from the bed.
If I'm up, I can as well get to work. His plans were made, the needed information gathered from Neville, professor Sprout, and months of watching the market. Now it was time to enter the financial world – and enter it with a bang.
"Happy birthday to me."
Exactly twenty minutes later he crept out of the house, not willing to wake up the Dursleys and face a shouting match. He dragged his trunk behind him, trying as hard as possible to stay silent.
After he closed the door behind him, he grinned, turned around and whipped out his wand.
BANG
The Knight Bus appeared not two seconds after he summoned it. That was to be expected, though.
What was NOT expected was that the bus appeared directly in the Dursleys' front garden, squashing aunt Petunia's favourite roses, ruining the lawn and absolutely destroying the fence.
Harry gaped at the destruction that he inadvertently caused. Vernon is so going to kill me... or not. The boy grinned diabolically and started walking towards the opening doors of the bus.
How will he kill me if I will be nowhere near him for at least a year?
A couple of minutes later Harry was standing near the Leaky Cauldron, breathing in and out to calm down his nerves and intestines. I hate that form of magical travel. It never agrees with me.
The boy grumbled and entered the inn. There was almost no one inside, except Tom and a couple of witches that were talking quietly in the corner. He dragged the trunk inside and walked to the bald wizard, who currently was cleaning the tables with well-practised motions of his wand.
"Morning, Tom. I have an appointment in Gringotts, and didn't think to leave my things at my friend's house. Would it be okay if I left it here somewhere for the morning?"
Tom looked up and shrugged.
"Sure, no problem. Put it behind the stand."
"Thanks."
Harry did as he was told to and entered the Diagon Alley. It was seven twenty, and if he remembered correctly, Gringotts opened at seven. The boy marched to the white marble building and opened the doors, nodding to the (slightly groggy) goblins that stood guard near the entrance, receiving a nod in answer. From what he read about goblins, they valued gold more than anything. And time was gold, as is widely known, so in their opinion a person was polite if he or she didn't waste the goblin's time any more than absolutely needed.
Harry walked to the closest teller. The big-nosed creature was shuffling his papers and grumbling something in Gobbledegook under his nose.
"My name is Harry Potter and I have an appointment with Secondary Overseer Tearshape," Harry told him, not bothering with greetings. The teller looked at him, grunted in acknowledgement, turned to his left and shouted in Gobbledegook. After that he resumed sorting his papers.
Harry waited for a minute before he was approached by a rather tall goblin with very intelligent eyes and a gruesome looking scar that crossed his face from his left eye to the right corner of his wide mouth.
"Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting you this early," he said in an even voice, but Harry could detect a faint note of irritation from him.
"I thought that I should start as early as possible. Time is money," the boy answered tersely. It seemed that his answer satisfied him, as the goblin grunted in agreement and, gesturing for Harry to follow him, started to walk to the carts.
The trip to the vault was as exhilarating as always. When they got to the destination, Harry had a wide smile on his face.
"Blast, why don't wizards make their transportation just a bit less nausea-inducing? You goblins have succeeded in it," Harry noted. Tearshape shrugged.
"If you ask me, they are quite a lazy sort. Their golden rule is 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'," he answered curtly and started to knock on various places of the fortified door with his claw. After ten knocks the door made a couple of loud bangs, a screech of moving metal and finally opened with a moaning groan.
Harry grinned and entered the family vault.
Well, it certainly had gold. In that moment, the only two things that stopped the boy from jumping into a pile of Galleons and making an angel was a) the fact that it would be incredibly childish, and b) it would be quite painful.
Harry looked around appreciatively. It wasn't just gold that was there – he could see some chests along the far wall, a rack with swords, a dresser, a mirror and some portrait frames. He walked there and peered at the names on them. Ancestors of his, it seemed – five Potters, a couple of Derends, a Longbottom and a Black. Hm.
After the portraits it was time for the chests to be examined. Books – and they look positively ancient. Family library, maybe?
The dresser contained some dress robes – extremely fancy ones. Frankly, he thought that these were made for show and not to be worn. Harry closed the dresser and approached the mirror cautiously – his experiences with the Mirror of Erised made him wary around the mirrors of magical origin.
He gazed in the surface. It showed nothing.
"Well, what are you supposed to be?" Harry mused aloud, searching the silvery, delicate-looking frame for a clue. There wasn't an answer. He shrugged and left it alone.
Well, now that I browsed my property, I've got a scheme to execute.
Fifteen minutes later, Gringotts London, Private room #5
"...and then we sell it at the same time to all three of them, possibly getting about 50% of our investments as pure profit," he finished. He was sitting in a well-lit room for business negotiations, and he had just explained his cunning plan to completely dominate the plant markets of Magical Britain and France to Tearshape, who was looking at him with an expression that he interpreted as thoughtful. After a minute of silence the goblin's face changed to a wide grin and he made a hearty chuckle.
"Yes, it would work. I remember hearing about a similar scheme being implemented in Japan, but it was done with magical metals."
Harry exhaled.
"So you approve?"
Tearshape nodded.
"I do. Your information eases the time I will need to spend gathering the data required at least twice, and I know just a person we can approach to lower our expenses during the first stage. The most important thing in these machinations is the timing: we have to buy or sell in just the right moments, when the price is at its lowest or highest respectively. The best part of your plan is that we know the correct time beforehand and can make adjustments if needed."
Harry rose from the table.
"Well, I have told you what I want you to do. Just out of curiosity, how much will you get out of it?"
Tearshape took a thick file of paper out of his desk.
"The standard fee is ten percent of the profits," he answered, opening the file and shuffling through it. Harry smirked.
"Well, if the profit of my scheme is 45% or more, your share will be thirteen. If it is more than 50%, you get fifteen."
Tearshape stared at the boy. Harry could almost hear the goblin's brains calculate the projected benefit. When his eyes got a greedy glint, Harry knew he had him.
"I will make it 60. Will I get twenty five in that case?"
"Seventeen," Harry immediately countered.
"Twenty two percent and nothing less," Tearshape said, his fingers moving in a distinctly disconcerting manner – like he was stabbing, screwing or tearing something apart at the same time.
"Nineteen percent. That seems acceptable to me," Harry stated.
"Very well. Twenty it is," Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't object as Tearshape took a roll of parchment and started to write on it with an exquisite quill, periodically humming or muttering in Gobbledegook. Harry waited patiently, idly looking around. I wonder how many deals were made in this room, how many fortunes were created or ruined... From what I gather, Gringotts has been around for about five hundred years, so the number must have many zeros.
Finally Tearshape was done, and Harry grabbed the contract. He had already read a comprehensive tome about the most common tricks of goblins, and he had no wish to be ripped off.
"A-ha, you have an ... error here," he gave the parchment back and pointed at the place. Tearshape's left eyebrow slowly crept up.
"Mister Potter, I believe I'm going to enjoy working with you."
Half an hour later, the Burrow
Harry flew out of the Floo faster than a Malfoy from a mall. Fortunately, his flight was not obstructed and he crash-landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and baggage.
"Damn it," he groaned, slowly coming to his senses and attempting to figure out if he still had all his appendages in working condition. "That was new."
Harry heard steps from the kitchen and managed to rise to his feet when Mrs. Weasley came into view.
"Harry, dear! How was the trip?" she asked, hugging him with the unrelenting force of an industrial press. He couldn't stifle a wince, but she didn't see it.
"Awful," he croaked. "I don't know what great sin I committed in my last life, but both the Floo and the Knight Bus are certainly out for my blood. I probably burned little buses in little Floos or something equally horrible."
"Oh, you poor dear. Well, come to the kitchen! Everyone will come down in a minute. Leave your things by the stairs, you and Ron can take them up afterwards."
"Okay," he shrugged and lifted his luggage. He dragged them to the staircase and dropped everything near the first step.
He sat in the kitchen, watching Mrs. Weasley preparing the meal with a slightly frightening speed. Comes with experience, I guess. Harry briefly wondered if he would be that good by the end of Seventh Year – he didn't see himself trusting the elves with preparing his food in the near future, although the little buggers somehow did manage to worm their way into his heart. They were just so damn loveable. Plus he started to miss eating in the Great Hall – the excited murmuring of the first years, the slightly hysterical tones of fifth and seventh year students, the benevolent gaze of Dumbledore as he, as an old king, sat in his throne and watched over his dominion ... And the ceiling, can't forget the ceiling. When it was sunny, it was all he could do not to get out of school and go to his favourite spot near the lake. It is rather sunny now, come to think of it, and there is a pond nearby...
In other astrological news, judging from the thundering stampede that would put a rhinoceros herd to shame coming from the stairs, there were gingers incoming.
The first to come into Harry's view was Percy. The Perfect Prefect nodded to him curtly and sat at the corner of the table. He was followed by Fred and George, who greeted Harry enthusiastically. Ginny and Ron were next, coming into kitchen and arguing about Quidditch. When she saw Harry, Ginny immediately stopped talking and waved at him shyly. When he smiled and nodded in answer, she went beet red. Well, at least she doesn't employ the 'squick-and-run' tactics anymore. That was annoying.
"Hey, mate," Ron fell on the chair next to him. "How's it?"
"Good so far," Harry shrugged. "I've got a go ahead about my business scheme, I will be a bit richer soon enough and a couple of people will enjoy a drop in their income."
"You sure?" he asked. Harry nodded.
"I fool-proofed it, made contingency plans for each and every possible hiccup and even if it comes to worst, I will be able to return my investments. Heads – I win, tails – they lose," he grinned savagely. The sheer amount of time he and spent making plans, counter-measures, predicting the possible missteps and double-checking the data was absolutely ridiculous. Basically, he had been thinking about it every time he went to sleep since January.
"It will either make you a couple more enemies while making you a bit richer, or spectacularly blow up in your face," Ron said for the nth time, shaking his head. Harry glanced at him, bemused.
Yes, Harry had told Ron about his plan despite money being a big sore point for his friend. The only reason Ron wasn't in an awful mood for the second half of the school year was that Harry presented it to him as a plan to hit Lucius Malfoy where it hurts in retaliation for the diary incident. Ron may grumble a lot about his family and he may snap at the twins and Percy, but he loved his sister and would do anything to the bastard that almost got her killed. Granted, he didn't know that Malfoy probably won't even bother about the small dent in his income, being as rich as he was, and also not having invested all that much into the magical plant business.
"The Malfoys are already my enemies. And for the hundredth time, it won't blow up."
"Uh, Harry? What are you two talking about?" Fred asked, looking from Ron to him. Harry shared a look with Ron who silently signalled to deal with it himself. Harry sighed and chose the wording.
"Gentlemen, I'll put it this way: Malfoy Senior is in for a big prank."
The twins grinned simultaneously. Percy threw a calculating look at him. Ginny seemed interested, while Mrs. Weasley looked at him with faint disapproval.
"Harry, you have to keep far from that man. If you openly oppose him, he will respond in kind."
That thought cut him short. They say that turnaround is fair play... I'll need to make sure that my own assets cannot be harmed in the same manner. Harry pondered this as Mrs. Weasley put the food on the table.
"I'll need to visit Tearshape again ... Maybe after the Cup?" Harry mused. That quickly turned the conversation towards the Quidditch.
The World Cup was scheduled to begin the next evening, and seeing that Mr. Weasley somehow procured tickets, they were moving out at six in the morning. Harry wasn't all that happy about waking up in such an ungodly hour, but as they say, no pain – no gain. So, on the cool morning of the 1st of August, he was walking zombie-style beside Ron, grumbling a bit and forcing at least one of his eyes to open from time to time if he started to stumble. After half an hour of dragging their sleepy arses along with Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Percy, Hermione and Ginny they finally stopped at the top of a small hill.
"Now, where is it?" Mr. Weasley wondered, looking around. "Finding it is always the difficult part..."
"I've got it!" a voice called from the other side of the mist-covered hill. After a moment, a rather... round man came into visibility. His face was way more cheerful that it had any right to be, considering the weather and the time. In his hands he was carrying... an old boot?
"Morning, Amos. Sure that's it?" Mr. Weasley greeted him. The man – Amos – nodded.
"Yes, I've already checked. It was Cedric that found it, actually. Cedric! Come here, I've found the Weasleys!"
The next person to come out of the mist was Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff Seeker. Incidentally, the one and only guy that ever got the Snitch before Harry, dementor induced faint or not. Harry nodded to him, which the boy returned with a smile.
"Everyone, this is Amos Diggory. I assume that you know his son, Cedric?"
The children nodded. Mr. Diggory shook Harry's hand enthusiastically.
"Cedric told me about you. He beat you this year, didn't he?" he asked cheerfully. Harry's eye twitched and he threw Cedric a dirty look. He shrugged apologetically and mouthed: 'Dads'.
"Well, we did have dementors on the field that day, and they caused me to pass out right in the middle of the chase after the Snitch. I don't know who would win, but it would be a really close thing regardless. I'm looking forward to this year's match," Harry stated, deciding to throw a bone to Cedric. Besides, that was actually the truth. Diggory Senior waved him off.
"Well, Ced always was one of the best, so don't feel bad that he has got one over the Boy-Who-Lived."
The Weasleys – aside from Mr. Weasley and Percy – had rather angry expressions on their faces. Cedric looked as if he really wanted to become invisible. Harry narrowed his eyes, but decided to let it go for now.
"So," he said instead, "How are we getting there?"
"We will use this," Amos Diggory gestured at the boot in his hands.
"And... how exactly will we use it?" Harry prompted. Mr. Weasley started explaining.
"This is something called a Portkey. It is a magical method of transportation suitable for groups of people. In approximately," he glanced at his watch, "five minutes it will go to the Cup camp, taking us along. Now, touch it with a finger."
Everyone complied, gathering in a circle around the old piece of footwear and touching it with a finger. Despite all of Harry's exposure to magic, it was a rather surreal scene.
"Amos, there isn't anybody around who's supposed to use this Portkey and is late, is there?" Mr. Weasley asked. Diggory shook his head.
"Nope, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already, Fawcett didn't get a ticket, and there aren't any others living here."
After a short wait the boot started to glow faintly, and in another second Harry felt as if he was lifted and dragged in the air by a hook behind his navel and spun around with a speed that was much, much higher than that of the Floo. The journey itself took maybe five seconds, but it far eclipsed his previous experiences with wizarding ways of travel.
He crashed hard on his legs and fell to his knees, dry-heaving. Thank Merlin I didn't eat anything beforehand.
After he came around he shook his head and silently vowed that as soon as he finished the Arithmancy course he would invent a new method of quick transportation that wouldn't make a person feel like shit.
"Mate, you okay?" he heard Ron say. Harry nodded silently and got up, wincing at his protesting leg joints. Oh great, now it's not just my stomach.
"Yeah, more or less," he waved the concern off. Ron nodded.
"Move along now, the next one arrives in a couple of minute," someone said in a tired voice. Near the mist-covered clearing where the group appeared stood two irritated wizards. They obviously were trying to pass off as Muggles - "trying" being the key word. After a moment Harry figured it likely they were from the Ministry, there to oversee people landing by Portkey. The more tired-looking grabbed the boot, tapped it with his wand and tossed into a rubbish bin, already containing some random pieces of crap, confirming that theory.
"Yes, of course, Basil. Don't mind telling us where to?" Diggory asked. The dishevelled worker nodded and opened an enormous parchment.
"Wait a bit... Diggory, Diggory, aha! Second field, that's over there, ask for Mr. Pain. Next, Weasley – first field, a bit further than the second. Ask for Mr. Roberts."
"Thank you. Let's go then," Mr. Weasley gestured for the rest to follow him.
They have been walking in the foggy field for at least twenty minutes before coming near a big... shack. In front of it stood a man, dressed like a Muggle – and he didn't look like an absolute scarecrow, either, which made him either a Muggleborn or a genuine Muggle.
The company said goodbye to Mr. Diggory and Cedric – the first with less sincerity than the second one – and approached the man.
"Mr. Roberts, I assume?" Mr. Weasley asked genially. The man stopped gazing into the horizon and looked at him.
"Yes, it's me. You're with a reservation?" He asked, curiously looking from one to another in the little group.
"Of course! Weasley, made a couple of days ago," Mr. Roberts looked through the list that was hanging on the door.
"A-ha... yes, everything seems in order. You rented a place near the forest. Cash now or later?"
"Ah... now, of course," Mr. Weasley nodded. He gestured for Harry to follow him and took out a roll of Muggle money from his pocket.
"Help me out here," he asked quietly. Harry nodded and counted out the needed sum, then gave it to the man, who watched the procedure with interest. Accepting the money, he grunted and asked:
"Are you all foreigners of some sort?"
"Pardon?" Mr. Weasley blinked. Mr. Roberts explained:
"You aren't the first to not figure out the money. A couple of lads ten minutes ago tried to pay me with gold coins the size of a wheel."
Ah, so he is a Muggle.
"Oh, really?" Mr. Weasley grew very nervous. Mr. Roberts started to dig in his pockets for change.
"There never were any crowds here. Not this big. Hundreds of pre-bookings. Usually people just come here..."
"Yes, yes, is everything in order?" Mr. Weasley interrupted, reaching for the change, but Mr. Roberts clearly wasn't in any hurry to part with it.
"Yes... so many people. A lot of foreigners. Not even foreigners as much as simply weird people. There's a guy hanging around in a kilt and poncho," he said pensively.
"What are you saying?"
"This looks like, I don't know... a gathering of sorts," Roberts continued. "And everybody knows each other, like they are one big company."
A wizard suddenly appeared right next to them. His outfit, fortunately, contained neither a kilt nor a poncho.
"Obliviate," he stated firmly, pointing his wand at Roberts. The Muggle's eyes went foggy for a couple of seconds and his face relaxed. Harry grimaced. Mind-wipe. Absolutely disgusting, but evidently necessary.
"Here is the map, and your change," Mr. Roberts said in a peaceful tone.
"Thank you."
The wizard walked with the group for a while. Frankly, he looked like shite: the circles under his eyes were a neat aquamarine colour, his stubble was obviously older than a couple of days, and his clothes were ruffled. As soon as they were far enough that the Muggle wouldn't be able to hear them, he started complaining.
"This guy is so much trouble! I have to Obliviate him ten times a day to keep him happy! And Ludo Bagman isn't helping at all, just keeps running around the camp and blabbering about Quaffles and Bludgers, without giving a fig about the Statute of Secrecy and all the trouble we've gone to for the anti-Muggle contingencies. I can't wait till it will be over. Bye, Arthur, see you later."
The wizard vanished.
"Wait, isn't Mr. Bagman the Head of the Department of Magical Sport?" Ginny asked, surprised. "He has to know better than not to disregard security so blatantly."
"He does know, of course," Mr. Weasley answered, chuckling. "But Ludo has always been... ah... negligent when it came to safety measures. But he loves his job, and you won't find another Head of that department as good as he is. He played for our national team, you know, and he was the best Beater we ever had."
They were walking in the rows of tents, watching the lone Ministry officials who were patrolling the camp. Few people were awake at this hour. Harry was looking around with his jaw on the ground: while some tents were pretty much regular-looking, others were anything but. One resembled a freaking castle with towers, a water trench and a bridge. Another was floating in the air, while a third one was a brightly coloured three floored monstrosity with peacocks walking around. And even those who decided to 'go Muggle' did it with predictable results. Or, rather, unpredictable.
During their short walk, Harry saw a tent with a barbecue hanging from the door (don't ask), another had pipes sticking out from random places, another had an absolutely ridiculous colour scheme that one wouldn't see even in Dumbledore's wardrobe and had a weather vane spinning wildly on the top.
"Your rants about the lack of common sense in wizards come to mind," Harry quietly murmured to Hermione, who, like him, looked at the stuff around with a mix of confusion and amusement. She snorted and gestured around.
"You know what they remind me of? They are like kids who want to emulate adults and put on clothes that are much bigger than them. Naturally, their attempts look ridiculous."
Harry laughed at that.
"Why, Hermione, I believe that you are a first Muggle supremacist," he teased her. "'Bow before Muggles, you lowly purebloods'. Catchy, isn't it?"
She rolled her eyes.
"I didn't mean it like that. It's just that they are trying to pretend to be something they are not and not succeeding, causing them to look hilarious."
"Ah, it's here!" Mr. Weasley said, pointing at the pole in the ground with a sign that read 'Weasley'. "The best place possible – the pitch is on the other side of the forest. You can't get any nearer."
After half an hour of fumbling about with the tents they (read: the boys and Hermione) managed to set both of them up. Harry looked them over questioningly and shared a look with Hermione. Barring an extensive use of Space Expansion charms, he didn't see a way all ten of them would fit in. Mr. Weasley looked inside the tent and vanished in the entrance.
"A little cramped, but it will do for a night," his voice came out a bit muffled. "Take a look!"
Harry shrugged and entered the tent.
Well, the Space Expansion it was. He looked around, slightly confounded despite expecting something like this.
"I borrowed it from Perkins," Mr. Weasley said, wiping his head with a handkerchief and checking out the beds. "He works in my department, and he didn't need it anymore, poor guy."
He took a dusty kettle and looked inside.
"We will need water for the tea."
"There's a water source on the map that Muggle gave us," Ron interjected. Mr. Weasley looked around and brought out a couple of buckets.
"How about you, Harry, Hermione and Ginny go and get us the water? Fred, George, you will look for some foliage in the forest for the fire."
"Um... Dad? Why do we have to do it on fire?" Ron asked, bewildered. Mr. Weasley grinned.
"Secrecy, of course! Muggles do it like that, so we have to do it as well," he beamed at them enthusiastically. To be completely truthful, he looked quite deranged in that moment.
After a short detour to the girls' tent, which was smaller, cleaner and didn't stink like a cat's backside, they started to walk to the water source. The camp was slowly waking up – they saw more and more people, mostly children, moving about. Harry snorted when he saw a small boy, probably two, holding a wand and happily poking a slug lying in the grass which was slowly swelling up to monstrous proportions. He shook his head and looked at a company of black-skinned wizards in bright robes who sat around a bright purple fire and were cooking something that resembled a rabbit.
Finally, they came to where the source was. There already was a long queue.
"Ah, damn. We'll be stuck here for half-an-hour, minimum," Harry groaned. "And it's chilly."
"What do you propose, then?" Hermione asked. He smirked.
"Well, from what I've been told, the Ministry monitors underage magic made by wand, but with all this," Harry gestured around, "Their detectors are useless."
"Harry, it's stupid. You still can't know for sure," Hermione tried to reason. "Are you willing to bet on them not detecting you using magic and expelling you from Hogwarts just for the sake of not staying in the queue for just half-an-hour?"
Harry barked a laugh and dropped his bucket on the ground.
"When you put it like that... Come on, what's life without a little risk? And I sincerely doubt they would expel me over something like this. Now, what was that incantation McGonagall told me? Aqua Inundantia!"
"Harry, WAIT!"
Hermione's shout came a bit too late. Harry's wand, pointed inside the bucket, expelled a huge amount of water in the space of a second. As the bucket was too small for the sheer amount of liquid that Harry was conjuring, all water that was inside was being pushed by the stream that Harry's wand spewed and immediately shot out of the small space. Some of it went directly at Harry's face, making him stop the spell out of surprise, but most of the water was spread in the radius of five meters from ground zero.
"Holy shit!" Harry spat out a bit of water, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I did not intend that to happen!"
"Well, thank you very much for that!" someone called from behind him.
Harry whirled around. Right behind him stood a rather pretty brunette girl a couple of years older than him. She was looking at him with irritation. After a couple of seconds he noticed that her clothes had wet spots.
"Oh. Sorry for that, I didn't know it would be a large-scale conjuration," Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
"Didn't know? Why then did you use a spell that you haven't used before?" the girl asked with a rather strange accent. Harry shrugged.
"I remembered that it would conjure water permanently and I didn't want to stay in the queue."
"Ah."
"Um... not to be rude, but who are you?" Ginny asked in a slightly rude tone.
"Ah, sorry. Name's Adel. Adel Voron."
The company introduced themselves. When Harry told her his name, he didn't get as much as a move of her eyes to show she recognized it. Maybe where she came from I am relatively unknown?
"Where are you from, Adel?" He asked her.
"I live in Cyprus," she answered, shrugging. "My school's there."
He noticed that she evaded the question, but let it go as unimportant. Hermione looked like she wanted to interrogate her about the school, and after a glance at the nearly empty buckets she immediately started asking questions. Harry shook his head slightly in exasperation, but still listened to Adel's explanations.
"Well, the school isn't in Cyprus, per se – it is built on a smaller island that was hidden from Muggles. Most of the grounds are under the ocean – they are covered by an impenetrable barrier that wards the water off. It is beautiful in a sunny day – there is always colourful fish swimming above us, often even dolphins. Hogwarts is hidden as well, I take it?"
Twenty minutes later they were walking towards their side of the camp, as it appeared that Adel's tent was not far from theirs.
Harry was listening to Adel describing her school with admiration in her voice. The Cypric Academy of Wizardry and Witchcraft was huge – from her words, it housed nearly half of Eastern European Muggleborns, while the purebloods applied at Durmstrang or Maggatorn (which was the Polish analogue of Durmstrang from what she said). The students from further south tended to go to one of the multiple Egyptian institutions. Also, Cyprus Academy was more than just a school – its students had the option to stay after the NEWTs and study further in any of the exotic subjects that were taught there.
"Exotic?" Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Well, 'exotic' as in 'not taught widely': Dark Arts, blood magic, enchanting..."
"Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, horrified. "I thought that you said it was a school for Muggleborn!"
Adel looked at her as if she was being stupid.
"So what? It is not a privilege of purebloods to use dark magic."
"Yes, but..." Hermione stammered. Adel shrugged and let it drop.
Finally, they reached their tent. After saying goodbye for now, Adel told them she'd come visit after the game, to which they agreed.
The next day, 00.06
"We are the champions... we are the champions..." Adel sang, swaying slightly. Harry did his level best to sing along, but seeing as he didn't know the lyrics, it was a bit difficult.
They were sitting by Adel's tent, while her three friends from school were talking to Hermione and Ginny. Hermione was very, very interested in foreign education systems, and Sharad – an Indian boy with a roguish grin and an awkward accent – knew everything there was to know about that from his own search for optimal education. Unfortunately, he didn't know much English, and had to rely on Lucy – his girlfriend – to translate.
Oh, and they were all a bit tipsy. Firewhisky does that to people. It was a good thing that Harry had decided to stop after his head grew heavier – he had no particular desire to experience the wonders of hangover, not to mention the fact that he has already started having trouble walking in a straight line.
Adel, however, was completely and utterly drunk.
"Your own... prsnal... Jesus... Someone to hear your prawears... someone who's thear..." she sang, alcohol wreaking havoc with her pronunciation. She hugged Harry with her left arm and leaned on him slightly.
"Hey, Harry... whatcha thinkin' about?" she asked and giggled. The boy shrugged, doing his best not to show just how the close proximity affected him.
"Nothing to worry about."
"Heh... don't worry, be happy, right?" she leaned a bit closer. Damn. Note to self: drinking Firewhisky does not good breath make Harry thought to himself. "Y'know... there is something that would make me berrrry happy..."
"Oh yeah? And what is that?" he asked, looking at her warily. She giggled again.
Then she kissed him.
As far as the first kisses go, that one sucked worse than a leaky vacuum cleaner. She was drunk, Harry was inexperienced – not to mention that he felt as if someone had brained him with a sack of sand (quite soft on the first sight it may be, but it still knocks you out like a charm). But that was his first kiss, and he still enjoyed it, feeling as if there were tiny fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.
It was a... surreal moment.
And of course, it had to end violently.
In a couple of... minutes? Seconds? Harry understood that those explosions he kept hearing were not, in fact, the imaginary accompaniment of his first kiss. He tore himself from Adel's lips and stood up.
"Harry?" she asked, but he shushed her. There were shouts. A lot of shouts. Harry looked to the side, where others stood before. They weren't there. Harry frowned. When did they leave?
He walked to the path between the tents and looked to the left, from where the noise originated. There was an unmistakable light of fire. That, together with the shouts and explosions, spelled trouble. Harry turned to Adel.
"There's an attack. We need to get moving before the fire, or worse, reaches us."
She paled and got up, sobering a bit.
"I need to gather some things from the tent."
"Be quick," he told her. "I will shout if something happens."
With that, she started running to her tent and Harry turned to the side from which the danger was coming. He took his wand out and leaned on the sign pole, watching out for anything suspicious.
He didn't have to wait long. About a dozen frightened people ran near him to the forest. Judging by their faces, things were bad.
Harry glanced at the tent with worry. Where was she? We need to move, and quickly. He started to tap his foot nervously.
"Diffindo!"
Harry had only a moment's notice to duck under the cutting hex. Somehow, he managed. Whirling to the side from where the spell came, he saw two men in black garb with masks resembling skulls about thirty meters away and walking towards him with their wands aimed in his direction. Well, it seems that trouble found me as usual. His hand rose almost reflexively.
"Incendio!"
A tight cone of fire came roaring out of his wand only to meet a shield before one of the black-clad men. The other didn't react that fast and started to scream and claw at his burning face, as if trying to tear the flame from his skin. His partner quickly doused him, snuffing out the fire, but the burnt man fell to the ground – likely out of it from shock. The first man was about to enervate his comrade, but Harry interrupted the thug with a cutting hex of his own, which hit the man's left arm, spraying the ground with blood. He turned to the boy, snarled and raised his wand, healing the gash absent-mindedly.
Harry jumped back, letting a sickly-yellow curse to splash harmlessly into the ground. His opponent immediately launched another curse right into his face, and he had to duck below it.
Harry had been dodging curses for more than a minute, allowing none to hit him. Unfortunately, he knew that he wouldn't be able to dance around for much longer. His tormentor knew this as well, and didn't let up on the onslaught. Harry had to go on the offensive, but the small number of basic spells he managed to send at his opponent were all stopped by a simple shield charm. He needed something stronger. Something stronger, or something surprising. He rolled to the left, painfully hitting his left shoulder with a stone, and raised his wand again.
"Reducto, Expulso!"
The man in black robes immediately threw up a shield, but Harry didn't aim at him. Instead, he aimed at the earth in front of the man.
The Reductor Curse is a wizard's shotgun of sorts. Its effects on the unprotected body are pretty similar when it is cast with enough power. And due to his stress, Harry overpowered it, significantly increasing its area of effect.
On the other hand, the Explosion Curse is a pressure-based spell, acting like a magical grenade of sorts, releasing a pressure wave that would push everything away.
The first spell impacted the ground, pushing up a sizeable amount of dirt. Then the second exploded slightly lower, its pressure wave grounding the dirt into fine dust and throwing it up at Harry's opponent and obscuring his view.
That was the opportunity Harry was waiting for. Immediately he turned around and ran behind the closest tent as quietly as he could.
Okay, now what?
His mind went into overload as he circled the tents. That guy is much, much better than I am. I survived so far only because he was being lazy and sticking to direct offence spells. I need to get behind him, and be very close. The boy smirked. At that distance, he will immediately hear any incantations I use. Therefore, I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Harry peeked from behind the large hut-like construction he was near. He saw his opponent crouched near his fallen comrade, searching for something on the still figure. Harry took a deep breath and, after picking up a rather heavy stick that was used to secure the closest tent, started sneaking towards the man.
Ten meters… The masked man grumbled in annoyance and leaned back slightly, wiping his hands with the grass. Seven meters, he was searching for something in his pockets. Four meters, he put some sort of object in the other guy's hand and got up with a grunt. Two meters, Harry lifts the stick in his left hand while keeping his wand up in the right.
The improvised club connects with a satisfying 'thwack', staggering Harry's adversary.
"Fuckin' brat! Avada Ke..."
"Diffindo!"
Harry'sspell, fuelled by adrenaline and desperation, hit the man right in the middle of his torso, cutting it in half. Harry watched him falling in two pieces on the ground with an expression of disbelief on his face.
Harry looked at the gory mess on the ground between the two halves of the terrorist with a detached feeling. To his lingering surprise, he didn't feel queasy in the slightest, for which he didn't know if he should be more grateful or appalled. It just didn't hit me yet.
The second thug was lying where he fell without giving any life signs. After thinking about it for a second, Harry sent an additional stunning hex at him and turned to the tent. I didn't see Adel exiting it, so she must still be there. But why didn't she leave sooner? With a foreboding feeling he entered the tent.
Everything seemed fine inside – the things were scattered around after the noisy celebrations, sure, but nothing here struck him as being out of place.
He raised his wand and searched the rooms for any sign of Adel. To his tired exasperation and a lot of (silent) swearing he found her sleeping on the couch, drooling on the pillow and looking completely and utterly at peace. He wanted to wake her up, but changed his mind and, shaking his head at the girl, decided to continue standing guard near her.
Three hours later
He jerked awake at the sound of voices in his proximity. For a second he was still remembering the events that led him to awakening sitting on the coach in an unfamiliar room with a rather pretty looking girl using his lap as a pillow. Harry winced. Oh, my legs hate me...
Ah. Ah. Ah... He remembered and immediately cursed himself for falling asleep when he intended to stay guard. Coming down from shock or not, I shouldn't have done that. Now there were voices outside the door. And they were angry. He winced again: best case scenario– it could be his friends returning to check if he was here. If so, he would be faced with a lecture of epic proportions for the gory present he left at the door. Second and third options were law enforcement and other thugs. Both would promise him a shitload of trouble. Harry gently shook Adel's shoulder. She stirred and flexed herself in a decidedly feline manner, making certain... parts stand out even more. Damn, she's lying right on my...
She opened her eyes and regarded him sleepily. After a couple of seconds she blinked and looked at him with bewilderment.
"Who're you?"
Harry stared at her blankly.
"Uhm... Harry," he answered dubiously. She yawned and palmed her head with a wince.
"Did I hit my head or did someone Obliviate me? I don't seem to remember what happened yesterday after the Cup... ah, wait, you're that cute English guy who doesn't know his water spells," she scrunched her face in concentration and continued, not paying any mind to Harry's slight blush: "I remember that we were going to ask you guys to hang out with us... and... oh sweet Circe, I started drinking..." she paled, jumped from the coach and grabbed his shoulders. "Oh, merciful Hecate, what did I do?!" she asked, horrified. Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Inwardly, he was rubbing his hands with glee.
"Well, you might have started to sing. Nice singing voice, but your diction by that moment... you get the picture."
"Oh gods," she looked a bit ill. Harry drew a breath, trying very hard not to show his amusement at her horror.
"Then you proceeded to snog me," she blanched even stronger. "It was rather nice," he looked up, searching for inspiration. "Or it would be if you hadn't started to call me with different names."
She went from ashen to tomato red in the span of a few seconds. Mentally congratulating himself, Harry nevertheless took pity on her.
"Then there was a lot of noise. The others had already left us by that point. The noise alerted me that something was very wrong. It was a terrorist attack, I think."
She muttered something under her breath, staring at him with the attention of a fatally ill man listening to the doctor.
"We needed to move. You told me you needed to gather your things and hurried inside the tent. I stood outside and..." Harry faltered. It had started to come down on him what exactly it was that he did that night. Marching his strength and forcefully changing his line of thought he continued.
"A couple of thugs attacked me. I burned one, he fainted from pain, I think. The other... well, I knocked him out," Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling, determinedly not looking at Adel. "I left the two outside and stunned the one still alive, then came inside. You were sleeping here. And that's it, I guess," he turned his eyes at her. She was staring at him with a blank expression. After a couple of seconds she opened her mouth, but the door banged open.
"Is there anyone alive here?"
Harry jerked his head in the direction of the voice. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, an Auror, judging by his crimson robes. Noticing them, he shouted outside:
"We've got two kids here!"
Harry rose from the coach and walked to the Auror.
"How are things out there, how many casualties?" He asked, worried about his friends. The Auror winced and walked off, throwing over his shoulder:
"It's bad. Come on out, we'll need your statements."
The pair complied. Harry blinked at the crowd outside: there were at least a couple dozen of Aurors walking about, gathering the evidence and talking in hushed voices.
Oh, this is bad. OK, plan B: lie. Lie fast, lie hard, lie constantly. That and blame the government.
Before he could open his mouth, however, a severe-looking woman asked him and Adel:
"Does one of you know what happened here?"
"It was him!" Adel blurted out, pointing at Harry. He threw a betrayed glance at her. Well, there goes the innocent act. With Veritaserum there's ultimately a snowball's chance in hell for me to just claim ignorance now.
He sighed as the woman directed her glare at him.
"Well, they attacked me. I defended myself."
"With lethal force?" the woman said in a calm-sounding voice. He did not let the tone fool him – the woman was furious. What, was one of those guys a relative? Harry snorted and glared at her in return.
"What would you suggest – that I should have answered to potentially lethal spells – I'm pretty sure half of the stuff they threw at me was Dark Arts – with tickling hexes? And I certainly didn't want to kill anyone!"
She had the good grace to look abashed.
"Nevertheless, you could have used stunners. What did you do to them, by the way?"
Harry shrugged.
"A fire making charm and a simple cutting curse; first year spells, for your information. And by the way, if I hadn't managed to get the last guy, he would have finished casting the Killing Curse."
She looked at the two bodies that were currently being levitated past them. It seemed that the first guy died as well. Harry couldn't figure out how he felt about this whole thing. When will it hit me, I wonder?
"It was obviously something stronger," the chief officer said disbelievingly. "Then again, stress can amount for the damage..."
Harry shrugged again and looked at the bloody grass. There was a pregnant pause. Then she sighed and told him:
"Hand over your wand."
He snapped his attention to her.
"Why?"
"So that I can determine the truth of your words," she answered plainly. Harry unsheathed his wand warily and gave it handle-first to the woman. She touched it with her own wand.
"Priori Incantatem."
A cloud of grey mist came out of the touching tips. A torched figure of the first of Harry's opponents coalesced into being and immediately fell like a puppet with its strings cut, apparently hit by a stunner, before exploding into smoke again. The smoke distorted, dimmed and brightened again, once more forming the figure, this time being cut in half. Half-fascinated, half-horrified, he watched the mist repeat all the spells he had cast in the brief duel, exploding into sparks to indicate a miss or forming a shield to show that it was deflected. After the smoke started to show feather-weight charms he performed on the trip to the Dursleys from Hogwarts, the Auror lady stopped.
"You hit the man you burned with a stunner. You thought he was still alive, I take it?"
"Yes," Harry grimaced. "I think I was in shock back then, after..." he gestured at the red grass marking the place where the sliced guy had been.
"How about you explain it all in order," she said, but they were interrupted. Three Aurors approached them with grim faces.
"Madam Bones, this is bad."
She nodded to the one in the front and he continued:
"We've identified them. It's Maul and Avery. Malfoy seems to know already and is currently raising one hell of a stink and all that company is calling for blood. Do we have a suspect?"
"This young man confessed but pleaded self-defence," she gestured at Harry. The Auror looked at him with sympathy.
"Damn, lad, you're in for it. The purebloods are not going to let it slide. All right, Ma'am, have you already written the protocol?"
"No."
"Well, lad, do you know where your companions are?" the Auror asked, not unkindly. He shrugged.
"Nope. Have you seen the Weasleys around?"
"You're with them? They are running around and looking for someone, must be you. Let's just go find them and sort this mess out."
Harry nodded and gestured in the direction of the Weasley tent. They were walking for a couple of minutes without breaking silence. The boy was contemplating his chances of escaping punishment and mentally reviewing everything he had ever heard about the Magical Law Enforcement and the laws of wizarding society. His companion/guard was whistling something under his breath and examining his surroundings. Along their path the damage was nearly non-existent, the terrorists having chosen some other direction to go.
In no time at all, they have reached the Weasley tents. Harry could clearly see Mr. Weasley standing right in front of it and talking to someone still inside.
"Arthur! Is this the boy you've been looking for?" the Auror shouted. Mr. Weasley turned around with such speed Harry could swear that his boots started to smoke.
"It's Harry! They found him!" he shouted into the tent. Almost immediately the whole group came out of it.
After some back-slapping, hugs and worried questions, Mr. Weasley turned to the Auror.
"Thank you, Derwish. We were worried that one of the Death Eaters got him..."
"Ah, that, by the way, is the reason I'm here. Apparently, the lad managed to get two of the Death Eaters." the Auror smiled grimly. "Maul and Avery won't be around to kill Muggles anymore."
Mr. Weasley blanched and looked at Harry.
"You mean..."
Harry shrugged.
"I had to protect myself."
"Um... Harry? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked fearfully. The boy looked at her – she stared at him with something akin to fear. Fear – for him or of him – that he didn't know, but the mere thought of his friend being afraid of him cut him deeper than any spell.
"Well, there were two bastards throwing curses at me, and I just... reacted. I didn't want to kill them," he explained, frowning and looking down a bit. I seriously should be freaking out right now. It must not have hit me yet.
"Our Harrikins grew some brass ones," George said, elbowing his twin.
"True, true."
Harry grinned at them, which unnerved them visibly.
"Well, he'll have to be present at the official hearing, so expect an owl in the near future. What is your name, lad?"
Harry looked at his face and as nonchalantly as he could he answered:
"Harry Potter."
The Auror's eyes widened and he glanced at the scar, partially concealed by his hair.
"Merlin," he breathed. After a moment of hesitation he shook his head.
"I don't know if this fact will make it easier for you to get away with it or harder, kid."
I'd like to know that myself.
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