The Magical Trials and Tribulations of Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel - TheHydraulicPress - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Welcome to Hogwarts

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was a stronghold built by wizards and witches during the beginning of the tenth century. From the perspective of a Muggle, it would look like an abandoned dangerous ruin to deter non-magical visitors. It was said that it could not be mapped due to its unplottable nature with wandering hallways, moving staircases, disappearing doors, and the ancient tunnel systems. Unlike castles built around the same timeframe, Hogwarts was thin-walled and poorly protected from sieges. It lacked an enceinte and moats as it sat on top of an edge of a very tall cliff face. One could either fly to Hogwarts, take a boat into the underground cave, or ride a Thestral-drawn carriage to gateway. It had wards to protect itself from magicians who could Apparate into its walls and the only fireplace that was connected to Floo network was the headmaster’s own.

The wall torch cast onto the rough limestone stone hallway was broken by shadows as two bodies emerged from an arched cutout of the wall. “Where are we?” One girl asked the other in excited curiosity. The sound caused a tapestry of a golden knight fighting a bear had both subjects pause and stare at the intrusion. Fervent footsteps of the castle’s caretaker followed by softer ones from his animal companion stopped in front of the pair.

“Latecomers, the headmaster must be informed,” the man murmured in tired defeat. “Stay right there,” he turned away, leaving his cat to remain as guard. Mrs. Norris prowled with military precision, waiting for her owner to return from the Great Hall. Three returned with Argus Filch who bent down to reward her with a mushed treat he produced from torn pocket of his moth-eaten coat. A tall, pale man looked at the pair with condescension flanked by women with a neat bun and a disappointed look on her face. The third man was shorter than his colleagues and much older with the end of his beard tucked into an ornate belt that wrapped around his oversized periwinkle robes.

“We always have a couple who miss the train,” Albus Dumbledore smiled softly as he pushed his half-moon spectacles up his crooked nose. “It is a shame that you have missed the welcoming festivities, but you made it in time for dessert. The elves this year have truly outdone themselves, wouldn’t you agree, Severus?”

The man with a greasy sheet of black hair ignored Dumbledore’s question, “They are not students, Albus. I would know if they belonged here,” Severus Snape said with certainty as if he had catalogued every student, staff member and other Hogwarts residents in his mind. He took in the two girls before him and focused on the one that looked owlishly confused. She wore diamond shaped plastic spectacles obscuring her brown eyes, and their arms were tucked behind her hair. Her face and body were tanned from a day in sun with her friend, almost as dark as her eyes, though it could have been her natural colour throughout the year. She stood at attention with her white singlet, red colour flannel shirt tied on top of it, dark blue jeans, and a pair of sparkly pink thongs. Not a single part of her outfit matched but she looked happy and comfortable wearing it.

The other girl was much shorter and wore light blue denim jeans that brought out her eyes. If they are new students, they would at least be in their robes by now, he thought. He looked at the bulge in her pocket, it was far too small to fit a trunk, no matter how gifted of a witch she was. He looked past them to see if their belongings were still in the hall behind them and found none. They did not carry wands or look in any way magical.

“Perhaps our wards have failed, and the Muggles have finally found us. Should I call the oblivators?” It was a terrible thought to think that Hogwarts had finally been discovered after centuries of successful concealment. It would be all over the front page of the Prophet.

“The wards have never failed for thousands of years, they certainly have not now,” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled with amusem*nt. He found the pair fascinating in their unceremonious dispositions. “Hogwarts helps all that are willing to learn, from all backgrounds.” His tone sharpened just enough to deter any disagreement from Severus Snape. “And who do I have the pleasure to welcome to this fine institution?” One of the joys of being headmaster is to be free from expectations of teaching which gave him the ability to get to know the students in the school without them feeling apprehensive about talking to an adult. He’s learned a great many things from the many that wander through these halls and was always keen to play a game of gobstones when invited. You’re never too old to learn, he believed.

“Jane Becker,” the shorter answered with the first signs of a frown tugging at the corners of her heart shaped lips. Where the f*ck are we?

“Shruthi Patel,” the taller said with hesitation that led the others to believe she had forgotten her own name. She whispered to her friend, keeping a wary eye on the group of teachers in front of her. Jane had told her that she found some hole-in-the-wall store in the city that she wanted to show her.

“Jane and Shurthi,” Dumbledore echoed, clapping his wrinkled hands once to regain attention of the worried girls. The attention quickly lost as Jane pulled out her phone from her front pocket. “You’ll find that Muggle technology rarely works within these halls, much to the chagrin of our Muggleborn students.”

“Okay,” Jane answered ignoring the elder’s warning and held down the power button with her index finger for longer than was usually necessary for turning on her phone. The phone refused to turn on when she knew that she had left her house that day with it fully charged. She looked at Shruthi to help, who found her own phone in a similar predicament. The only place they could recall their phones not working properly was when they went to school…

“The journey to Hogwarts can cause anxiety to many, especially those who are Muggleborn. Come, we can send a letter to your parents from my office that you’ve arrived safely,” Dumbledore offered in that kind tone that he was known for. “Minerva, could you please acquire these ladies some dinner from the feast they have missed.” Minevra McGonagall nodded and slowly walked down the impossibly long hallway towards the sounds of merriment. She wore her best dragon-hide boots for the welcome feast, the red pointed ones with a sensible heel and golden clasp. They were not her walking boots.

*

Dumbledore's office was located at the highest point of the entire castle, even higher than the Astronomy tower. A single spiral staircase was the only way to reach the headmaster's study, that composed of hundreds of steps with a landing every fifty to give the climber a relief. As one reached a landing, they would be greeted by a human-sized gargoyle with the back of its head lit by a circular window. Each one was different with some greeting the visitors and others stoically standing guard armed with longsword gripped within their carved claws. Upon reaching the final landing, Jane was greeted with a circular door that had its frame an inch off the ground. As Dumbledore placed his foot on the landing, a doorknob appeared that allowing the group to enter the office.

The tower office had a rectangular floorplan, that felt claustrophobic as each inch of available space was being occupied by something. Any free wall that wasn't occupied by a painting of the previous headmasters and headmistresses of the school was decorated with floor to ceiling bookshelves stuffed to the brim with ancient looking tomes, magical knick-knacks or piles of long, yellowed parchment. The floor was carpeted by mismatched house-coloured rugs and underneath was lustreless hardwood. The lack of cohesivity continued in the furniture available which looked like it was acquired over several different centuries. Spartan hand carved wooden stools stood next to a psychedelic seventies printed couch. Even the ceiling wasn't spared, lanterns hung from the rafters and mobile that the planets of our solar system occupied the centre. A large birdcage was suspended near the headmaster's massive mahogany desk with a sleeping phoenix inside of it.

McGonagall placed two plates sliced beef lathered in rich gravy with a side of steamed peas and mashed potato after pushing aside a tottering tower of letters to the side, and Jane and Shruthi sat stiffly in the worn cushioned chairs before the headmaster of Hogwarts after telling the man how they came to be in Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s glasses had slid down his nose, sitting at atop of the bulbous tip as he looked over them. “Is dinner not to your liking?”

“We aren’t hungry,” Shruthi answered for both. “This almost feels like the real thing, like being in the mov-“ Shruthi found her unable to continue speaking, and cleared her throat once. “mov-“ Movies. The word was caught at the back of her throat as she fell into a silent frustration.

“Spit it out girl, we do not have all night,” Snape snapped as he came to stand towering over her. He relished in the way that the girl stiffened at his presence. He was waiting till morrow to elicit reactions like those from his pupils, but it seemed that he could begin now.

“It’s quite alright, Severus. These two have had a long journey, fatigue is normal in their circ*mstances,” Dumbledore reprimanded Snape with a genteel tone. He waved his hand over the two plates casting a Stasis charm to keep the meals from growing cold. Shruthi yelped in surprise, grabbing a hold of Jane’s hand. “You have not seen magic before?” Dumbledore asked gayly.

In the eighteen years that both girls have lived, not once have they seen any remotely close to what was just performed in front of them. Shock was painted across both their features, as Jane reached out to touch the plate causing the invisible domed barrier to ripple in the pattern of her fingerprint. Dumbledore undid the Stasis charm and instantly small swirls of steam rose from the plates, as the trickle of gravy on the meat that was frozen was now pooling around the potatoes. Both girls assessed this wasn’t some work any technology that they knew of and came to the gut-curdling conclusion that magic was real.

“You’re really Albus Dumbledore,” Shruthi faltered. What a stupid thing to say, she chided mentally, but her mouth worked faster than her brain at times. She saw from the corner of her eye, Snape place a hand against the ear of her chair, curling his long fingers around it.

Dumbledore’s mouth twitched in a smirk, “That I am, perhaps I am not as well known in Australia.” Shruthi wanted to say that he wasn’t well known anywhere in the world that she knew of and was simply a beloved character in a children’s fantasy book. “Have you had any prior magical schooling?”

They shook their head no in tandem. The only schooling they had completed was high school, only graduating a month ago with diploma in hand and awaiting their results for university admittance. Both intended to spend their final summer holiday as a well-deserved break after the years of primary and secondary education, determined to forget the stress of homework and exams with time.

“Not to worry, Hogwarts has brought you here for a reason and recognises you with magical ability. We shall get you both uniforms, stationery and a wand and you will join your peers in class tomorrow.” Shruthi asked about tuition to distract herself from how she was going to explain this to her parents in a way that doesn’t sound insane to which Dumbledore waved off the concern.

“We can discuss that with your parents at a later date.” Dumbledore pulled out a drawer hidden from his view and brought out a selection of wands. “These were left behind by forgetful students in the past and since have not been reclaimed. Unfortunately, we do not have time for a trip to Diagon Alley with the term starting tomorrow.” Two of them were being held together by Spellotape, and one had its varnish peeling off from where its previous owner had gripped onto it. Jane and Shruthi looked between each other and picked out the two with the least amount of damage. Shruthi waved hers subtly aimed at the the rug beneath her feet, hoping for what Harry Potter experienced at Olivander’s in the movies – a rush of red sparks – however nothing happened. She hid her disappointment, placing the wand across her lap as Snape took note of her actions.

Snape strode across the office and retrieved an ancient witch’s hat that was mottled grey and fraying at the seams. “Ahh, yes, I suppose a sorting is in order. Apologies, this usually is done with a lot more fanfare and excitement,” Dumbledore folded his wrinkled hands, one atop of the other on his desk. “Severus, if you could do the honours. Miss Becker first.” Alphabetically, just the like books.

Jane scrunched up her face in disgust as the hat was placed on her shoulder length brown hair, the seam splitting into wide smile. “Two more, eh,” the hat complained. “Hmmm, incredible potential for such a late bloomer. Power like this should be best cultivated by – Slytherin!” She tore the hat off her head, not wanting to become the new home to lice gifted by thousands of students that walked these halls before her. Shruthi gulped, shrinking down into her seat in worry. She desired most to be in the same house as her friend.

Think cunning thoughts, was the phrase that she kept on loop as she felt the hat descend on top of her own head. It barely grazed her black waves before exclaiming, “Hufflepuff!” With no explanation or commentary. Her disappointment was so visceral she missed Dumbledore congratulating Snape with another student to his house, only to be ripped from her thoughts as a someone squeezed her shoulder.

“I can take her to her common room,” McGonagall offered. The Hufflepuffs were located near the Gryffindor tower, and it was time that the feast wrapped up for the night. She could see between the two girls, Shruthi was the more nervous one. It’s a good thing that she’s not in Slytherin, she thought sadly, it’s a cruel thing to sort a Muggleborn into Slytherin, Merlin help her.

“No, I’ll take them together,” Snape rejected. “Come.” He did not wait for a response from Jane or Shruthi and was at the room in a few steps. Shruthi looked at McGonagall for permission and received a small nod, quickly catching up to Jane and Snape before the latter can reprimand her for being slow. They had both agreed that they should send a letter to their parents instead of having the headmaster do it (with no plans of sending a letter in their minds).

*

The air was colder in the basem*nt levels of Hogwarts as the trio descended an ancient staircase. Snape walked at a pace that neither girl thought was comfortable even for a man of his stature, leaving no time to take in surroundings. The architecture of the castle itself was plain, but no wall was left unadorned by artwork. Hogwarts itself was structured to be confusing, and Jane wondered if the students navigated it by memorising by the statues that they passed. Shruthi on the other hand wished that Snape hadn’t offered to take her to common room since he decided to make the journey in complete silence. She thought if she was in Snape’s shoes, she would at least give some explanation to the rooms and halls they were passing.

“Watch closely,” Severus Snape stopped in front of the only wall so far that was left empty. His wand was in his right hand, and he quickly tapped a pattern on the bricks in front of him. Shruthi did her best to follow along with the rhythm and placement but quickly lost track as Snape seemed to obscure his movements with his back. The bricks folded outwards revealing a large oak door with the crest of Hufflepuff embossed in gold in the centre. Shruthi moved forward to enter, and Snape stopped her. “Repeat it.”

She brought out her wand and waited for the bricks to realign themselves and block the door. Nervously, she imitated what she thought the professor had done, touching each brick with the tip of her wand. She lost confidence as she forgot if the left-most brick that that was cracked from corner to corner came next or one in the centre that had faded to a white. Snape snorted, “Typical Hufflepuff stupidity. Your house will be with you shortly. Come Jane, I do not want to keep my Slytherins waiting.”

Shruthi watched as her friend and the man she hated most from the books left her all alone in the basem*nt. She wanted to shout at him and tell him that she wasn’t stupid and if he had just taught her better, she could’ve gotten the password. She wondered why the Hufflepuffs couldn’t have a simple security mechanism like the Gryffindor’s or Slytherin’s instead of an Indiana Jones-esq puzzle. At least I’m not Ravenclaw, I would’ve been sitting out all night if it was a riddle.

*

The Slytherin area of the castle was also located in the basem*nt levels of Hogwarts but deeper than Hufflepuff. The air was moisture-rich, as drips of water journeyed through the cracks of the wall and pooled onto the ground. Some even put out the wall torches which only reignited once completely dry, so long stretches of the corridors were dimly lit. Jane stuck to walking along the green and silver runner rugs that spanned the centre of the hallway to keep the soles of her shoes dry. She didn't know if she was imagining it or not, but she thought she could hear distant sounds of otherworldly singing from outside of the walls and walked a little closer to Severus Snape. Snape walked in a hurried pace, his robes billowing out behind him blending into the shadows all around them. Deeper and deeper they went into the castle until they reached a doorway trimmed with a huge stone basilisk that had half its body curled on the floor. Water dripped off its bared fangs, "Good evening, Master S-s-s-nape," and the ornate walnut wood door swung inwards.

The oppressive feeling of the hallways outside continued into the common room that was lavishly furnished. Viridescent with ottomans were placed near the wrought-silver bookshelves for comfortable reading. Circular porthole style windows let in an eerie blueish light that was made worse by the central firepit that housed a blueish flame circled by velvet couches. Upon the walls hung tapestries detailing the history of the house and the largest was a life song of the founder of the house, Salazar Slytherin - a cruel looking wizard with a neatly trimmed black beard and piercing grey eyes. Jane tripped as the common room was a step down from the hallway but regained her balance before she fell on the white marble floor in front of the gathered students.

Snape walked towards the firepit, as the prefects corralled the new first years towards him. “You are now the next generation of Slytherins. Some of you may have parents who have been in Slytherin, and for others you are the first of your family. Regardless of your connections to this house, you all possess the characteristics of this noble house – cunning, ambition, and a thirst for power. Within these walls, you are now one family upholding these values in unity. Outside of this room,” Snape’s hand brushed outwards towards the door to the common room.

“You will experience discrimination for being a Slytherin; you’ll be bullied by your classmates, isolated from friendships, systematically disadvantaged when it comes to having your word be trusted. If you cannot bear these things alone, then stay together – Slytherins are stronger in number. A piece of advice for when you face these challenges, do not be goaded into whatever pettiness that your classmates are taunting you with. Engaging will only benefit them and there is only so many places I can be at one time. If another professor intercepts the situation, your punishment will be swift and hard.” He paused to take a breath, an older prefect handing him a metal goblet filled with water and he took a sip before continuing.

“Either you will learn this by experience or by listening to the wisdom of your elders, do not trust the other houses to have your best interests at heart. If you need any help, come to a Slytherin. If you have issues with a fellow Slytherin, sort it out. Learning to negotiate and compromise is a skill that you should start developing from your age if you wish to work at high levels in the Ministry or elsewhere in the world. If for some reason, there cannot be a resolution, come to me. My office is always open – any time of the day or night.”

He beckoned Jane to come stand next to him. “How old are you?” He whispered.

“Ei- Fourteen,” Jane replied, her forehead wrinkled in frustration. She looked down at her hands to decipher if she really was fourteen again, but it yielded no results, she wasn’t Dumbledore.

“Everyone, this is Jane Becker. Her arrival tonight has been delayed as she has travel from Australia to be with us tonight. Daphne.” Daphne Greengrass came forward at Snape's call and stood with her perfectly manicured hands folded in front of her. She inclined her head forward in demure reverence to her head of house and curtsied causing her loose waist-length brown hair to fall over her right shoulder. She pinned the top half of her hair with a green ribbon, one that her mother put into her hair this morning before she rode the Hogwarts Express. She rose after a few seconds and blinked away the stars swimming in her vision. “She is a Muggleborn.” A few small gasps that were covered by coughs echoed around the marble room earning the ire of Severus Snape. “She will be in your care.” The crowd parted wider than it did before giving a large berth to both girls as Daphne led Jane to their shared dormitory.

A fifth four-poster bed was added to the room furthest away from the door. The spacious bed was identical to the other five – tall dark wood, trimmed with emerald-green drapes for privacy. Each column of wood was carved with winding snakes which if watched infinitely ascend in a slither. The tester was printed with the Slytherin crest in silver and at the foot of the bed was a plain school trunk. Daphne went down the line from the doorway and pointed at each bed announcing who it belonged to – Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracy Davis, and Daphne Greengrass. “You should change into your robes.” The robes were neatly folded and placed on top beside table that was made with the same wood as the bed. Three drawers with silver engraved knobs, that pulled out easily and were currently empty. As Jane held robes out by their shoulders, the door closed with a click as Daphne left to wait outside. Plain black witch’s robes that were trimmed with green that have been recently washed, smelling faintly of cinnamon. Jane put them down and checked around her bed for what to wear underneath them. After a few minutes of unfruitful searching, she checked her neighbour’s double doored wardrobe to find five sets of the robes she was given inside of them but no other set of clothes.

“Are you done?” Daphne’s voice called out.

“Just a minute,” Jane called out with a slightly panicked tone. She put the robes on top of what she was currently wearing and found that she was completely covered from neck to just above the ankle. “Come in.” She pulled her hair that was caught at the collar out and the ends rested against the hood. She was frustrated that she didn’t even have time to check the mirror.

Daphne walked in and looked over Jane, “I understand that you’re Muggleborn, but it’s strange that you keep your Muggle clothes on underneath your robes.”

“Am I supposed to wear it like it’s a dress then?” Jane pinched the fabric at her torso outwards. She supposed it did feel uncomfortable to be wearing multiple layers underneath the fabric, but she thought it would have a similar function to an art smock or apron.

“Have you not worn robes before?” Daphne asked incredulously.

“Uh… it’s too hot for robes in Australia,” Jane quickly lied not wanting to start a conversation on why she didn’t know these things. She could feel the disdain and judgement from the girl in front of her and was tempted to smack it out of her.

“Of course,” Daphne accepted it with a sense of disbelief. “Well, in Hogwarts, we wear robes. A summer and winter set. With your summer ones you don’t wear anything underneath them but your undergarments. And with your winter ones, your slip is acceptable if you do find yourself cold, though a cloak is preferrable. You should do something about your shoes.”

Jane looked down to see her runners that she’s had for years. “They aren’t very befitting for a Slytherin. You should get some dragon-hide boots at the very least.” Daphne looked down at the shoes again, “And get those robes tailored, they look like second-hand robes.” Her pert nose crinkled in disgust at the possibility of that statement being true.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jane retorted sarcastically, aiming to do neither.

*

“Are you Shruthi Patel?” A large woman called out the girl who was sitting cross-legged in front of the Hufflepuff entrance. She was being trailed by hundreds of students, all dressed in gold-trimmed robes. The woman’s face looked weather-beaten, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and rosy cheeks and sported a wide friendly smile.

“Yes,” Shruthi replied in a hurry, quickly getting to her feet. The woman stuck out her hand, the back of it criss-crossed with jagged scars and scratches. Shruthi shook her hand, finding it to be warm but strong as the woman squeezed.

“It’s very nice to meet another one of mine. I’m Professor Sprout, the herbology professor at Hogwarts and head of Hufflepuff house. Minerva told me that you arrived late. Not to worry, we’ll get you settled in with the rest,” Sprout opened the door and ushered the house into the common room. Like Snape, Sprout asked Shruthi about how old she was to place her with her classmates before directing her towards her dorm room.

The Hufflepuff common room had the entire ceiling completely open to the environment. A faint summer breeze wafted through the air and the beautiful star systems of the galaxy could be mapped by looking upwards. Several roaring fireplaces were dotted around the room, bringing light into the space as well as warmth. Shruthi saw groups of students flop down on the overstuffed beanbags littering the floor and others spread out on the faded yellow rugs beside them. The kitchens must have been located nearby as Shruthi took in the scent of warm sugar and savoury flavours. The parquet wooden floor was stained by centuries of dirt covered boots and spilled ink but nothing about the room felt out of place. A few paintings of famous Hufflepuffs welcomed the students back, and a single tapestry of Helga Hufflepuff was barely visible through the creeping vines that clung to the empty spaces in the room.

The dormitories were a rabbit-warren that Shruthi carefully navigated finding an oak door with a golden placard - Fourth Year Witch's Dormitory. The door had been etched by hundreds of names of the occupants throughout the years, some even writing over the others. She trailed her index finger over two that had been circled with a messily carved love heart, bringing a smile to her face. The door creaked loudly, and the conversation inside cut off.

Six pairs of eyes looked at Shruthi from three bunkbeds that have been pushed together. Contents of their trunks empty before them, showing off the things that they have purchased for the new school year ranging from broomsticks to a magical protection amulet from a holiday to Norway. "Hi, who are you?" A young cheerful voice said to Shruthi.

Before Shruthi could reply another girl with beach blonde hair parted into pigtails interrupted, "Are you from Beauxbatons?"

"Uh, no," Shruthi replied taking a step forward, and introduced herself formally.

The girl groaned in disappointment, as her red headed friend pulled on one of her pigtails, "Hannah, you know they're supposed be coming next month." Shruthi frowned, students from French wizarding school are coming to Hogwarts? The only time that happened in the books was during the tri-wizard tournament... “Nice to meet you Shruthi, we were wondering why we suddenly had a single bed in the room. Lucky you.” There was no hint of jealousy in her words, just light hearted humour.

The girls went around introducing themselves making Shruthi overwhelmed with remembering new names, but the girls didn’t seem to mind. They pulled Shruthi’s bed towards the huddle and sat her down to join their holiday discussions. She was barraged with questions about Australia and her life which she answered in half-truths and uninterestingly, causing Hannah to probe deeper. Eventually, they tired themselves out and Shruthi laid down on her comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling as sleep evaded her.

*

The Great Hall was boisterous for breakfast ahead of the first day of classes. Jane was already there when Shruthi came along, pulled by the wrist by Hannah who was begging the girl to let her braid her hair. “It’s so pretty!” Shruthi nodded absentmindedly along to Hannah, as she was scanning the room to see where Jane was. The Great Hall was a wide, room filled with four long tables that spanned from the door to the raised platform for the teachers. Great floor to ceiling windows measured the room and gave light during breakfast and lunch. From the ceiling hung thousands of floating candles and dangerously, four great tapestries illustrating the houses beneath them. The red and green table were the ones nearest to the walls and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw sat in the middle.

Compared to Hufflepuff house, the Slytherins were far less numerous, and Jane was sitting near the end of the long table with the nearest Slytherin pretending she didn’t exist. Before she could have a chance to ask her friend if she had slept well, she was tugged and pushed onto the bench and was squeezed between Hufflepuffs on either side. She stared at the spread before her that was quickly diminishing as hundreds of hands were reaching towards it and piling it onto their plates.

“You better be quick,” The boy to her right shoulder advised, placing a piece of buttered toast from his plate onto hers. Shruthi’s stomach gurgled, and she thanked him with embarrassment. Her options were the staples of an English breakfast, and it looked less than appetising. Mounds of sausages had pools of grease at the bottom of the pan, the piles of sagging golden brown toast drenched in butter, and bowls of artificially red sauce swimming with beans. Shruthi scooped some the watery scrambled eggs onto her toast and ate in silence, listening into the chatter around her.

“We need to go now, or we’ll be late,” Susan came up behind Shruthi after some time.

“For what?” Shruthi asked, wiping her mouth clean with a napkin and getting to her feet.

“Potions.” It was the first class on her schedule.

Severus Snape’s potion classroom was located near the beginning of the Slytherin dungeons saving students from walking deeper into the soggy bowels of Hogwarts. However, Snape had brought a slice of Slytherin into his classroom to make himself more at home while he was teaching the next disappointing generation of witches and wizards. His desk was cluttered with rolled up parchment paper which where translucent enough to see the essays stained with red ink from his scathing feedback. Behind him shelves affixed to the wall containing glass jars of all different shapes and sizes containing pickled potions ingredients that made unfortunate eye-contact with the students entering the classroom. They took seats at the long rotten benches in the centre of the classroom, with Snape glaring at any that decided to continue their conversation from the hallway.

Shruthi opened the satchel that she found within her trunk this morning. It was packed with the meagre school supplies that she was provided, a single notebook, a few scrolls of parchment, a half-filled inkpot, and a lone quill. She found herself quietly disappointed that she was once again in a classroom, the bell this morning was jarring enough memory. Snape walked towards the clean blackboard near the centre of his classroom with his arms folded behind his back. “I think some revision is due after what I imagine was a long and unproductive break that you think you’ve earned. Get up,” he snapped, and there was a clatter of movement as students raced to get to their feet. Shruthi’s stool made a jarring sound as it was pushed out and she sighed as she began packing her things back into her satchel. “Leave it,” Snape tsked Shruthi.

“Last year, you were taught to brew a Wide-eye potion, that should do some good when half of you are still bleary-eyed,” Snape walked back to his table, and before he reached it, he looked over to the frozen classroom. “What are you waiting for? Brew it.” The brewing benches were pushed against the walls of the classroom, with each section of bench holding cupboards underneath that held potion instrumentation. Many of the Ravenclaws which shared this forty-minute period with the Hufflepuffs had brought their own set of cauldrons and scales, and quickly set out towards the shared ingredients cupboard to begin brewing. Shruthi found the instructions for the Wide-eye potion in her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger that the previous owner a considerable amount of time colouring in the bubbling cauldron and smoke pictured on the cover.

Luckily for her, the Wide-eye potion did not seem that complicated, she counted only four ingredients and the difficulty of the potion only seemed to come from that time needed to wait between the first and second phase of brewing. She entered the walk-in to gather what she needed, and her confidence melted away as none of the jars and tubs were labelled. There were several containers filled with teeth, all sharp and fang-like.

“Excuse me,” A Ravenclaw boy called politely to Shruthi causing her to step aside from the box. She watched carefully as the boy pilfered through the box and picked up six identical fangs. After he left, she stepped forward and picked out what she thought were the same fangs. She did the same for the rest of her ingredients, watching carefully what her classmates did and imitating the same. She learned that watch at least three since some students picked out very similar looking ingredients from different boxes or shelves.

Returning to her bench, she placed a pewter cauldron with a few dings on the base onto the burner and placed a stone mortar and pestle next to her ingredients. The instructions just said to add the snake fangs and the four measures of standard ingredient to the mortar without further instruction on how fine she needed to grind the fangs. She left her mortar for the moment and added the billywig stings to the cauldron and turned the burner, so the flame went from yellow to orange. She decided that the time taken for the stings to heat up will be sufficient to get the fangs crushed up. An awful smell emitted from her cauldron after a few minutes, and she looked over to see the bulbous thumb-sized ball tipped with an orange stinger turning charred black.

“What are you doing?” A harsh voice thundered behind her as Snape pushed her aside and turned off her cauldron. “Why is there no water in your cauldron?”

Shruthi looked over her instructions, at no point did they ask her to add water to the cauldron. “It doesn’t say to add water.”

“It doesn’t say to add water,” Snape repeated her words in way that made her feel small. It felt like the entire classroom had stilled to listen into this conversation, and Shruthi’s skin warmed in embarrassment. She thought back to her experiences in chemistry class where each step was detailed and easy to follow. Even she was taught one of the most important skills of a scientist was writing coherent instructions so experiments can be documented and repeated. Perhaps, she should have realised that potions inherently were solutions and therefore Arsenius Jigger omitted adding water to the recipe.

“Fine, I’ll redo it, how much water do I add?” Shruthi replied, crossing her arms in frustration. It wasn’t fair, it was the fault of the recipe not her to know that she needed water.

“How much water do you think you need to add?” Snape smirked in satisfaction and his fingers knit together.

Shruthi’s right hand that was folded against her chest motioned in confusion, “I don’t know, half a litre?” She looked down at her bench and noticed that she needed to submit a vial of potion. “This much?” She pointed to the vial.

He snorted in derision, “You there,” he pointed with crooked finger to one of Shruthi’s dorm mates that was on the adjacent bench. “How much water do you add to a cauldron?”

“A-A cauldron’s full, sir,” she stammered, immediately looking down and busying herself so she wouldn’t be called on again.

“Does that answer your question, Miss Patel?”

Shruthi tapped the side of her cauldron in case it was still warm from the fire; it was not. She picked it up by the handles on the side and looked back up at Snape. “Not really. How much is a cauldron’s full?” She couldn’t see any line marks on the outside of the pewter, nor feel for them. And it didn’t make sense to make so much potion when all she needed as a vial of it. Shruthi thought that she could make a vial’s worth by ratioing the ingredients.

Snape inhaled slowly, annoyance painting his features. “Why don’t you fill up the cauldron and then show me, and I’ll tell you what a ‘cauldron’s full’ is since you are so very incapable?”

“Fine,” Shruthi replied before she swore at him. She looked down and her cauldron was missing the burnt billywig stings and she saw the back of Severus Snape as he stalked away to go bully some other student in the classroom. She wasn’t sure if she would’ve preferred him breathing down her neck as she filled out what a ‘cauldron’s full’ was.

Conveniently there was a brass tap on the wall in front of her bench and she placed the pot underneath it. “A cauldron’s full,” she muttered underneath her breath turning the tap to the left side slowly. She looked either side of her bench and both her bench mates had two different volumes of water inside of their cauldron. She looked even further than them and it was the same there as well. It seemed that there was no universal measurement for a ‘cauldron’s full’. She waited until the water reached about half-way up the rounded walls of the cauldron and turned off the tap.

“Do you understand the definition of full?” Snape was beside her and she jolted in surprise. “That is not full. Keep going.” She turned on the tap again to a slow trickle and waited for Snape to say when to stop. She knew that she needed some space in the cauldron to add her ingredients and stir so he couldn’t literally mean full to the brim. Her worry grew as the water line crept to the lip of the pot and she looked at Snape who gave her no indication he was going to speak again. She turned off the tap in a hurry, twisting the handle tightly to the right. “Good,” he gave her a crooked smile and she could smell his breakfast on his breath.

She took a step back, “Is this cauldron mine, can I keep this one?”

The smile faded and was replaced with a frown, “You may if you replace it.” Shruthi thought about the offer, it wasn’t as if she was going to stay in Hogwarts long enough to keep that promise, so she nodded. She picked up her quill and memorised where the water was on the inside of the cauldron before she crouched down to mark the spot on the outside of it.

Snape observed for a moment, “That is pewter, you will just wear the quill.” She put the quill down and Snape picked up his wand and waved it over the pot. A circumferential jut was formed at the water line on both sides and before Shruthi could thank him, Snape had already left her bench.

A horrible brown sludge was what Shruthi Patel had by the end of the period. The potion was supposed to come out to a ‘dreamy, navy blue’ according to Jigger, but she couldn’t figure out how hers was so far off the mark when she had thought she had done everything correctly. She was sure that Snape already knew this fact by the way he was saving her marking for last. She scooped some of her concoction into her vial and stoppered it with a cork before she could gag at the awful, necrotic smell emanating from it. The smell alone could certainly wake someone that had ingested the Draught of the Living Dead.

“What do we have here?” Snape jeered picking the vial between his index and forefinger and holding it up to the candlelight. “Troll.”

“Do I not get any points for effort?” She huffed. Shruthi was pretty sure that a troll was the lowest mark you could get in the Harry Potter books and it hurt her feelings that she was given it when she knew she was a decently good at chemistry.

“And why should I award you points for effort when you clearly haven’t tried? Are Hufflepuffs so used to participation trophies that you need one now to spare your feelings? Let me give you a piece of advice, Miss Patel, life gives out no points for effort. If I could mark you any lower than a troll, I would have done so,” Snape handed Shruthi the vial back.

She wanted to argue that she did try, but she could sense that incessant whining would just annoy the man, “Okay, I agree, it’s a crap potion. Can you please tell me what I did wrong so I can avoid that next time?”

“Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough of my time today, Miss Patel? Here is another piece of advice from me, you have no future in a potion’s classroom. You are disruptive and disorganised, you cannot follow simple written instructions, and you cannot even dress or speak respectfully in my classes,” Snape looked down to the sparkly thongs that were peaking out from underneath Shruthi’s robes that were brushing the floor. “Get out of my classroom.” Shruthi swallowed thickly and bit down on her tongue to fight back tears as she did just that.

*

The Griffyndors were a rowdy bunch, still riding the last dregs of freedom from their holidays as they entered the charms classroom that they shared with the Slytherins this morning. Again, Jane was seated at the edges of the classroom but still close enough to the Slytherins for an outsider to think they were friends. But they weren’t, at least to her, any time that she did add anything to the conversation she either was ignored or someone would give her a dirty look for even speaking. If this is what they were doing to her face, she didn’t want to know how they would speak about her when she wasn’t there to hear it.

Professor Flitwick climbed onto his desk and called out to get the attention of the chattering students. It took a couple of times before they settled down so he could get on with today’s lesson. While he was talking about what they should expect to learn this year, Jane saw the platinum blond hair boy elbow his friend and snigg*r, “Who would’ve thought Potter would make it back this year? I was sure between that werewolf and Black, one of them should’ve gotten him by now.”

She looked at the black-haired boy sitting a few seats in front of Draco Malfoy. She could only see the back of him but even from here she could tell he was small, probably not much taller than she was. Jane never thought that the main character of those awful books would have been on the shorter side, but neither was Malfoy. Draco was spurred on by the laughter of his lackeys, and his comments grew bolder and louder each time until Harry turned around finally.

His piercing green eyes stared hard at Malfoy causing the blond to smirk in satisfaction. He knew that he had gotten underneath his rival’s skin again and there was nothing he could do while Flitwick was addressing the class. Jane stared at the gaunt features of Harry; the sharp cheekbones were pulled tightly against his tanned skin. His lips were dried and scabbed over from where he had been picking at them nervously. His round wiry glasses had their centre held together by white tape, became askew as the girl sitting next to him tapped him on the shoulder and told him to pay attention.

*

The final bell rung and Shruthi made sure she was the first out of the door of the transfiguration classroom. All her classes so far have been with the Ravenclaws, so she hadn’t seen the only person she’s been trying to see since breakfast all day. She ignored her Hufflepuff dorm mates calling out to her and asking her where she was running to as she raced down the hallway. She didn’t know what class Jane would have this period, but if Jane was just as desperate as she was she would know to go to the Great Hall.

Shruthi rounded the corner after almost tripping on the uneven stones, she saw Jane waiting nervously by the doorframe. “Jay!” Shruthi slowed down and took gasping breaths in, ignoring the giggling from her friend. “How are you?”

“Awful,” Jane smiled, helping her friend stand upright. “Did you sleep?” She noticed the large dark bags that framed her friend’s eyes.

“Not a wink,” Shruthi admitted, “I’ve been trying to get to you since last night. I tried the door of my room after my room mates fell asleep, but it was locked. And again, this morning at breakfast, but... we need to go now.”

“You know this better than, I could never get through the books,” Jane whispered. “How do we get out of here?”

Shruthi had been thinking about this all day. All magical means of transportation were inaccessible to them, leaving only the normal ways of getting about. She knew that Hogsmeade village was mentioned in the books, and it seemed like it was near enough that the protagonists walked to-and-fro during their weekend outings. She was sure if they walked a little bit further than that they would soon be home. “I’m really hoping that we can just walk out of here.”

Either Hogwarts never expected students to leave, or the pair had just gotten a lucky break since they made it to the crossroads that led them down the path to Hogsmeade. The sign indicated there was town further than the magical village located two kilometres from Hogsmeade. They walked carefully, hiding if they heard any noises either behind them or up the path. They passed the time in hushed whispers of discussion on how they got here and what this would mean for them after they arrived back home.

“Do you really think we are magical?” Jane asked, twirling the wand between her hands. She hadn’t needed to use it until her potion lesson. Jane’s own potion result ended up the same as Shruthi’s, but at least Snape hadn’t berated the same.

“I don’t think so, I tried one of the spells that they did in the movie, Wingardium Leviosa, and nothing happened. I think Dumbledore is crazy to think that we aren’t Muggles,” Shruthi sighed in disappointment. It wouldn't be surprising if Dumbledore was indeed mad judging by his actions in the books and movies. “Did you get anything from yours?”

“Nope,” Jane replied, she mirrored her friend’s disappointment. She had spent the entire day watching everyone else in the castle do impossible things with magic while she had to just stand there and stare. “What’s a Mudblood?”

Shruthi grimaced, “Oh, that’s a slur, it means that you have dirty blood. It’s meant to be derogatory to people with parents who aren’t magical. Draco called Hermione that in the books and movies.”

“Right, well, I just heard a few of the Slytherins call me that,” Jane whispered back, kicking a stone down the dirt path. Shruthi grasped her friend’s hand as an act of understanding. She wanted to tell Jane that she spent the moments before her sorting wishing to be with her because she knew that the Slytherins wouldn’t be kind to her. But what good would telling her now do her, it wasn’t as if it would undo whatever she’s been dealing with since last night.

“We’ll be home soon,” Shruthi squeezed Jane’s hand, focusing on the future. She nodded to her friend before taking off her robe and stuffing it into her faded leather satchel that she had the front facing towards her body so the Hogwarts crest could be hidden. Jane followed doing the same, before taking out her phone and gripping it in her right hand.

Their phones only turned on when they reached the outskirts of the Muggle town that they enter. The signpost by Hogwarts only labelled it as ‘Nearest Muggle settlement’ so the name was unknown to them. Jane looked down at her phone which was on ninety-seven percent and had the date in square letters, September 2^nd, 2019. “We’ve gone back in time.”

Shruthi looked around the town, it didn’t look like it was out of the nineties, “It looks modern enough, maybe a few buildings are dated.” It looked like the pub or whatever central gathering place of the town had still retained most of its original brick façade as they walked along the cobbled footpath, but the roads were paved with bright white dividing lane lines. It looks like something out a postcard or those travel TV shows, she mused. A sudden piercing pain of homesickness overwhelmed her, those were the types of shows her parents like to wind down to in the evening.

“No, I mean we are in September. It was November yesterday,” Jane showed Shruthi the screen, Jane noted the notifications that were flooding her phone screen. Social media notifications, some emails, and a text messages from her parents and friends.

“So, we’ve gone back a few months but we’re fourteen,” Shruthi surmised. “Do you remember being fourteen?”

“Its not that different from being eighteen,” Jane joked, “I’m missing my grey hair, but I’m sure after this call it will be back.” Shruthi gave Jane a grimaced smile before excusing herself to call her own parents. The loitered just outside the local shopping centre, trying to look nonchalant to the people walking by. Their conversations with their parents were brief and Jane was the first one to ask, “Do your parents think you’re going to uni here?”

“I was just about to ask you, yes, University of Edinburgh for biomedical sciences. They were angry that I didn’t call last night to update them on moving there.” Shruthi answered in confusion. Her parents were worried that they sent their old child all the way across the world to go to university. It seemed that the fully funded scholarship and the future opportunity to go on to study medicine was more than enough to alleviate a few of their worries. They just made her promise to call them every night or they’ll be booking the next flight there to make sure in person.

“Biology,” Jane added. “I told them about Hogwarts, and they just laughed it off and told me to go enjoy myself.” Jane looked back towards the direction of Hogwarts and sighed. “I don’t think they’ll believe me until I prove it to them, a photo or video. Are you sure that your wand is useless?”

“Yes, I am… I’m not going back home. I can’t. My parents told me that they were ecstatic with all this,” Shruthi’s voice cracked a little in passion. She swallowed before continuing, “They’ve already told the rest of my family, it’s all over the family WhatsApp. I can’t tell them now. I’ll just stick it out at Hogwarts, and help you get out.”

“What? You can’t be serious; you want to keep lying to your parents in the hopes of what – that you secretly are a witch? This will only get worse if you don’t tell them now,” Jane’s voice raised in volume causing Shruthi to pull her into a nearby alleyway next to an overflowing rubbish bin. Jane’s face was still bewildered even with the scent of decomposing food right next to her.

“My parents are going to react the same as yours,” Shruthi shot back, “There’s nothing we can do right now, there’s no point disappointing them prematurely. We’ll know soon enough if we are magical and imagine if we were!” Shruthi was sure that if she was a witch, eventually her parents would think of that more highly than becoming a doctor. The freedom that it would allow her was tantalising, her parents wouldn’t have to worry about her safety or her future ever again. “I promise I’ll help you get that photo. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

Jane shook her head no and grasped Shruthi firmly by the shoulder, “As soon as we get that photo, we are both leaving. This is crazy, Shru-“

“Just believe for a moment, Jane. There must be some reason why we were brought here, and yes, it’s crazy that it’s literally Hogwarts. But what if we were witches and we just didn’t know about it until yesterday?” Shurthi said with giddiness which was not shared by Jane.

“Learn! Remember what you told me at graduation? ‘I never want to spend another day in this place again.’ I thought we agreed on taking a break from learning.” Jane took a deep breath in and gagged at the odour nearby and walked back onto the main street, “Okay, we stay till the Christmas break. By then we’ll know what we got into at home,” she spoke about her pending applications for university back in Australia which are released just before Christmas (and depending on which, can either be a good or bad present). “We’ll tell our parents that we weren’t cut out for uni here and we want to study at home.” Shruthi nodded furiously in agreement. She didn’t have to worry her parents and she had four months to figure out if staying at Hogwarts was necessary. “I really don’t like lying to my parents, but you’re right, stuff like this doesn’t happen so we might as well stay in this sh*thole until they figure out there’s nothing special about us. But I still want that photo. Just in case,” Jane gave Shruthi a wry smile, which wavered causing Shruthi to begin to ask her what’s wrong. The taller girl felt a harsh tug on the shoulder of her flannel, and she was about to give the interrupter a piece of her mind before she saw who it was.

“What do we have here?” Snape looked down upon the two fourteen-year-old girls he’s spent his afternoon tracking down. “Two run aways?” He gave both girls a chilling smile as he held Shruthi by the scruff of her neck. It wasn’t an easy smile to decipher if he knew what the girls were speaking about just before he arrived, and Jane didn’t know her head of house well enough to read it. “I don’t know what Muggle filth you two came from, but this is a school we are running here. I ought to expel you.” He drank in the way Shruthi’s brown eyes faded from her childish anger to that terrified look he relished in bringing out in people.

“We were just about to return,” Jane interjected trying to draw his attention from her friend.

“Is that so? I find that very hard to believe,” Snape continued to bore down onto Shruthi and noticed the quick look that she gave her friend. He was confused that it wasn’t one of panic but rather determination. A second later, the girl began struggling in his grip, trying to tear his fingers from her clothes. Cries of ‘let me go’ and growls just caused his hand to tighten as he knew he had her trapped. His uncut nails dug into his skin, causing her to cry out in pain, a sound that he wanted to continue hearing. “Stop that,” he said in a bored tone trying to aggravate her further, punctuated with a sharp slap across her face. Her plastic glasses fly off her face and landed on the ground beneath them and Snape was tempted to crush them.

“Did you get it?” She asked her friend as she wiped her reactionary tears of pain from her face. Snape’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he turned to see Jane hold some sort of black box between her two hands pointed directly at them.

“Yup,” Jane replied, tugging her friend away from him and standing slightly in front of her to shield her from further abuse. She turned the phone to play back the video of Snape slapping Shruthi across the face. Shruthi’s right cheek was stung with pain, but she gave Snape a big grin.

“Give me that,” Snape shouted, and Jane quickly pocketed the device and held her hands out in surrender. “What do you think you will do with that? The headmaster would not care, and neither will anyone else at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, but the Muggles will, sir. I’m sure the police will love to investigate into why you decided to physically assaulted a minor,” Shruthi declared with smugness. “I think I might go talk to them now,” she pointed behind him to the local police station.

“You dare threaten your professor, girl?” Snape snarled shuffling forward to unsettle her again with his presence, but she wasn’t backing down. “You don’t think I can just wipe their memories and destroy your little recording device?”

“It’s illegal to use magic against Muggles, Jane and I will attest to that in front of the Wizengamot. Even Dumbledore couldn’t help you from that,” Snape paused and looked at her strangely as he took in her words.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” he corrected as his fingers rubbed his chin in thought, the edges of his fingers rubbed at his right cheek. Shruthi instinctively rubbed at her own thinking she had something on her face and winced as she was reminded of her injury. He simply smiled at her reaction and continued, “What do you want?”

“You will help us get settled,” Shruthi commanded as Snape undid the Privacy charm he did to hide himself and the girls.

The girls led Severus Snape into the Muggle supermarket which was much smaller than any shop in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, but they seemed content. Neat lines of shelves stood on the linoleum floor highlighted by the fluorescent white lights. It had been a very long time since he’d entered any Muggle establishment for necessities, preferring to borrow Lucius Malfoy’s army of house elves instead. He felt out of place in his wizarding robes but the cashier who was busy reading the local newspaper with his dirty bare feet propped up against the counter did not mind. He watched Hufflepuff and Slytherin point to the signs hanging from the ceiling and followed them into an isle labelled ‘Personal Care’.

Endless containers of soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and other toiletries sat nicely stocked on the shelves reminding him of his own shelves of potions. Each trying to outdo the neighbour with their promises of efficient cleanliness or the enticing scents. He watched Shruthi whine about her brand not being stocked and the way her fingers ran through her messy black plait. Her almond eyes judged each bottle intently and stopped when her friend handed one that had a shiny red sticker with the word ‘clearance’ printed boldly on it.

“Which one can we get?” Shruthi held both bottles out for inspection, the 2-in-1 mint scented unisex shampoo and conditioner was the one on offer and the other was some floral shampoo clearly aimed towards women. Snape was taken aback that she was asking for his opinion when he couldn’t remember the last time he had washed his own hair.

“I don’t care, stop wasting my time,” He snapped at her, and watched her face fall as she placed back the pink and white bottle. His nails bit into his hidden palm as he did nothing to stop them as the girls placed two grey bottles into the green plastic basket they were sharing. The basket swung on Jane’s left forearm as the girls continued to pick out either the cheapest option or the one sale when it came to the rest of the toiletries. Snape noticed the basket fill with items that neither girl really wanted. He memorised the way that Jane’s eyes lingered on pressurised can of some sort of spray that promised the wearer that they’d smell like a floral bouquet, and Shruthi’s on a sparkly pink toothbrush that matched her footwear.

He peered at the contents of the basket; it was filled with ugly containers pasted with those red stickers. Rectangular boring grey containers, and pragmatic with their scents of mint. Mint shampoo, peppermint toothpaste, minty green mouthwash… Mint was always a practical scent, he knew quite a few of his Slytherin’s favoured it, but he knew at heart it was a poor’s man smell. The daintier scents of roses or lavender, the ones that would fade after a couple of hours, but mint lingered on one’s skin. It lingered because it had to, its job is to convince the lavenders and roses that it was just as clean.

He cut his own hair whenever he thought it grew too long with a blunt scalpel from his classroom. He dressed in the same black robes he’s had since he was eighteen. His dragon-hide boots were a Christmas gift from Narcissa when his old ones had their sole worn so thin that he could feel the dirt beneath his feet as he walked. He’d only remember to brush his teeth when the tea stains on his teeth turned brown like they were cavities. And for the past couple of years, his godson had been reminding him to bathe every week by rudely telling him he smelled. Even the scent of mint couldn’t overpower the smell of poverty that came from his youth.

He found the pair with their backs turned away from him blocking the contents of the shelves from his sight and talking in hushed whispers. The stopped once he stood before them, hiding away something behind their backs. The shelf behind them was stocked with menstrual pads, and just like the shampoos they came in all different shapes and sizes. Both girls looked almost ashamed of it even though he knew they were at an age which that was a normal part of their lives. “Put that back, there’s no need to waste my money with that when there are potions to deal with your cycles.” In all his years of teaching, he’d never had a Muggleborn witch in his house, he’d forgotten what they’d be accustomed to.

He half listened to their conversation about how these were going to use all the things they had bought today. The other half was spent enjoying the late afternoon summer breeze that was weaving through the forest leaves at the edges of the forest. Shruthi told to her friend that the Hufflepuff dormitories had communal bathrooms and showers which she felt too shy to use. Snape had never taken much of an interest in the Hufflepuff in general, he thought of them as painfully average and forgettable. Though he could empathize with her apprehension to shower in front of others.

It was fast approaching dinner by the time they had walked all the way back to Hogwarts. Snape rubbed his temples in frustration as he knew that he wasted his entire afternoon chasing after two insolent witches that were happily walking in front of him armed with semi-translucent plastic bags. Consequently, he would be marking the piles of holiday homework he assigned late into the night. Surely, some other professor also heard the thwacking noises from the Hufflepuff’s slippers running across the hall. Some other should have watched as the two girls talked about leaving the school in front of the doors of the Great Hall. Another should have seen the two simply walk out of the school since it was built for wizards and witches, not Muggle thought processes. As always, it all fell onto the shoulders of Severus Snape, though he always gave credit to the school caretaker, Argus Filch and his kneazle to help keep the rules at Hogwarts.

The gravel of winding pathway to the front gate crunched beneath his boots as he saw the afternoon light pierce through the bags to show a pair of black school shoes that Shruthi snuck into the basket when she thought that he wasn’t looking. He and Jane were about to split away from other girl when she slipped something into his hands, “Thank you.” He blinked once at the sight of a slightly melted wrapped Muggle chocolate sitting in his calloused palm.

“When did you get this?” He closed his fist carefully so he wouldn’t squish the sweet any further. The last time he had a chocolate was when the Malfoys had invited him to spend Christmas at their manor in Wiltshire. Narcissa always sends him a handmade invitation yearly with the photograph taken at the hearth from the previous years. Unlike, Minerva and Albus who like to display personality in their offices, he keeps the twenty years’ worth of photographs in a small cardboard box underneath his bed.

“I stole it while you were paying,” She giggled before thwacking down the hall. She missed the way he raised his eyebrow at the audacity of the Hufflepuff, she would not have the last word.

“Miss Patel,” Snape called, and she looked over her shoulder. “I believe you still owe me a cauldron. I will see you at detention after dinner.” He didn’t want to waste any more time with these two, but he knew if he didn’t keep on an eye on the pair, no one else at Hogwarts will.

Chapter 2: Friends or Foes?

Chapter Text

A week passes remarkably quickly at Hogwarts when it is the same every day. Shruthi Patel woke up every morning hoping that the rest of the house hadn’t yet so she could sneak to use the bathrooms before them. If she is lucky, the only other occupants are the house quidditch team, where she first saw Cedric Diggory. The image she had in her head was the actor from the movies, but the real Cedric Diggory had brunet hair that was let air-dry so for most of the morning it stuck wetly to his forehead in waves. His grey eyes were warm when the muscles around them crinkled frequently when he chuckled or smiled. Otherwise, the casting was fair, Cedric was a tall, athletic, and handsome. Shruthi tried not to stare every morning that she saw him, but it didn’t matter when most of Hufflepuff also acknowledged how pretty their sixth-year prefect and quidditch captain was.

Jane could wake up any time and have the bathroom empty for herself since there was an unspoken acknowledgement in Slytherin house to have the bathroom down the hall was to be used only for her. She thought her house was stupid to think that was some sort of punishment for her when that only resulted in one less bathroom that was available collectively for them. Mostly for her dorm room since that was the designated bathroom for them, now they shared with the fifth year Slytherin girls.

Jane spent most of her days so far sitting at the fringes of Slytherin while Shruthi spent it at the centres of Hufflepuff. The only time they would get to together was at Snape’s horrible detentions, which was daily since he stated that each one was equivalent to one sickle on Shruthi’s debt. Potage’s Cauldron Shop sells a standard size 2 pewter cauldron for fifteen galleons, and the exchange rate between galleons and sickles is seventeen sickles to a galleon. Shruthi couldn’t believe that she had just put herself into detention for the rest of the year. A small blessing is that Snape also invented a reason to put Jane into daily detention as well – the most recent was ‘attending his class with a disrespectful look on her face’.

He'd currently set them the task of cleaning and organising the shared ingredient cupboards across all seven of his classrooms. He considered it busy work, meant to waste their time, and keep them out of trouble. Shruthi and Jane didn’t agree, and both girls spent hours in there with their potion textbook opened to study the different ingredients used in common potions. Soon they realised that Snape didn’t care how it was organised, which allowed Jane the freedom to organise in a system that made sense to her. Firstly, they measured and recorded how much of each potions additive was available across all the cupboards. Lots of shuffling and moving occurred over the next couple of days to best serve each year group’s demands. Then each individual cupboard was rearranged so that commonly shared ingredients would be housed at the most accessible shelves. The remaining shelves were divided in dedicated shelves for each potion unless a certain constituent needed to be stored in a particular way.

It annoyed any person that used it after since the rest of the school had gotten used to the Snape’s system, but no one knew it was them. So, everyone kept their mouth shut thinking it was another way that horrid potion master of Hogwarts was punishing them.

Like all the other professors at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had seven classrooms that spanned one floor in the Slytherin dungeons. As a student graduated from one year to the next, they would move one further along down the hall. Most students would never see what the two classrooms at the end were like as many gave up on pursuing potions after their O.W.L.s. He liked those classrooms since only the most committed and talented brewers were permitted to use them. His least favourite was naturally the first-year classroom which was dismally decorated and most crowded to fit the incoming cohort. After one days’ worth of lesson, the floor was already sticky with dropped ingredients and the desks were stained with ink. Merlin, give him strength and patience to deal with another year of the imbeciles that loiter these halls.

Before long, Shruthi and Jane could identify most ingredients and prepare them with adequate pre-reading before their potions lesson, but nothing could help them with waving their wand. Their wands did nothing in potions, in transfiguration, in charms, and in general. “You know when I was little, I dreamed about being special and magical. I always thought I would at least be able to do it,” Shruthi whispered to Jane as they were sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of the cupboard rearranging the bottom shelf of the fourth-year classroom. Her legs were exhausted from the amount of walking it required between her classes. There were hundred and forty-two staircases in the castle, and to her, it felt like she had to walk all of them to go from the potion’s dungeons to the charms tower. She had kicked off her shoes and flexed her toes underneath her socks for some temporary relief.

Jane snorted, “Well, now you know you aren’t special and magical.” Jane never dreamed about going to Hogwarts. She couldn’t stand the books; she stopped after chapter one of the first book. She watched the movies and thought that it looked like an awful place to go to school and live. And now that she was really here, her opinion worsened. It was hellish to be at Hogwarts. Slytherin house was a lonely and cold place to her, and she was forced to be with them almost every hour of every day. She tried to make friends with the Gryffindors that sat beside her in class, but they’d all take one look at the green trim on her robes and ignore her like her own house.

After dinner, Snape would supervise the girls as they walked just outside the wards of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. They didn’t have to go as far as the Muggle town when Snape took them to the exact spot the wards ended, but they still did weekly to charge their phones. Lying to their parents came easier than they realised as it was practically the same conversation every time.

Snape kept them on the clock, fifteen minutes only, which Shruthi’s parents tried to push every day.

A month passed even more quickly than they realised, and the girls were standing in front of the iron door to Snape’s classroom for detention again. The dungeons weren’t a nickname for the potion master’s aptitude at punishment. It earned its name by the doors to the classrooms. They were a criss-crossed pattern of flat iron bars with each connection held together by a bead of soldered metal. It was the only source of ventilation for the classroom as it lacked any windows due to its underground location. Argus Flich kept the bars polished and rust-free, it was the only part of the classroom that Severus Snape let the caretaker clean in his classroom. And I suppose we clean the rest, Jane thought.

“Snape is a c*nt,” Shruthi swore underneath her breath as she read through her list of homework that she had written on a scrap piece of parchment. It was hardly legible since she still found it difficult to write with a quill and ink after being spoiled by a lifetime of ball-point pen use. Jane fared worse when she discovered quickly that quills and ink were designed inherently for right-handed writers. Jane looked at her friend and nodded tiredly. It was the not the first time that Shruthi had complained to her about Severus Snape, it was more of a daily occurrence at this point.

“What did he do this time?” Jane asked out of friendship’s sake missing the way Shruthi looked up from her parchment and just past her shoulder to look at the hallway behind her. The hallway in front of her was identical to the one behind. The potion’s dungeons were the only classrooms that never magicked around the place. Transfiguration moved weekly and this week swapped places with Charms.

“Like usual my potion didn’t brew correctly, and I was about to pour it down the sink. He goes and takes the damn cauldron out of my hands and tell me, ‘Hopefully this will improve your aptitude in potions,’ and pours it all over my head! I was late to transfiguration because I had to spend an hour scrubbing the f*cking flobberworm mucus out of my hair,” Shruthi’s voice grew more incensed as she detailed her story. “Not that being early would’ve helped in transfiguration,” she added in a mumble. “He should’ve never been hired; with the sort of history he has.”

“And what sort of history is that, Miss Patel?” Snape leaned over Jane’s shoulder and the air smelled of mint originating from Shruthi’s hair. He straightened out and the smell was less overwhelming from the distance he put himself from both girls. He didn’t intend to be late to detention today, but Albus Dumbledore had called a sudden staff meeting to check on preparations to the school ahead of the tournament.

Both girls were uncharacteristically silent, but Shruthi kept looking at his sleeve. He looked down and then looked back up at her not understanding her sudden interest. It was folded over and tucked in the way he preferred since it was unobstructive to when he was brewing potions. Shruthi toyed with the edge of her right robe sleeve and rolled it up, which was something he had noted for the last two weeks. He remembered how annoying it was for her to continue to play around with her sleeve length all throughout her detentions with him. Her habit was even taken up by Jane Becker, but she didn’t repeat it obsessively like her friend. “What is it?”

“Your history, sir,” Shruthi replied curtly, and it dawned on him. He took one small step forward and pushed both girls into the classroom and slammed the door behind him.

His wand was in his hands and pointed at Shruthi’s throat, and Jane watched helplessly from the side. Jane never had found her head of house as intimidating as he thought he was but right now when he looked furious enough to kill, she felt that fear that everyone spoke of in hushed whispers around the school. His crooked, yellow teeth were barred as his thin lips were pulled into a snarl. His eyes looked soulless in the dim candlelight and his skin had a stretched look that gave him a revived from the dead quality. He looked every bit monstrous and evil that Shruthi had mentioned he was in the books to her. “What do you know about that?” He spoke in low tone that was oozing a threat.

Jane prayed that her friend had the sense to not stir the professor any further, “We can’t say it in words, we’ve been trying for weeks now. Put down your wand and we’ll do our best to explain it to you,” Shruthi said as calmly as she could manage but her voice cracked once as the wand was pressed further into the hollow of her neck. Snape’s eyes squinted in disbelief, “We are on the same side, we want the same thing. We are trying to tell you that.”

Snape snapped at Jane, his eyes never prying from Shruthi, “If you can’t say it, write it then. There’s a quill on my table.”

“No, we tried that too,” Shruthi interrupted. “Remember when you tried to confiscate that piece of parchment I was passing to Hannah- no Susie – no, I don’t know, one of them last Tuesday?” She should’ve felt a little embarrassed about not knowing the girls that she follows around for most of the day, but it was not the time.

“There was nothing on that parchment,” Snape said a vein of ire throbbing at his forehead. “I thought you were being clever with me.” He remembered snatching it away from the girl’s hand with a smug expression on his face, only for it melt away when he saw nothing written on it. It irritated him so much that he made Shruthi scrub the second-year potion floors on her hands and knees instead of mopping it.

“I wrote things on there; I wasn’t being clever. I knew you would try to read it in front of the class so I tried writing the things I- we can’t say to you,” Shruthi swallowed thickly, and used her index finger to lower the wand tip but it wasn’t budging. “We have an idea. Are you familiar with charades?”

“I am,” he answered with a jutting of his jaw. Jane brightened momentarily but still knew that the situation was delicate. She made a movement with her hands firstly with her palms pressed together and then opening out to prayer several times. “A book?” Jane nodded, and then pointed to him. “About me?” Like, Shruthi and her hand practiced several times over she rolled her index fingers quickly. “And…” Jane drew a lightening shape on her forehead and made circles with her fingers and pressed them over her eyes. “Harry Potter?”

Snape groaned, “Of course there are books about me and Potter. I am well respected in the field of potions being the youngest master of potions in Europe, and Potter is well, quite a celebrity himself.” His disgust rolled off his tongue at the mention of Harry Potter when he wasn’t forced to see the boy daily in his classroom. It irritated him greatly that there were far more books dedicated to Harry Potter’s heroics as an infant rather than Snape’s academic achievements. People always love the fantastical when it was all just dumb luck.

Jane shook her head no and pointed to herself. “There are books about you,” Snape in a bored tone. Jane shook her head no, but it was Shruthi that carried the point. She pointed to Snape’s wand and crossed her index fingers. “No wand… no magic?” Shruthi pointed to herself. “Books about Muggles. Yes, there’s quite a few-“ She made a furious writing motion in the air. “Books written by Muggles?” Both girls pointed to him. “Books written by Muggles about me and Harry Potter?”

“Yes, yes!” Jane cheered, knocking Snape’s wand from her friend throat, and pulling her close to her side. Snape looked deep in thought, he found that to be an impossible statement since he didn’t have any presence in the Muggle world since he turned eighteen. He made sure that his identity was wiped from any Muggle systems since he didn’t want the legal trouble of maintaining one while living as a wizard. He’s seen the difficulties that Lucius Malfoy faced when he wanted to conduct business with the Muggles. The only Muggle connection he has is his father’s home that was currently in name of one of Lucius’ identities that he spent his summers living in. His moment of reminiscence was foiled as he looked at the two sheepish witches in front of him, he felt Jane tug at his robe sleeve as they both walked towards the door.

“And where do you think you two are going?” Both girls froze on the spot with a subtle Freezing charm on the bottom of their shoes. “You still have detention with me, and this was a very poor distraction.”

“He doesn’t believe us,” Jane mumbled to Shruthi.

“Hang on, we can’t give up now,” Shruthi replied with renewed conviction. She rubbed at the redness on her throat, and thanked her complexion that Snape’s abuse never showed. “If you come to the bookshop with us, you’ll see we aren’t lying. Please, sir, you must believe us, you’re the only one that can help.” Snape raised a single eyebrow at the sight, he hadn’t heard both girls plead before. Most students learned to grovel after a single interaction, but not these two. They’ve held firm till now, and they looked earnest from a quick glimpse into their unprotected minds.

“I’ll go to the bookshop, and you will stay right here and start with washing those cauldrons,” he sneered. He was surprised at himself for potentially falling for a youthful ruse, he had enough of them coming from those twin Weasleys. He remembered how Jane had tried to convince him to go to the bookshop with her during one of their daily outings to the Muggle town and he had brushed her off with a warning to not waste his money on frivolous hobbies. The Hogwarts library had a vast collection of Muggle books when the student population of Muggleborns exponentially grew after Albus Dumbledore was elected headmaster. He remembered the first book bought was the bible, and the second being some sort of stupid superhero comic.

Jane and Shruthi were elbows deep in the murky sink water scrubbing away at the pewter, copper, and gold cauldrons with a metal scourger when the iron door of the classroom swung open. Severus Snape looked bewildered and was breathing heavily as he dumped eight books onto the last benches of the classroom. The two girls wiped their hands dry on their robes and hurried over to the man, who looked like he was on the verge of an apology but was too shocked for one. His left hand rested on the dark blue cover art of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

He left the room abruptly, entering the classroom down the hall dedicated to his N.E.W.T.s. students. Long strides took him towards the wooden cupboard near his desk where he hurriedly dug through the piles of potion textbooks that were left by students in the past until he came across his. Books clattered to the ground as he continued to dig through, mentally reminding himself that he should have the girls organise this later. He returned to the pair, who still had not said a single word and opened the cover to read his cursive handwriting from his youth.

The last statement unsettled Jane Becker as she didn’t want to help the main villain from the Harry Potter franchise return but Snape had promised that he would advocate on their behalf to Dumbledore to let them return to Australia to finish their magical education. At this very moment, it seemed like a fair price to pay in turn for getting out of this hellhole...

The castle was abuzz with the preparations for the Samhein festivities and the arrival of their foreign guests. Two feasts in two days drove the house elves into madness as the have been slaving away for the week to decorate and cook. The Tri-Wizard tournament has been banned across all three schools since 1792, and it was no small feat of the Ministry of Magic to not only re-instate it but also host its return at Hogwarts. The last Hogwarts champion before the ban was Armando Dippet, Albus Dumbledore’s predecessor as Headmaster. His portrait has been carefully moved from the tower of headmaster’s study to hang in the Great Hall behind Dumbledore’s seat to inspire the students of Hogwarts. Any curious lookers were roped into an hours-long regale of his own tournament, news of which spread quickly throughout Hogwarts and students were wary to walk too close to the teacher’s table.

He was disappointed that the committee had instated an age requirement of seventeen for potential champions. The youngest ever champion had just turned thirteen during the tournament itself and what a grand story they were. Armando always loved the story of a proper underdog, and he was starved for gossip now being trapped in the frames of a portrait. No matter how proper a person was during the life, when painted, they’re forced to watch the living. And the living for the most part, are very boring. He should thank the Harry Potter boy for at least giving the portraits around the school something to chatter about.

Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts had the portraits discussing the murder of his defence against the dark arts professor. “He’s just a child, are we to believe that he could kill ‘quivering’ Quirinus?” Dilys Derwent scolded the rest of the portraits in the study.

Armando quite liked Quirinus Quirrell, it was one of the better hires by Dumbledore. Quirrell was a scholar at heart, reminding him of himself. It was unfortunate that he was corrupted by the dark arts, but he found that was a common issue with D.A.D.A. professors. Verily, it doth seem a hazard inherent to one's vocation, he laughed to himself.

“Dilys, this isn’t any ordinary child. He did slay the Dark Lord when he was in the crib,” Phineas Nigellus Black grumbled as he always did. Out of all the headteachers at Hogwarts, Phineas Black was always the one who complained the most about his job. At this point, the years that he’s spent complaining have outnumber the years he’s spent in the position.

The second year was the unpleasant incident with the Chamber of Secrets. A skeleton in his own closet, and one he never expected to be unearthed. Armando vehemently tried to dissuade Dumbledore from hiring the clumsy half-giant Hagrid, but the man was convinced that the grounds keeper wasn’t the true heir of Slytherin. Armando had to agree that Hagrid simply did not fit the character of an heir to Slytherin house in retrospect, but the Ministry was demanding answers and the pressure had gotten to him. It was one his more regrettable memories during his three hundred- and fifty-five-years of living.

The year before in comparison to the others was a quiet year for Armando Dippet. Albus Dumbledore did not ask for his council as much. It disappointed him as he helped with the hiding of the philosopher’s stone within Hogwarts walls and advised the shutdown of the school the year following. He heard rumours from that the Gryffindor portrait had been attacked by some Azkaban escapee, but even that sounded too far fetched to his ears. He recalled reading in the Daily Prophet of his time when Azkaban Island was turned into a prisoner for the foulest of witches and wizards after the Ministry cells grew too full. He visited only once in his life and agreed silently it was the perfect place to house dark arts practitioners.

He was relieved that he no longer hung next to Phineas Nigellus Black. The Black family were known dark arts enthusiasts, and he was sure that Phineas was no different from the rest of his family. Though it was not fair to judge a man by his family. He’d had the pleasure of meeting Phineas’ great-great-great-grandson Sirius Orion Black. That boy and his friend, James Fleamont Potter were regularly brought to Albus Dumbledore for punishment, though both boys were never reprimanded harshly. Armando found them quite the endearing pair, and they always spoke to him while in the office. Methinks Sirius be the dark lamb of the Black kin, or perchance the pale lamb?, Armando mused. He mourned the loss of James when he found out that his son would be attending the school.

The entire school had to the front of the school on the night of the 30^th of October 1994 (which was adjusted for Jane and Shruthi to the 30^th of October 2019). Inside the Great Hall, the four house tables had been sanded down and revarnished for the incoming visitors. Emerald trimmed with silver, ruby trimmed with gold, gold trimmed with black and navy blue trimmed with silver table runners spanned from end to end. Metal candelabras that complemented each house lined the centre, sitting every twenty chairs apart. It had been agreed upon that Dumstraung would be sitting with Slytherin house and Beauxbatons with Ravenclaw, so special attention had been paid to food on those two tables. Dishes from France and Bulgaria had been dispersed across the hall, for the guests to have a slice of home and for the residents of Hogwarts to begin their international relations. Shining tureens that onion soup sat next to glass ovular serving platters of stuffed grape leaves.

The prefects of Hufflepuff had spent the afternoon making sure every Hufflepuff had polished their shoes and had pressed their robes. After which, they all practiced the Hogwarts song since Dumbledore had passed the message along to the heads of houses that the students were expected to sing it tonight. Cedric Diggory made them practice it until their throats were sore, and the first years began complaining of boredom. Shruthi was grateful for the extra practice since it gave her time to learn the words.

Similar preparations were made in Slytherin house, and Jane found out that most of her house spoke French. Apparently, it was common for Pureblood children to learn English, Latin and French before attending Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy had spent the afternoon boasting his French skills and telling his posse of followers how the Malfoy family hailed from eastern ranges of France and immigrated to Scotland with William the Conqueror. Jane watched as Pansy lapped up each word that spilled from Malfoy’s lips and swooned when he recited French poetry. Jane had studied a year or two of French in high school, but she recalled absolutely nothing of what she learned after not needing to use the language.

The four houses were corralled on the front lawn and the teachers had changed to their most formal of robes. The Ministry delegates will be arriving once the feast had started since the journey from London, where the Ministry is situated, to Hogwarts takes a full day of travel on the Hogwarts Express. The Hogwarts Express only departs from King’s Cross station at eleven sharp in the morning and returns to London as a night-time journey. The students of Hogwarts had expected the students of two European wizarding schools to arrive by the same train they take twice a year, but there were hushed whispers of other methods of magical transport.

“I think they’ll fly on broomsticks, it’s not very far to France from here,” Hannah proposed to Susie in a voice loud enough that caused the prefect nearby to shush her after.

“I wouldn’t want to fly that distance, they’ll probably just portkey,” Susie grimaced as she imagined what it would be like flying across the sea on a branch of wood. Long distance broomsticks did exist but fell out of favour when easier magical transportation methods were invented. International portkeys were rare to be made and approved by the two governments sharing them, but the Tri-Wizard tournament would important enough to approve one. “They did that for the quidditch world cup.”

“What do you think, Shruthi? Did you come here by portkey?” Hannah bounced from her left foot to her right and then back again.

“Uh, maybe they’ll sail?” Shruthi answered in an uncertain voice. She already knew how the two schools would arrive. She was glad when the most insufferable boy of Hufflepuff chimed in with his commentary to distract Hannah.

“Sail!” Ernie MacMillian scoffed, “That’s stupid, they wouldn’t sail. I think Durmstrang will ride dragons. I hear there is a dragon sanctuary in Romania.” Shruthi shrugged with mostly with left shoulder in acceptance to Ernie’s hypothesis. If she hadn’t already known the answer, Ernie’s made a lot of sense. It would have tied in better with the first round of the tournament as well, but maybe it would’ve given the Durmstrang champion too much of an advantage.

The clear sunsetting sky suddenly broke out in sudden ear-splitting thunder and every head turned skywards. Exclamations of surprise at the sudden change in weather turned into cheers as a dozen house sized palmino pegasuses called Abraxans emerged beating down the wind with their wings and hooves. They pulled a fairytale castle like carriage behind them, and with her eyes shielded from the sun with her hand, Shruthi could make out the pointy blue hats adorned on the heads sticking out of the various windows. She held tightly onto her own black witch’s hat as they landed roughly onto the manicured grass. Grass and dirt were tossed into the air as the main door to the carriage swung open for Beauxbatons’ headmistress, Madame Olympe Maxime.

Jane was close enough to hear the conversation between the blue coloured witch and Dumbledore who was wearing a technicoloured robe embroidered with a snake, lion, honey badger and eagle along the hem. Madame Maxime spoke with a thick French accent and demanded that the flying horses have specialty care when Hagrid numbly complied with a star-struck look on his wide face.

A more than a half-dozen Beauxbatons students were exiting down the glass steps their carriage as the crow’s nest of Durmstrang’s mighty ship broke the still barrier of the Great Lake. Colin Creevy almost dropped his camera as he raced to take a picture of the Bulgarian sailing ship. Shouldn’t Beauxbatons have sailed and Durmstrang have flown considering their geography?, Shruthi wondered, Riding in on a back of a dragon would’ve been really cool. Four great black coloured sails unfurled from their masts, raining down water over the occupants emerging from the cabins underneath to the deck. They were decorated with the green, yellow and red ominous emblem of the institute of magical study. The ship glided to the very edge of the lake, before lowering its massive gang plank to disembark its occupants.

“Is that Victor Krum?” Ron whispered in pure excitement as a drenched boy in furs emerged last accompanied by Igor Karkaroff, the Death Eater deserter turned headmaster. It took them some time to hike up the hill from the shoreline to join everyone. A few other wizards nearby caught wind and the students from Beauxbatons were quickly forgotten as the quidditch celebrity joined the fray. Dumbledore quickly greeted the man who looked like his younger brother. He had Dumbledore’s blue eyes but unlike the Hogwarts headmaster, they did not twinkle in amusem*nt.

The Slytherins quickly accepted their new Durmstrang buddies, and Draco moved to a position to be right next to Krum so he could begin schmoozing the international quidditch star. The blond immediately began inquiring into the older boy’s journey to their school which he only received grunts as answers. Snape reluctantly walked in time with Karkaroff, trading only the necessary small talk about the trip to Hogwarts. Flitwick on the other hand forced Madame Maxime to constantly bend down as he began introducing the various features of the castle to his guest. The Gryffindors did their best to tail behind the two houses but for the first time since Harry Potter’s arrival were sidelined just like the Hufflepuffs.

“Do you think we’ll see any of them in our classes?” Hannah puzzled innocently, glancing at the pretty uniforms that the Beauxbatons students wore. Shruthi kept silent, they wouldn’t be joining us for whatever reason and taking their classes in their transportation. She always thought that was strange considering they’ve come all this way for the competition, why wouldn’t they take classes at Hogwarts as well? Perhaps their curriculums were different but surely there was some international standard for what needs to be taught to a magician? And even if they were to join Hogwarts classes, they would’ve only brought students that met the age requirement so it would only be the N.E.W.T.s. students that get to see them.

“I hope we see them in quidditch,” Ernie burst into the conversation with an awe-struck look on his face. “I want to see Krum do the Wronski Feint again!” He almost tripped over a loose bit of pavement as the entire school headed towards the Great Hall for the feast. Justin and Zacharias chimed in with other quidditch moves from the recent world cup, which quickly devolved into an all-out debate on whether or not Krum should have caught the snitch when he did.

“I don’t think they’re allowed to,” Susan chewed on her bottom lip nervously as they reached the hall. “I heard from my aunty that the Ministry is really concerned about the security for the tournament considering the stuff that happened at the world cup. She said that the whole tournament almost got cancelled because of it… I wasn’t supposed to anyone that.” Ernie looked crestfallen at the news, and Shruthi tried to recall why her roommate would know sensitive government information (and failed to remember).

Chapter 3: Summoning Courage

Chapter Text

Some potential champions took pleasure in publicly announcing their addition to the flaming wooden charred goblet. They would waltz up to the front of the Great Hall during a mealtime with their friends hooting and cheering behind them as they put their name into the flames. The small scroll of folded up parchment would immediately blacken and curl, and blue sparks would shoot up from the unknown depths to congratulate the brave (or foolish, depending on your opinion) volunteer.

Others were pushed into the ring by well-meaning companions and through peer pressure, would hurriedly scribble down their name and toss it into the fire before they could change their minds. Perhaps, they were the brightest of their year with the most potential in Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts. Whatever they excelled in, they weren’t the flashy ones to immediately put themselves in a tournament banned reservation. Maybe it was the long history of death in the tournament that put them off. Or it could’ve been they’re own insecurities about if they were skilled enough witches or wizards to enter in the first place. These were the sort of students who would get a howler from their parents in the following days to ground them for the rest of their lives.

The final sort of wannabee Tri-Wizard Tournament champions were the ones who did so secret. They would tell none of their friends or family due to embarrassment that they didn’t think they were good enough for the competition, or because no one else believed in them. These were the volunteers that intrigued Armando Dippet the most. He watched an imperceptible shadow approached the cup and stood just outside the magical ring decorating the ground below the pedestal. The shadow hesitated and Dippet thought they would lose their nerve and return to wherever they came from, be it Hogwarts, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang accommodations. They be not the first, nor shall they be the last.

He watched a foot enter the inside of the magical ward and then a small, pale hand extend his wand to touch the lip of the cup. Dippet was confused, what did the witch or wizard intend to do with their wand? They clearly were old enough to enter the tournament since they passed through the barrier. They didn’t have to bewitch the cup or the tens of other things that he’s seen the jealous underage cohort attempt to skirt the requirements. He found it amusing when he saw two redheaded twins use an Aging potion to fool the protections. The cup rattled on the Grecian stone pillar that it was seated on, shooting aggressive dark blue and icy coloured sparks into the air of the empty Great Hall.

Dippet’s bushy eyebrows knitted together in suspicion, “Hark! What dost thou think thou art about?” The cup calmed but the shadow did not, tossing their name into settled flames before they broke out into a sprint away from it as if the fire would follow them. Dippet considered rousing the attention of the headmaster, but he was trapped in the Great Hall with no other portrait nearby to carry the message. By the time it was the morning, Armando Dippet had forgotten all about the strangeness from the night before.

*

Fleur Delacour was a slight witch with an ethereal appearance that she despised to possess. Her grandmother on her mother’s side, the side of the family she inherited her looks from, always praised her beauty. She used to like how her grandmother would brush her gold-spun hair and pinch her naturally blushed cheeks. She used to like her appearance until she started noticing the stares, the lingering looks, the envy-green eyes. And the older she grew, the worse the judgement became. She could withstand the jealousy from the women. She could understand the desire to be beautiful without work. It was only natural to desire beauty without work. But Fleur found it harder to bear the men.

At first, she was kind and would let herself be inconvenienced by their flirtation. She would listen to them make impossible promises and fools out themselves. But there was always a point where she needed to excuse herself and that’s when the fools turn on her. The worst had followed her home during the summer break she turned fifteen, and remained waiting outside until her father chased him away. She stayed up that night, thinking about what it would’ve been like to point a wand at that Muggle man and see the realisation on his face that he was harassing a witch and not a normal woman. She recounted every single curse and hex she would’ve liked to put on the man. There were a few that were only available to her people that her grandmother once showed her. A curse that would cripple a man’s use of his genitalia until he learned to control his lust.

Experiences like those made her the guarded person she was today. Smiles were reserved for family and trusted friends, not the public. After arriving at Hogwarts, she was grateful that Madame Maxime had insisted private lessons for the Beaxbatons instead of joining their year group at Hogwarts. She understood that some of her classmates despised the preferential treatment that their big-boned headmistress had given her, but the Madame had fiercely dismissed that sort of talk. Her classmates had grown immune to her and her younger sister, Gabriel’s, natural radiance, but the students of Hogwarts have not.

She expected her name to be pulled out from the Goblet, and with otherworldly grace rose from her dining chair at Ravenclaw house. She held her breath for the entire short walk that was to front of the Great Hall, which helped her ignore the wolf-whistles and rampant applause from the people she was supposed to call her hosts. One blue slipper in front of the other, until she reached Madame Maxime who was standing next to Dumbledore. A large warm hand wrapped around her waist,
"Congratulations, Fleur. You will make Beaxbatons proud,” she praised in French.

She thanked her headmistress for her kind words and vowed to end the competition with people respecting more than just her looks. If it wasn’t purely for her, it would be for Gabriel.

“She's a bit of a looker,” Draco Malfoy asserted sleazily to his group of mates as he took in the newly appointed Beaxbatons’ champion. Crabbe and Goyle snigg*red like all good henchmen and Blaise Zabini gave a cursory glance from his plate to the front of the hall.

“You’re disgusting, Dray,” Blaise drawled in boredom. “And you just like witches who look like you.” Draco glared at his best friend’s assessment. No matter how much Draco complained, he did appreciate his friend’s earnestness. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle weren’t the most intellectual companions, but he kept them around since their families were close to his. Zabini wasn’t always a friend, he was a second choice when Draco found out that Theodore Nott Jr. was disinterested as Potter when it came to his friendship. He approached Zabini the very next morning and he wore down the handsome Italian boy. Now they were close enough to alternate summer and winter holidays between their homes. Draco preferred to spend Christmases at Zabini’s seaside mansion, and summers at his own humble home.

“I do not,” Draco argued reflexively. “Don’t tell me that you aren’t affect by it.” His pale cheeks were tinged a light pink until he saw other Slytherins apart from Blaise being affected by Fleur’s magnetic presence. Clearly his friend didn’t share the same impeccable taste he had, but he understood not everyone grew up with his eye for curation. He was sure that his father would agree with his taste in witches. He knew he would considering how beautiful his mother was.

“Some of us practice self-restraint,” Blaise cut into his piece of flaky white fish. He knew that Draco was seconds away from throwing another not-so-witty one-liner about being the best at self-restraint. Blaise always wondered how Draco didn’t possess even a crumb of self-reflection when he spent hours in front of the bathroom mirror. “Veelas aren’t that special.” Blaise rolled his austere brown eyes.

Unlike Fleur, Victor Krum did not expect his name to be called from the goblet. He almost fell out of his chair due to his clumsiness when his dinner was interrupted by his Durmstrang counterparts began their metrical banging on the wooden table – bang, bang, bang, bang – to give him courage for his walk up. It was a custom from Durmstrang that he didn’t think would ever happen to him. He shuffled awkwardly to the beat to the front of the hall, his fur-lined boots dragging against the stones until he met Igor’s glacial blue eyes as his smile never quite reached them. “Don’t disappoint me again, Krum.” His headmaster placed a hand on his coat jacket shoulder and squeezed rougher than was friendly.

“Yes, sir.” Victor tried to keep his face frozen into a focused look to keep his real emotions from surfacing. He had always feared failure – failing his country, failing his family and right now, failing his school. He couldn’t bear to meet the eyes of his fellows on the Slytherin table and looked towards the opposite direction of the hall.

Inquisitive doe-like brown eyes that flicked between him and the red-headed boy sitting next to her. She was small, but most people were small in comparison to him. She spoke quickly and he wished she could hear what she sounded like. She had a dark complexion, and her frizzy hair was darker than that. The messy curls shook with each one of her animated movements as she talked with her hands. Krum could understand that they were discussing him, but he wasn’t anxious that they were speaking critically. The boy was smiling, in the way he’s seen fans do so. They all wear this awkward toothy grin like their tongue is too heavy for their mouth. He liked the way she looked at him. An exasperated look which came from quidditch watchers that had been forced to come along.

Hermione had finally noticed that the youngest world-class seeker in history had noticed her stares and looked away in embarrassment. Krum decided in that moment that he’d win the tournament for her which was a thought that was more nerve-wracking than playing Ireland in the finals. He’s never promised a win to a witch before, but he felt in a chivalrous mood due to the tournament.

Only a dozen people from Hogwarts had put their name into the goblet, but it felt like the entire school had held its breath for announcement of their champion. A scroll of neatly folded white parchment was spat out by the cup into Dumbledore’s outstretched hand. He nimbly unfolded the paper that had been folded three times over to read the Cedric Diggory’s name. The entirety of Hufflepuff clambered onto their feet, and some onto their benches and tables to congratulate the Hogwarts champion. There was a silent but unanimous agreement that it was high time for Hufflepuff to be acknowledged. Even before Harry Potter’s arrival to the school, Hufflepuff had always been the house that was forgotten about or ignored. Many half-blood or Pureblood students would hope for any house but Hufflepuff when they sat underneath the omniscient sorting hat.

Cedric Diggory was not one of those Purebloods. The Diggory’s had a long family history in Hufflepuff house, with his father and mother both being students of the honey badger house when they attended. He was proud to be another Diggory clothed in gold and black. And now he was the first to be in the Tri-Wizard tournament! He shook Dumbledore’s hand in a firm grip and gave the Great Hall his best winning smile. He knew that this would be the memory he’d use for casting the Patronus charm in the foreseeable future (eventually he wanted to replace it with graduation, becoming the seeker on the national quidditch team or his marriage to Cho Chang) and wanted to memorise every single detail. The honey badger printed on Dumbledore’s robes had woven itself from the other three house representatives, and now sat lazily upon his shoulder, licking at its sharp claws. Cedric thought that the Hufflepuff banners in the hall looked larger and more animated than usual, but it could be the light-headedness he was feeling from being chosen to represent his entire school.

He could already imagine the look on his dad’s face tomorrow morning when he would look at the headline on the Prophet to see his son plastered on the front-page photograph. He searched for the same proud smiles across the faces in front of him and was only greeted with the looks of horrification and confusion. He turned to his right to see what had taken everyone’s attention away from him to see that another scroll had been thrown from the mouth of the cup and floated lackadaisically down to land just in front of Dumbledore’s feet. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll get it,” he offered helpfully, and then he bent down to retrieve the scroll.

“Thank you, Cedric,” Dumbledore beamed at the young boy. Dumbledore was just as shocked at the sight of the fourth scroll like everyone else in the hall, and hesitantly unfurled it. He wasn’t ready to read the out the name he already knew would be printed there. He held back from reading it out loud to see if the note was forged in some way, but it was written in the same chicken-scratch handwriting style that Harry Potter was known for. It even had the signature drops of inks soaking the bottom-right edge of the strip that had been smudged by his hand.

He was enticed to lie to the entire school, gathered Ministry officials, and his honoured foreign guests and to tear the paper up before anyone else could see what was written. However, the Goblet of Fire is bound by ancient magic and once a name is pulled from it, the competitor must participate in the tournament until the end or their death. This was magic that was even unknown to the Grand Sorcerer decorated with the Order of Merlin, First Class, and possibly only studied by the enigmatic Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries.

He pushed his glasses up his nose and wiped the sweat collecting on it with the sleeve of his robes before reading out the name on the slip of paper with a put on calm voice.

Operation: Donator Sanguinis had just successfully launched with every step that Harry Potter took towards the front. The terrible name was provided by Barty Crouch Jr. and it had stuck that way as no one else cared to rename it. The Polyjuiced Barty Crouch ignored the presence of his decade long kidnapper that was standing frowning next to Albus Dumbledore as he clunked speedily towards the boy. He needed to play his part well as a paranoid ex-auror who would intervene in this situation and advise Dumbledore that the tournament is being used as a method to target the Boy Who Lived.

And just like the books he had spent the entire day reading (he had transfigured the cover to be an old edition of the Quibbler), his voice is washed away as the two other headteachers argued that it was unfair to have a second Hogwarts champion in the tournament and demanded that the cup pick one from each of their schools to even the playing field. Either it was age or shock that made Dumbledore stammer an apology, and his father, Barty Crouch Snr. Interfere with an explanation as why the tournament couldn’t be altered now. Harry Potter was now magically bound to participate whether the boy wanted to and the cup would bear no other names.

He would’ve felt bad for the boy if he wasn’t in his interest to have him participate in the tournament. His magical prosthetic eye was firmly glued on his Weasley friend who was turning a bright shade of scarlet. He could see the way his fists were balled underneath the table as his witch friend was nattering on about something with a worried look on her face. It would be only a matter of time before jealousy drove a wedge between them, which would allow him to sweep in and mentor Harry into winning the tournament.

*

“Miss Patel,” Barty Crouch Jr. addressed her at the end of class, signalling that he wanted her to stay behind. A week had passed since the choosing of the champions and all everyone could talk about was how Harry Potter had gotten himself into the tournament. Apparently, Ron Weasley wasn’t the only person at the school who thought that he had done so for attention. Ernie Macmillan had spent the entire period telling anyone who would listen that Potter couldn’t stand the spotlight being on someone who wasn’t him, and that the Hufflepuffs should rally behind the true Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory. He hadn’t seemed to have learned from his experience with prematurely jumping on the Heir of Slytherin bandwagon.

Hannah and Susan looked apologetically at Shruthi. First it was Severus Snape, and now it was Professor Moody that she was in trouble with. As much as they were empathetic to the new Hufflepuff girl, they were just as glad that she was drawing attention from everyone else. Shruthi quietly grumbled as she packed away her things from her Defence Against the Dark Arts revision lesson on Red Caps. Barty had spent the lesson regaling a particularly brutal battle from the previous wizarding war in which a few of his colleagues (not sure if he was talking about the Death Eaters or the Order) which both sides had used blood curses. The soil had been soaked for days, providing the perfect habitat for these dwarf-like beasts to mate in. Most students left the classroom that day feeling queasy since it was the story of how ‘Mad Eye’ Moody had lost his leg. Their appetite lost for lunch.

He waited till every other student had left the classroom with him shouting out a reminder about ‘Constant Vigilance!’ before he closed to the door behind the trailing Ravenclaw. “Don’t you have a class after this?” Shruthi asked as she fidgeted with her wand.

“Seventh years. I’ve told them to head to the forbidden forest to go hide. If I can’t find them by the end of the period, they pass the class.” Shruthi was never quite sure if Barty was joking or being serious, and his face being obscured by the potion made it worse since anything that came out of his torn mouth sounded genuine. His good brown eye narrowed, “If they can’t survive in the forbidden forest for an hour or two by themselves, they aren’t cut out for being an auror anyway.”

“Right… what do you want with me then?”

“Always to the point, Patel. Maybe I just I wanted to spend time with you?” Shruthi stared down her professor until he broke wide smile and laughed freely. His laugh – Moody’s laugh, had a barking quality that carried around the classroom. The gravelly nature of his voice had its edges smoothened during laughter. She imagined it would’ve been the sort of laughter that lit up the serious nature of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and even better heard at the pub after a long day or dangerous mission. “Fine… I need your help.” Another moment passed until Shruthi realised he wasn’t pulling her leg and wanted her opinion on something.

He needs my help - why? She looked behind her to make sure the door was closed and leaned over her desk with her palms backwards and her fingers curling over the edge of it. “Is this about _{operation: sanguinis}?” Barty smirked since his name had stuck.

“Potentially. And you might as well say the full name if you’re going to use it,” He walked around the desk and pulled out Shruthi’s chair taking a seat in it. He found it very hard to stand and walk for long periods of time. When he had asked the real Moody behind the choice of prosthetic, the man said the pain would keep his alert but all it made Barty was miserable. “I’ve gotten contact with some of my old friends in the auror office, and they said they could bend some rules with opening the Lestrange family vaults.”

Shruthi nodded along politely to Barty’s rant about the archaic bureaucracy at the Ministry, and how hard it was to arrange anything at Gringotts due to the goblins. He blamed his father would increasing these red lines when he was the head of the auror office during the war. There was a great public fear that the Death Eaters had infiltrated high levels of the Ministry, and it forced every department to change their security systems to become as convoluted as possible.

“As soon they get back with an affirmative, I’ll be going to get the ring and the locket too. I just need to arrange an excuse to head down to London. I was thinking about telling Dumbledore that I needed to get a few things from Moody’s house for some demonstrations.”

Shruthi had zoned out at some point during Barty’s explanation about how opening the Gringotts vault by the auror office required a worker from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures who could speak Gobbledegook to translate between the two institutions. Goblins are very clever magical creatures, and the ones that work at Gringotts are all very much capable of speaking English however, they are also extremely prideful. Wherever they can get away with it, they will force a wizard to go through as much trouble as possible to access their own money.

“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” Shruthi stammered. “You’ve always been a ‘going beyond the call of duty’ sort of teacher, I’m sure he’d believe it. Maybe say you’re extra worried since about Harry Potter and the tournament. Maybe you think Durmstrang is behind it or something like that.”

Barty hummed which came out as a grumble from his chest. “I like that. For a second, I was worried you weren’t listening to a word I was saying.”

Shruthi felt her cheeks grow warm and her head bobbled as she spoke, “No, no, I was listening. I would love to know more about the difference in the cadence of formal and casual Gobbledegook. I think you described it as ‘beating a lump of hot iron’ verses ‘an uncoordinated jig.’”

“I’ll hold you to that, Shruthi. I think I’ll have to steal you and his tea set away from Severus for a day. I’m a little rusty on my Gobbledegook, it would be a good refresher for me to teach it someone.”

Shruthi’s face fell a little in the realisation that she had just trapped herself with Barty Crouch Jr. for an afternoon on a language that she was not interested in learning. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know that Moody spoke it.”

“He doesn’t but my father spoke over two hundred languages, and I inherited his skill,” Barty winked with his enchanted eye. “Did you know that historically, wizards thought that house elves used to speak a dialect of Gobbledegook, but it was actually it was a simplified version of the elvish tongue? However, over time and domestication, it has been lost and they speak whatever language their owners do.”

“That’s great… I have class soon…”

“Ah, yes,” Barty rolled up one of his sleeves to read the time. He had kept her here longer than necessary, but he was starved for human company after his imprisonment. Especially company that knew his real identity. The only being that spoke to him regularly was Winky the house elf, but house elves make poor conversational partners. Winky was a sweet elf who would accept anything that Barty spoke to her about with subservient phrase, ‘Oh, Master Crouch is so clever!’ She’d say it with such enthusiasm that Barty couldn’t even punish her for being disingenuous or condescending. “I called you here because I needed help opening up the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Why do you want to go there?” Shruthi’s head jerked to the left in confusion.

“For the diary, I know it was destroyed but I want to have a look at it regardless.” Barty was more knowledgeable than most on Dark objects and artifacts due to his own curiosities and his father’s work history. Barty Crouch Snr. would always bring work back to the dining table, and before he knew of his son’s allegiances talk in great lengths about the process of properly disposing and destroying said objects. Barty had never heard of horcruxes until recently and spent every free minute he had investigating them. Inspecting a destroyed one would give him greater insight on how to protect the other ones from the same fate.

“Can’t you just hiss at the tap? Surely, you’ve heard baby Voldemort speak to Nagini.” Barty’s left nostril (the one remaining) flared at the sound of his Dark Lord’s name, but it was more in amusem*nt at the description of the man rather than anger at the casualness of his name.

“I tried that. It didn’t work.” He first assumed that he had spoken the language incorrectly as parseltongue was a secretive language that was passed down orally in the Gaunt family line. Barty scoured the school library for any written sources, but he couldn’t find any, forcing him to approach Severus Snape for help. Together they rewatched a few memories of meetings from the when the Death Eaters were at their height until they got the inflections correct. Still the faucet mechanism didn’t move which led him to believe it could only be opened by an heir. “I need you to convince Harry to take you down to the chamber and retrieve the diary for me.”

Shruthi reluctantly agreed since her friend’s life was on the line, though she wasn’t sure how she could go about what she signed up for. “You’ll figure it out,” Barty jested cheerfully as he ushered her out of the classroom and escorted her down to greenhouses.

*

Hermione Granger awoke one morning with the worst headache she had experienced in her entire life. It was worse than the migraines she experiences during the Hogwarts exam season. It was worse than the emotional turmoil she had when she was forced to leave Ron behind after he was injured playing chess and Harry had asked her to solve the riddle in her first year at Hogwarts. The pain had wrapped around her entire head and crawled down her spine and curled around her lower back and legs. Her entire face felt raw and sensitive when she had forced her sleep crusted eyes open. She carefully brought a finger to her face and felt several swellings along her usually smooth cheek. She never suffered from acne, that was always something that Ron monopolised between the three of them.

She heard coughing from the bed beside her. She rolled to her side to see her dormmate, Lavender Brown weakly open her bed curtains. Her entire face was covered with purple pustules. “Oh my gosh, Lavender! Are you okay?” Parvati Patil screamed in horror. Her own face had a few of the same symptoms dotting her vertically dimpled chin.

Lavender tried to reply which sent her into a coughing fit. Hermione reached over to the decanter on her bedside table and poured the pale, shaking girl a glass. She drank it in small agonising swallows as tears formed on the outside corners of her milky coloured eyes. “What are these?” Parvati’s sharp voice had woken the last of the sleeping girls in the room. Parvati was engrossed by her appearance in floor-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room that had the edges decorated by magical photographs of the girls in the room. She pressed on the throbbing, grape-like projection on her face and winced.

“I wouldn’t recommend you do that, it might irritate the pustules,” Hermione advised.

Parvati made a disgusted face, “Ew, what are they? Hermione?”

“I… don’t know,” Hermione admitted in a quiet voice, her hands balling the fabric of her nightgown. She was disappointed in herself for not being able to answer a question. She felt doubly so since her own parents were dentists, she ought to be knowledgeable on diseases. “Whatever it is, it’s very contagious.” She deduced it from the fact that everyone in the room had at least one pimple somewhere on their face today when all of them were fine the day before.

“It’s spattergroit,” Faye announced with her wispy voice being even more frail than usual. “Hermione is right, it’s super contagious. We can’t leave the room, or we’ll give it to the rest of the school.” Hermione suddenly recalled hearing about it when Ron was telling Harry cool facts of the quidditch world cup history over the summer. Ron said that there was this mystery around the cup that had taken place in 1877 since no one could remember it even though tickets were sold, and photos were taken. Ron said that a strange brain fungus had caused all the attendees and even the players to forget about the matches called Cerebrumous Spattergroit.

The girls remained in the room until it was almost breakfast time and a prefect knocked to inquire why they had not left yet. Through the door, Hermione explained with a hoarse voice what the current situation was inside, and the prefect immediately summoned the Gryffindor head of house, Professor McGonagall and the school mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey for help. The situation developed quickly, and the fourth year Gryffindor girls were arranged breakfast in their rooms which came with a list of homework including the class readings for the day.

Outside of the castle, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were both put into a two-week quarantine since spattergroit was a disease more commonly found in Europe than Britain. Poppy had theorised that one of visiting students must have had a latent strand of it from childhood exposure that had a minor flare up. They were themselves immune but contagious, and only time would tell just how many students at Hogwarts were going to be affected by it. Igor Karkaroff disagreed that it was one of his and Madame Olympe was equally appalled at the request for isolation. Both said it was a ploy for Hogwarts to gain an advantage in training their champions and this was blatant British fearmongering that the foreigners were dirty compared to them.

What no one had known is that Severus Snape had taken advantage of the fact that Hermione Granger had recently travelled to France over the summer, and he acquired a vial of the French variety of spattergroit from a member of the British Potions Council. Now both Ron and Hermione were disposed of, crumbling Harry Potter’s support system. Without his Muggleborn friend’s ability to subdue his hormonal hotheadedness, Potter had just landed himself a detention tonight with Snape’s regulars.

The air was tense with anticipation as the door of the potion’s classroom swung open and a small black-haired boy entered with hunched shoulders. He had just spent the entire walk from the Gryffindor tower to the Slytherin dungeons evading students from all houses. When he heard Diggory’s name pulled from the cup, he sagged in relief even though he had never entered the cup in the first place. Finally, a year where his name wasn’t going to be the one that was discussed at dinner or in the classes when the teachers weren’t looking. Fate was never on his side, and like always neither was the opinions of the residents of Hogwarts.

He thought with the arrival of Durmstrang and Beaxbatons that the students of Hogwarts would finally have an external drive to band together as a community. All it had done was grow the number of people he had to watch out for in hallways. Even ‘Nearly Headless’ Nick had spoken to him, telling him how disappointed he was at Harry’s supposed dishonourable conduct. I DIDN’T DO IT! I DON’T WANT TO BE IN THIS BLOODY TOURNAMENT, he wanted to shout out loud, but he knew that it wouldn’t change a thing.

All throughout these years, Harry knew at least one person’s opinion at this school never wavered. “Here comes Potter, finally gracing us with his presence,” Snape drawled as Harry dumped his schoolbag against the furthermost wall from the teacher’s desk. This was a new record for how long he had gone without earning a detention from Severus Snape. “You have dawdled enough, get on with it.”

Harry shuffled over to pick up a scrubbing brush to join the two other students who were unlucky to be in detention with him today. Over the years he’s experienced detention in the dungeons, only a few he had with others present. Of those times, Snape had always been less torturous than if he was serving his sentence solitary. He hoped that this would be like those experiences since he didn’t know if he could take the usual mental beating he received from the man.

He drove the rough bristled brush repeatedly over an ink stain working out his anger that had culminated recently. Ron’s betrayal had come out of nowhere to him. He knew that his best friend had feelings of being the least remembered brother in his family, but he never expected that to manifest in the way it had. Ron had been with him in every moment that Voldemort had targeted him in the past couple of years, and Harry expected him to understand best that his fame only brought him misfortune. If anyone had the right to be jealous, it was himself. Ron had a loving family, cool and awesome older brothers, and he grew up knowing he was a wizard. Harry beat himself up mentally, he should’ve known about Ron’s feelings when he had brought him to the Mirror of Erised. His best friend had been so captivated by what he saw inside the mirror that he practically ignored the way that the reflection had made Harry feel. It was the first time that Harry had seen his parents. He remembered the warm bubbly feeling of hope it filled him up with before it came crashing down that they were dead.

Harry was jealous that Ron had such a great family. He remembered the first time he ate with the Weasleys, and it made him feel like Dudley. His aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley ate seconds and thirds – “he’s a growing boy, Vernon.” Sometimes, Dudley would be so hungry that Harry had to forgo eating so his cousin could be satisfied. Harry remembered how quickly he had finished his plate at the Weasleys, afraid that was all he would get for the day. Molly had turned crimson when Harry had praised her cooking. She didn’t recall the last time she heard such nice compliments about it. The rest of the Weasleys had been spoiled by her home-cooked meals daily that it was an expectation. She readily served Ron’s friend that she saw as an adopted son as much food as he asked for which he scoffed down just as quickly as his first plate. And for the first time in his life, Harry felt full in his stomach and his heart.

He didn’t understand when Ron complained about his bedroom being small when Harry had spent most of his life sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs. He didn’t understand when Ron had grumbled about the ragging he got from his older brothers. Harry would’ve preferred to just be teased and pranked instead of antics of his bully cousin, Dudley Dursley. He hated being chased, beaten to a pulp, and laughed at by Dudley and later his friends. He wished he had brothers like Fred and George who would make him laugh. Hell, he would even take Percy Weasley as a brother.

Hermione had told him in her fourteen-year-old sage like wisdom that Ron would eventually come around. Harry knew that was no longer possible. Hermione was the only person who had the ability to reason with Ron when he was aggrieved with Harry. He heard the new this morning from Professor McGonagall and had gone to visit her straight away. He sat with his back against the door with his knees to his chest, and he could hear a myriad of coughs and sneezes from the other side. Hermione warned him that she wouldn’t be able to speak in a few weeks time when the disease had spread to her uvula, but she will try to do everything in her power to get better soon.

He knew it was an unachievable promise. He asked Pomfrey about the illness, and she said the only cure for it was time. Depending on the individual it could be a couple of months to an entire year. When his name was pulled out of the cup, he was at least confident that Hermione would be able to help him through the challenges. Now he had no one. He knew he could be a good student if he applied himself to his studies, but he still liked Hermione’s help. He liked when she made him coloured coded revision timetables and corrected his essays. She always did more for him than he did for her. She worried about him like Molly worries about the twins. And he knew that she would be stressed for him while she recovered from spattergroit, which probably wasn’t a good thing when you’re sick. But he had no idea how to lie to his brilliant friend that he could handle the tournament by himself.

He considered asking Hagrid for help, but he hadn’t seen the half-giant anywhere these days. He found that incredibly odd since its pretty damn hard to miss Hagrid. He felt utterly alone. Harry’s passionate scrubbing had caused the top layer of varnish to be stripped. Bollocks, Snape is going to make me repaint the entire bench now.

He felt someone stare at the back of his head and put down the brush to find out of it was the jerk himself. He turned slowly and blinked slowly. He was being stared at by the two girls with him. He was used to being ogled and stared at. Even before he received his first Hogwarts letter and found out he was a wizard. Oddly dressed people would stop and look at him across the roads, some even brave enough to approach him. Petunia would always harshly yank him away from them and he would punished back at 4 Privet Drive. When Hagrid had brought him to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry spent almost an hour being greeted by well-wishers and photographed. At first, he adored the attention. He liked how important it made him feel, like he mattered. People would gift him things with their condolences and thanks. He kept each one in a compartment in his school trunk.

Now he couldn’t visit Diagon Alley without creating enough chaos that the magical law enforcement was called for crowd control. Once he tried telling an overly forward witch that he couldn’t take a picture with her which caused her to openly bawl. People around him immediately blamed him for upsetting the young woman. Fame was a double-edged sword that Harry didn’t know how to wield. No matter how much he disliked Gildory Lockheart, he did appreciate the advice the man gave him. Harry Potter plastered a phoney grin and waited for the two witches to speak first.

“Are you okay?” asked the shorter one. For a moment, his smile slipped since he wasn’t expecting an inquiry into his mental wellbeing, but he recovered.

“Thank you for asking,” Lockheart taught him to be grateful for each interaction. People may have come a long way to meet him, and since Harry was a war hero the baggage that came with them may be heavy. “I’m well. How are you?”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been huffing and puffing for last half an hour.”

“I’ve just had a lot on mind recently. Would you like a picture?” He tried to evade answering. Lockheart said to always bring the conversation back to the fan. They’re not here to hear about you, Harry. They know all about you. They’ve read your books and interviews. They’ve seen your pictures. No, when they finally meet you, they’ll only remember how you made them feel. You’ve got to make them feel special. Remember that, Harry.

“Uh, no thanks. Can you do the blackboard, and we’ll take the floors?”

“Oh, r-right…” It felt like the winds in those massive black sails he saw weeks ago were suddenly smothered by her not following the usual pattern of fan interactions he was used to. He half expected the cruel cackle from Snape to sound but the man wasn’t in the room anywhere. “Where’s Snape?”

“He’s gone out, he told us that he wants this room cleaned up before he gets back.” The taller girl answered loudly over the sound of gushing water from the tap. She was filling up a bucket of soapy water as the other girl filled up one without soap. He watched as they worked in practiced tandem to clean the floors starting from the edge of the classroom so they wouldn’t walk over wet floors. As they made progress, he realised that one of them was wearing Slytherin robes. He’s never seen a Slytherin in Snape’s detention, and Harry’s been in a fair number of detentions with him.

They were there the next time Harry was in detention again. Snape once again left the room soon after Harry entered leaving him alone with them again. Without a word he adapted to the routine that they had established. He realised he liked their presence whilst they cleaned. They chattered endlessly but never pulled him into the conversation. He could almost treat them as pleasant background noise whilst he worked out his frustration through manual labour.

He discovered that both were in his year group when he heard them discuss homework. It was the same that essay that Flitwick assigned to his class regarding the Summoning charm. Flitwick liked his students to research and learn about the charm before he officially lectured about in his class, and well before they had a chance to practice it themselves. He said that it would help them become independent and capable witches and wizards the future. They were deep in a discussion about the Latin roots of the incantation.

“Accerso,” the Hufflepuff read from her Latin-English dictionary. Stupidly, it wasn’t on the booklist but it was her most used supplementary textbook since most of Flitwick’s questions was surrounding the origins and making of charms. “Ah-ke-rso or ass-cer-so?”

“The word ‘accessories’ is similar. And that uses the hard ‘ck’ sound.” The other reasoned. She repeated the ‘ck’ sound a couple of times, rolling it around in her mouth.

“Access…” Shruthi came up with another word that sounded like the etymological root they were discussing. “I mean in order to summon something, you need to have ownership over it, right?” Her friend read on in her open textbook, and so did Harry on his own. He read that the spell can be performed on any non-living being that isn’t actively protected by a ward. A caveat on wards is if the ward was created by the caster, the Summoning charm can override its protections. He found it interesting that the charm was used in duelling on the opponent’s clothes before that was considered bad sportsmanship.

They all scribbled a paragraph on what they had just studied. Just as Harry was penning down his last sentence the girls picked up their conversation again. “We should write something about the range of the spell,” Jane instructed, wiping the ink off the side of her palm on her school robes.

“And the rune,” Harry mumbled out loud.

“What was that?” Jane asked the boy sitting on the other end of the long desk. Harry peered up sheepishly. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“Erm, the rune. The direction of the spellcast affects how the charm behaves…” The Summoning charm was casted by moving your wand in an upright semicircle. If movement was towards yourself the object that was summoned should be delivered into your hand. If the spell was casted in the opposite direction, it would land in front of the caster. Lastly, if cast leftward or rightward, it would land on the cast direction.

“Do you want to join us?” The Hufflepuff asked cheerfully. She looked at him if he was a stray cat that she was enticing with a dried treat. Harry felt every bit of a lost animal now and couldn’t afford to reject generosity. He gathered his things in a bundle as he moved to sit next to the Hufflepuff. The pity in her eyes melted away into excitement, “My name is Shruthi, and this is Jane.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” he introduced, kicking himself with his left foot at the awkward delivery. He hadn’t needed to introduce himself since everyone already knew who he was. His legs swung back and forth without reaching the ground.

“You’re a lot shorter than we imagined,” Shruthi teased with a friendly smile. “Jane mentioned that when she saw you in charms.” The girl he learned was Jane shook her head at her friend before returning to her essay. Harry straightened out his spine and sat up straight on the stool. He grinned when Shruthi giggled at him.

He knew he wouldn’t ever grow as tall as Ron Weasley, but he felt slighted that he wouldn’t even reach the height of his cousin. He blamed it on his periods of starvation as a child and made up for it by gorging himself at Hogwarts. It was only when he looked at pictures of his father and mother from the scrapbook that Hagrid gave him after his first year, he knew that he would never be a tall person. Harry thought he would rather be known as short than for his scar or having his dead mother’s eye’s.

*

“Come in,” Barty called with a rough rumble. To his surprise, his designated daily office hours were well attended by all year groups. His N.E.W.T.s. students would come in with half-written essays to ask for direction. The younger ones would come on dares which led to timid conversations about auror missions. The ones he disliked the most were the children of dead Order of the Phoenix members who would come in asking stories about their parents. Those would always leave him the most drained since he would have to look at their solemn faces while walking the fine line between telling them that his old colleagues in Azkaban were the ones that ended their parents’ life and what Moody would know about them.

The door creaked open and in walked Shruthi Patel. Barty jumped to his good foot, almost losing balance. He recovered by placing a steadying hand on the edge of his messy desk. “Shruthi! Come in, come in.” He waved his hand in an ushering moment as he rounded his table. Shruthi took in his office room. Weird trinkets were scattered about the room, some of which burred and spun as he moved about. A mirror sat behind him which didn’t show her reflection, but she knew what it was – foe-glass. She tried to look to see if there were any figures in the silver screen, but Moody was blocking her way. He dug through a disorganised shelf, dumping books and thumb-sized round balls with an unknown function onto the ground with a clatter. “I have it here somewhere,” he muttered.

He pulled out a dusty and chipped tea set and gave her a grin. “Sit down, I’ve been waiting for you to come.” She brushed off the dirt and grime from the chair that like Moody also had a bad leg. Barty had compensated by stuffing old Daily Prophet articles underneath it which Shruthi left carefully undisturbed. His hands shook as he poured her and himself a cup, and he dropped down onto his cushioned armchair in the manner of an old, grizzled war veteran.

He grabbed his flask and dumped its content into the cup before taking a drawn-out sip of it. “So, you finally decided to take up my offer on learning Goobledegook?”

“Nope,” Shruthi smiled into her tea. She smiled because she saw the way Moody’s face tightened along jaw in disappointment. She already spoke several languages being an immigrant child to Australia, she didn’t want to speak a made-up magical one that she wasn’t ever going to use again. Surely the goblins themselves didn’t name their own language Goobledegook?, she thought. It would be incredibly demeaning to name the language you speak a nonsensical word from another language. If the wizards did that, no wonder the goblins had like seven wars against them.

“I wanted to ask you something that you did.” Barty nodded for her continue. He warded is office so strongly, he suspected the only stronger wards were present for the headmaster’s study and the Chamber of Secrets. “Why did you teach Harry Accio when you would’ve known that the Conjunctivitis curse would work for dragons?” She reasoned that an nationally awarded auror like Moody would know how to protect himself again magical creatures considering that is most of the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. She couldn’t imagine much has changed since he himself attended Hogwarts, how many ever centuries ago that was.

“It wasn’t only so he could pass the task. It was good that it worked out that way, but it was in the case he didn’t reach the cup first in the maze during the third task. I wanted him to know it so he could summon it from a distance before whoever did.”

“How did you know you could summon the goblet?” She queried. She put down her cup onto the desk that was already stained with heat rings from previous cups. She studied the set that Barty owned. It was embossed with the Hogwarts emblem but was heavily damaged from years of use.

“It’s from the kitchens,” Barty held the cup next to his misshapen head. “The elves were going to toss it out and I asked for it. Moody’s a hoarder.” His cup had a chip near the handle and sat unevenly when placed onto its saucer. He went down the kitchens to see if Winky was employed there. She was sitting by one of the many fires burning down in the Hogwarts kitchen with a bottle of firewhisky in her hand sobbing that she was a good elf. “I knew you could summon the cup, the same way that I knew you could Confundus it. Father brought home recounts of previous Tri-Wizard tournaments and I read through them. It’s made of ancient magic from the founders, but it isn’t almighty.”

Barty Crouch Jr. was imprisoned without his wand for a decade. After making a dashing escape, he spent a couple of months nursing the infant Voldemort. During these months, he had recovered mentally enough to imprison one of the most famous aurors in the British Isles and learn to impersonate him well enough to fool one of his best friends, the headmaster of Hogwarts. After all of that, he cast one of the most powerful Confunding charms seen in the book to override ancient magic that came from the time that Hogwarts was founded. The point is that Shruthi could believe that if simultaneously she didn’t have the image of Barty grovelling on his feet in front of his father during his trial as a Death Eater.

“You think too much,” Barty snorted, leaning back against his moth-worn chair. “Both of those facts can be true. I can be both an idiotic boy roped into torturing a Pureblood family and an accomplished wizard. And Merlin, did that Rowling make me pathetic.” He was ashamed that one the lowest points in his life was documented to scalding accuracy. He remembered being dragged in, his knees skidding along the cold marble floor of the Wizengamot. His father’s disappointed eyes kept him awake when he tried to close his own at night. Though those didn’t haunt him as much as his mother’s scream and denial of his involvement with the Death Eaters. She had a holdfast belief he was completely innocent to her final breath, and a part of Barty Crouch Jr. also died that day.

“You read my mind!” Shruthi blurted instead of listening fully to what he had to say. If she had she would’ve asked him why he became a Death Eater.

“If you don’t want me to then don’t stare directly into my eyes.” He liked that someone would meet his eyes. His father had stopped looking into his after Azkaban. Shruthi Patel and Jane Becker made him feel like he was a human and not a mistake.

“Making eye contact is important to having a conversation with someone,” Shruthi corrected him. Something, something, active listening techniques, she recalled from primary school. She did have to force herself at times to look people in the eyes, especially Barty’s since his mismatched ones unnerved her so much.

“That sounds like Muggle rubbish. You’re inviting me to read your unprotected mind,” Barty insulted. “If you want to stare into people’s eyes at least learn some Occlumency first. Oh, wait, you can’t, can you?”

“f*ck you.” She tried pushing out her chair with more force than necessary and found out that she couldn’t. Barty just let out a barking laugh as he knew that he had stuck down the chair leg to the pile of newspapers that were propping it up. He was waiting for an opportunity like this one to see his prank in action. She settled with sliding out of side of the chair before she embarrassed herself further.

Barty’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, “Hey, I’m sorry.” His apology came out insincere when his face was split with what looked like an attempt at a mischievous smile. “Sit back down, Miss Patel.”

“Let me go,” she snarled futilely tugging her wrist from its prison. It was no use; his grip only tightened the more she struggled. She would feel even worse if she tugged too hard and toppled her disabled teacher from his chair.

“Muggles are just so fun to rile up,” Barty cooed at her like she was a small prey animal. “Sit down, you haven’t finished your tea yet.” He knew he couldn’t brew a good cup, he always had Winky do it for him. He appreciated that Severus could serve a good cup of tea, maybe one of these days he’ll ask for some tips from his school friend. “Shruthi, please, take a seat.”

“I haven’t come here to be insulted.” Still, she obediently took her seat again and Barty let go of her wrist before wiping his dirtied hand with a plaid kerchief he carried in upper robe pocket. “Should I be worried about other people reading my mind?”

“No, the vow will protect your and Jane’s mind from another reading your thoughts about the books. But your other thoughts are still up for grabs,” Barty commented casually. “If I were you, I would be looking at people’s feet while talking to them.” He thought that all Muggleborns shouldn’t be making direct eye contact with true wizards and witches. Muggles should be grovelling at our feet. Ugly thoughts about Muggle subjugation clouded the front of his mind. “Don’t worry, you’re not interesting enough for wizards to be looking into your mind in the first place.” Leglimency was a difficult branch of magic to master. Leglimency without a wand or incantation was impossible for the layperson magician. Barty had only time for the past couple of years, and it was one of the skills he focused on so he could eavesdrop on his father’s colleagues.

Shruthi grit her teeth in frustration. “Are you going to teach Harry Accio?”

“Severus said that you and Jane were doing a stellar job yourself.” It was worded like a compliment, but it also sounded like a dig at them. “I might if the boy doesn’t think of anything on his own.”

“Cool,” Shruthi agreed with the same level of certainty that Barty had in his last statement. She stood up carefully and turned towards the door.

“You’re not going yet,” Barty crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. Shruthi hesitated for a second before downing her cup of lukewarm tea. “It wasn’t the tea. You still have something else to ask me. You’re nervous about something.”

“I’m always nervous about something,” Shruthi thought out loud. Barty said nothing to her comment. “It’s really nothing, it was just a stupid thing that I thought of.”

“If were that stupid you wouldn’t have drawn it on a piece of parchment,” Barty looked at the white corner peeking out from the pocket of her black robes. Shruthi grabbed it out and unfolded it so only she could see what was written on it. “I’ll tell you if it’s stupid.”

I’m sure you will, she thought bitterly. “Before I explain, I wanted to ask something. Do you get to design your classrooms?”

“I was asked but when Dumbledore showed me the classroom I was satisfied with the design.” Remus Lupin was the last professor to occupy Barty’s classrooms. He had forgone the teacher’s desk and the line of desks that his predecessor, Gilderoy Lockheart had implemented. He had plastered posters and diagrams all over the walls. Miniature replicas creatures hung on wire from the ceiling and were enchanted to act like their origins. The windows had stained glass designs of famous wizarding duels of the past, with the seventh-year classroom showcasing the duel between Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. Barty came in and thought there was nothing he could improve on Remus’ design and requested to just give him a larger classroom so students could practice their duelling in a safe setting.

“Then it’s nothing…” Barty stood up with great effort and snatched the parchment from her. It was a diagram of Snape’s potion classroom with a few modifications. She had drawn out biased floors that were sloping towards the centre where a central drain ran. On the walls she’d put in small rectangular ventilation windows, and hooks to hang cleaning supplies. “It just to make mine and Jane’s lives a little easier when we clean the rooms.”

“I can see that,” Barty mused aloud. “Why didn’t you go to Severus directly with this?”

“Oh, um…” Shruthi stalled. Shruthi could only think of word that she had called him to Jane earlier.

“He won’t agree to the ventilation windows. Potions is taught in the dungeons because the ingredients must be kept in cool dark conditions. And the hooks for cleaning supplies would be useless to any witch who knew Scourgify, however, it may be useful for the younger years.” Barty watched as Shruthi slightly shrunk into herself with each word he spoke. “But I’ll show him anyway, he’s a hard man to predict.”

Shruthi was torn between thanking Barty for passing on the message and being worried that Snape will punish her harshly for critiquing his classrooms. “It will be fine, Patel.” Guided her non-physically to the door of his office. “Come back anytime and bring your friend.”

This time it was Snape that asked Shruthi to stay behind after her Friday afternoon potions class. He walked away silently from the classroom they were just in to the one to first in the hall. He just expected her to follow silently, which he knew she was by the sound of a second pair of footsteps out of time with his own. For some inane reason, he imagined her as a yellow feathered duckling dutifully waddling behind her guardian.

He held the door open and let her enter first so he could gauge her reaction. He watched her face closely as her earth-coloured eyes dart around to inspect how her suggestions had come into fruition. He expected her to speak but she surprised him by ducking down to the floor and running her hand along the stone. He saw her look the opposite direction to what she expected and found drainage that ran flush with the bottom of the cabinetry. If someone was to drop a liquid, it would immediately disappear underneath their bench rather than travelling to a central collection point.

When she got back to her feet, she noticed at the ends of the brewing benches there were a small supply of buckets, rags, and mops. The holes in the handles allowed the mops and hard-bristle brooms to be hung to dry and there was a small clothesline for the rags. She knew that the buckets could be poured into the new drains dotted around the room and could be filled up from the brass taps built for the cauldrons. “The rags are from ruined uniforms,” Snape couldn’t help adding when he saw her pick one up. Many students have destroyed their robes in his classrooms from their own stupidity or hubris (and at this age, a good combination of both), he thought it would be a good way to recycle them instead of disposing of them.

“Smart,” she murmured quietly. She couldn’t believe that her half-formed ideas had been taken seriously by the man, and then improved upon. He came up to her with her parchment in his wide hand.

“Why have you struck this out?” He pointed to a part of the parchment where she was doodling her design for ventilation. Fume hood. “And this?” Soft close cabinets.

“Well, I didn’t think they were relevant to everything else on the page. I wanted to focus on the stuff that would make a difference to cleaning the classrooms.” He pointed at the crossed-out words again and asked her to explain what they were to him. “A fume hood is, well… its like those exhaust fans you see over stoves but on a more industrial scale. And soft close cabinets, I’m actually not sure if that’s the technical word for it but that’s what I call them. They’re those doors or drawer that you can press with your hand, foot, or elbow it opens so you don’t have to get the handle dirty.” She spoke with insecurity colouring her words since she was afraid that he would ridicule her ideas or shout at her for her audacity.

Snape hummed and put the parchment into his pocket. He brought his hand up to run his fingers through his hair and stilled when he saw the Hufflepuff flinch away from him. She was afraid that he would hit her again, and he watched her try to inch away from him with millimetre shuffles of her shoes. He was annoyed by her reaction and fear. If I’m the scariest thing she’s seen, she’s had a cherished life. “Next time, I want you to come to me instead of using Barty as a messenger. It will raise unnecessary questions to why Moody has become uncharacteristically familiar with me considering my history.”

“Yes, Professor,” Shruthi squeaked as she wrung her clammy hands behind her back.

“And clearly you have too much time on your hands if your mind is occupied with critiquing the architectural choices for the dungeons. The essays I assign to the class from now on, I expect double the length from you with references.” He wanted to see just how far he could push her before she would break. He remembered his father’s preachings. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope. (English Standard Version, Romans 5:3-4). He’s challenged every student that passes through these halls and some of them have become diamonds due to his teachings. The others, he doesn’t care about the failures. They weren’t going to survive the wizarding world with the attitudes they carried. He tested Potter with the same in the book, and he became the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Snape didn’t feel an ounce of regret since his methods work on the strong. He found it amusing when he read that Dumbledore once told Potter that Hogwarts would always help those who ask for it. No, Hogwarts helps those who are strong enough to take it themselves. He gave her a cruel smile as she left the classroom with anger flushed on her face.

Tobias Snape always omitted the last refrain when he preached to his son.

Chapter 4: Let There Be Dragons!

Chapter Text

November brought snow to Hogwarts. It was uncommon for snow to fall so early in the year in the rest of Scotland, but Hogwarts is located in the mountainous regions of the country called the Highlands. There had been a number of cold fronts from the Atlantic Ocean that had hit in the past weeks, causing the temperatures to dip to below freezing.

Students of all year groups gathered around any available bay windows to see the soft white flakes drift lazily to the ground. The younger years pushed and shoved themselves to get the best view before some of the brighter ones had the idea of going outside to see the snow in person. There was a noisy clamour towards respective dormitories to rug up. The older ones who were more magically savvy would perform a Warming charm on themselves and their mates to avoid the scurrying first years.

Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel missed all of this commotion as they were deep in the belly of Hogwarts with Severus Snape. No matter the weather, the dungeons of Hogwarts castle were always moist and cold. Jane thought it might have been a little more chilly than usual, but by now both girls had transitioned to wearing their winter robes. They were amongst the first students to do so since the weather in Scotland is a lot colder than they were accustomed to. Even still, Shruthi shivered constantly while scrubbing the cauldrons that were used in today’s classes as the sink water seeped the last of its heat out.

Severus Snape sat at his desk unperturbed by the weather. He was used to a lot worse as he grew up in a house without a way to control the temperature. Sometimes when the winter nights grew unbearable, he would chance a Warming charm underneath his covers, but only if he was sure his father had already gone to bed. He didn’t like to think what would have occurred if he had been caught but it never happened. Severus Snape started as a careful child and ended up as a cautious man.

Snape preferred the summer, but his students wouldn’t like to think that by the way he punished them with mountains of holiday homework. He just finished marking the last of it a week ago, but no one had cared for his feedback while Potter was the talk of the school. I don’t know why I bother, he sighed internally. He was certain that some of the students that walked these halls thought that school meant a social gathering with their friends instead of a place for learning. But he liked the summers because they reminded him of Lily Evans.

It was the only time in his life he could recall being happy. He loved Lily, he still loves her. He fondly remembers sitting upstream of the garbage filled river that ran through the heart of co*keworth with her. Nearby the soiled soil grew a patch of purple-blue Jacob’s-ladder. They were a hardy plant, but all plants had to be to grow up in his neighbourhood. Every single one had to fight the natural odds to survive. They were just as hardened as the people that lived there.

The Evans moved into co*keworth just before Severus turned eleven. He remembered bringing a handmade bouquet of Jacob’s-ladders that he had spent the afternoon making his mother as a housewarming present. The long stems were cut, and the flowers were wrapped together with twine and used butcher’s paper. Snape always hated visits that his father insisted on making. Tobias Snape was a pillar of the community, and he would use these social calls to remain so. Snape recalled thinking that the Evans were too nice for his neighbourhood. They had nice clothes and a kind look on their faces.

There were four of them. A mother, father and two daughters with one that looked to be around his age or maybe a little younger. The girl around his age looked identical to Mrs. Evans from the freckles dotting his cherub face to the brown roots of her bright auburn hair. Her sister resembled more her father. Petunia Evans had a long face, and longer neck to match. They couldn’t look more different. Mrs. Evans was flustered upon their arrival as the kitchen and living room was half unpacked, half still crammed within countless cardboard boxes littered on the linoleum floor. His father reassured them that they did not need to feel ashamed about the state of their house, and he just wanted to drop by to introduce himself to their family.

Petunia had rummaged through their belongings in the time it took for introductions to be made and put on the kettle for some hasty tea. Mr. Evans had taken a job just on the outskirts of co*keworth as one of the engineers at the power facility and had decided to move closer to work instead of commuting from afar. The young Severus Snape had been envious of having enough money to move around your family on a whim. He dreamed of that sort of wealth for himself and his mother. Of all the places you could’ve moved to… He knew that all his father had taken from that conversation is the fact that was that the Evans had money.

His father had politely inquired into the Evans religious habits. They explained that they were the sort of people to only attend church for Christmases and Easters, but his father had invited them to Sunday sermons regardless. There wasn’t much else to do in co*keworth. The only place that everyone gathered was church, and Severus knew that wasn’t going to change any time soon. He knew that a few more ‘polite’ visits from his father, and the Evans would be consistent faces on the pews soon.

But one day the visits stopped, and his father forbade Snape and his mother from talking to the Evans. Severus found it odd that his father had so suddenly given up since he was the most persistant man he had ever known in his life. Nothing short of death threats would have stopped Tobias Snape. Snape found it hard to believe that the nice family that were the Evans had managed to scare off his father. His own interest in the new family suddenly sparked, and he spent the next couple of weeks watching them closely from the nearby tree line.

Just as he himself was about give up, Severus Snape understood why his father had suddenly come to hate the Evans. The younger daughter, the one that Snape had come to know was named Lily was a witch. At first, he wasn’t sure. The only other witch he knew of was his mother, and magic was strictly forbidden in his house so displays of it were rare. But the more he watched, strange and unexplainable things happened around Lily Evans. Floating plates, Apparation, funny magical pranks on her sister. Severus suddenly understood why his parents had begun fighting again. All summer long, there had been hours-long daily shouting matches between them. His mother explained that there was a school for boy and girls like him far away from co*keworth. She told him that every single Prince had attended an institution called Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry when they came of age and learned how use their gift. He would board there for the next seven years until he graduated, and by then he will be smart enough to move far away from his hometown.

His father wanted nothing to do with magic, and least of all, wanted his son to attend a place where he could train it. How was he going to explain to the co*keworth community that he is sending his son to some foreign institution? Tobias Snape lived in the sh*ttiest house on Spinner’s End, and he envisioned his son to follow in his footsteps. However, his bitch of a wife had somehow hidden enough money away to send his freak son to the same school she came from. Magic was unnatural and unholy according to Tobias Snape, and Severus was dammed from the moment he displayed traits of being a wizard as a child. Now he knew the sudden interest in this old scar was due to the presence of the Evans. But they were different from him. Only Lily displayed any magic. When he asked his mother while helping her with supper, she quietly explained that Lily was a special type of witch called a Muggleborn. A magician born to two non-magical parents, or Muggles. Snape then decided that very moment he would help Lily Evans understand what she was since there was no one else that could.

And now, Lily Evans was dead, and Severus Snape could do nothing to atone for it. On his dusty bedside table sat his copy of the Deathly Hallows with the chapter seventeen dogeared. No one really knew what exactly happened on Halloween night, 1981. The only survivor was a baby, and the media as usual decided to conjure the most fictious story to explain the tragedy of the Potter’s death. Snape thought that Voldemort had broken his promise to him and killed his Lily anyway. He knew that the bull-headed James Potter would die sooner or later in the war. Some sort of heroic but ultimately stupid death. Standing in front of a murderous Dark Lord without his wand was exactly the sort of death Severus Snape conjured for his worst bully. James Potter should be grateful that all that was used on him was the killing curse for Snape would’ve done far worse.

Lily’s death was unnecessary in Snape’s mind. He didn’t understand how she thought that she had the magic to make a stand against the Dark Lord Voldemort. The Lily he knew was stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. It was even worse since Voldemort had given her multiple chances to step away from the crib. If she was desperate for children, she could always have more. Harry Potter was not special before her sacrifice, and Lily was young and pretty enough to find another wizard to couple up with. Preferably that wizard would have been Severus Snape, but that was no longer a possibility since she never stepped aside. What were you thinking, Lils?

And now the only remanent of the beautiful red-haired witch lived within the son of the man who had traumatised Snape during his school years. That son now waltzing into detention with his black, messy mop of hair capped with fresh powder snow. Severus Snape was about to shout at his audacity when he noticed the paler than usual face that the boy was sporting. Harry Potter looked like he was about to keel over and die from fright.

“Is it snowing outside?” Shruthi’s voice cut through the silent classroom with excitement. She wiped her wet hands on the front of her robes as she hurried over to boy. Harry was fumbling around with the yellow and gold striped scarf that he was wearing around his neck. She touched Harry’s head, marvelling at the lingering melting traces of it on his dark locks. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Really?” Harry was grateful to have a mundane conversation to distract from the news he had just received from Hagrid just a few moments ago.
“Yeah, it doesn’t snow in Australia. At least the part we come from,” Jane chimed in. Harry slapped his cheeks a couple of times with the palms of hand to get the colour back to his face. It was cold outside but not where Hagrid took out to. It was somewhere past the quidditch field that was currently barred from access. Dumbledore had notified all houses that quidditch would be postponed this year until the second semester. He had never seen Oliver Wood in such dismay.

“That’s… strange…” Harry replied in hesitation. He wasn’t sure what to say to them. “Erm, well, it will still be there by the end of detention. I reckon it will snow for a while.” Well into the night he assumed.

“Can we go see it now?” Shruthi turned her shoulder slightly to address the professor sitting at his desk. His quill was hovering above a sixth-year potions essay while he was listening to the three of them talk.

“Like Potter has aptly put it, the snow will still be there after detention. You have cauldrons to scrub.”

“And the cauldrons will still be here when we get back.”

Jane thought her friend had some sort of death wish by purposely antagonising Severus Snape, but Shruthi was out the door before anyone could stop her. She was determined to see snow and see snow now. Harry thought it was the most amusing thing he’s seen all week, and he found it difficult to hold back his laughter when he heard the hurried footsteps of his potion’s professor follow behind them. He watched as Snape walked at a pace that was in between a jog and a very fast walk, the sort of pace that made someone look like they were learning to skip. He successfully rounded in front of the group, pinching his lips together to hide his breathlessness.

“Get back to the classroom,” Snape finally strung together without the usual composure he had. “Now.”

“No,” Shruthi replied defiantly, standing right in front of him. “You know that Jane and I haven’t seen snow ever before and we are naturally excited to see some. You also know that your classrooms will be cleaned properly based on our track record of what – two months? So, go back to marking your essays, and we’ll be back before you finish your pile, Professor.”
Snape frowned at her behaviour. He wasn’t used to students standing up to his behaviour and it wasn’t a habit he wanted to encourage. “That was an order, and I am a professor at this school. I expect you to obey and return to the classroom immediately.”

“Or what? You’ll add another foot onto my essays? Give me detention?” Shruthi goaded. “Or maybe you’ll just hit me again?” Jane tugged at the back of her friend’s robes harshly. The air of the dungeons felt a lot colder now, and the candles that usually lit the corridor had all dimmed or extinguished.

Snape’s long fingers thrummed against the pocket of robes, feeling the wood of his wand sheltered inside of them. He didn’t want the portraits to gossip that he was an abusive man who physically assaulted women. Snape knew the unspoken line that existed in punishing the students of Hogwarts – belittling, bullying, unfairly punishing – but never hitting or cursing with magic. “Girl-“
“Oh, it seems like you’re going to hex me this time.” Shruthi followed Snape’s unsubtle movements. “Go on then.” It dawned on the older man what Shruthi was playing at now. She was testing the boundaries of the vow between them in the most infuriating way possible.

“You’ll be cleaning my rooms with your toothbrush, Miss Patel. Come, let’s go see the snow that has gotten you so irate. Maybe that will cool down your adolescent temper tantrum.”
The rest of the walk was much less eventful. A burst of noise erupted from both girls as the frigid wind surprised them when they entered the stone courtyard of the school. The students who were relaxing and enjoying the winter took one glimpse at the face of their potions master and found ways to make themselves scarce.

Shruthi knelt to inspect a mound of snow that had collected on the floor. She tentatively reached out with her frozen fingers to touch it and exclaimed, “It’s wet!?” She quickly wiped the remnants of it away before stuffing her hands into her pockets. It was too cold for her liking, and the novelty of the winter wonderland was quickly fading to the sound of her teeth chattering.
Jane snorted, “Did you expect frozen water to be dry, Shru?” Jane knew better than her friend to stick her hand in it without at least gloves. Next time she would bring the dragonhide ones that they used in herbology. If they were strong enough to insulate from the bites of carnivorous magical plants, surely, they would hold against cold weather.

“Oh, um…” Shruthi dragged in embarrassment. “Well, you know, it looks like a powder in photos…” There was nothing she could say to save her initial exclamation.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Jane ribbed at her friend, pulling Shruthi into a tight hug. Her friend was colder than she was, judging by how her lips were purpling at the edges. “Let’s get back inside before turn into icy poles.”

“Yeah…” Shruthi replied sheepishly, watching how both of their breathes mingled in the air in puffs. She let a few puffs in amusem*nt thinking herself to be akin to a dragon. “The Coca-Cola flavoured ones were always my favourite.”

“I liked Lifesavers,” Jane answered as they warmed up in the corridor. She liked watching her tongue turn different colours when she had them.

“Icy poles?” Harry asked. He didn’t remember his first-time seeing snow, but he could remember Dudley’s. Petunia had dressed her son up to in so many layers that he looked like a waddling snowball. It didn’t help that Dudley’s snowsuit was mostly white either. Harry remembered the only patch of colour on his cousin was his pink face peeking out from between his beanie and scarf.
“Those sticks of flavoured ice you eat in the summer,” Jane answered.

“Oh, ice lollies. Yeah, Dudley loves them,” Harry understood with a tone of disappointment. They lived deep within the freezer at 4 Privet Drive, and Dudley would only touch them when the ice cream had run out (Rocky Road being his top choice). Harry would sneak into the kitchen when the Dursleys weren’t looking to mix a cup of ice and some food colouring to mimic his cousin. He didn’t realise that they came in flavours until right now. “Dudley is my cousin,” Harry clarified in a hurry.

Frozen wands, Snape thought. That’s what they were called in magical Britain. Mulciber and Avery were quite fond of them, but they were quite fond of anything Muggle adjacent. He thought it was stupid that out of all the things people could enjoy, it was sweetened, coloured ice.

“Well, its too cold for any of that right now.” Jane rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “Is Dudley at Hogwarts?”

“No, he’s a Muggle.” Harry coughed to clear his dry throat. Shruthi gave a small nod to Jane since she wasn’t sure how to reply to Harry without giving away that she already knew who Dudley was. Harry searched in Jane’s face to see if he should be worried about telling her that considering the house, she’s in. He found none. It took him a moment to remember that both of his new friends were Muggleborn themselves, and they wouldn’t carry any prejudices for him having non-magical family.

“Is he jealous that you’re a wizard and he’s not?” Jane inquired. Harry Potter was a study-buddy at best but in order for this fragile plan to work, they needed him to trust them. What better way than finding out about his family.

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked him,” Harry shrugged in an awkward way. He didn’t care if Dudley Dursley jealous that Harry was magical. He would think not if he had the same opinions that his parents did about it. Snape focused on the hallway in front of him as he acutely remembered how envious Petunia Evans was about Lily’s magical abilities. Lily herself never did realise the extent of it or how much a wedge that difference caused between them. She died loving her sister, and so did her parents. But that didn’t matter to the young Petunia. She hated her wonderful, magical little sister who were the pride of the Evans.

Snape asked Shruthi to stay behind after detention had finished. Shruthi watched as Harry sprinted out of the classroom towards the Great Hall, and Jane follow tentatively for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for both girls to linger behind after detention, but it was the first time that it was due to the request of their professor. Shruthi ran her finger along the line of benches that were now gleaming as she waited for him to speak.

“I don’t appreciate my authority being undermined,” Snape started with a neutral voice. He stepped closer to her trying to back her into a corner.

“Do you think I like acting like an idiot, sir? I did it because it makes Harry laugh.” And Shruthi reasoned that anything that made a fourteen-year-old boy amused was a good thing if you’re trying to trick the same boy into becoming your friend. She had spent the rest of detention trying not to cringe at her actions. Snape remained impassive since he didn’t want to admit that she had played him unwillingly into her game. It had derailed his entire mental dressing down he had been rehearsing for the last thirty minutes of detention while he was marking. “Nothing bonds people better than the mutual hatred for another person.” The corner of his mouth ticked upwards. “Barty told us that the dragons have arrived.”

“I am aware. Potter had come into detention after being shown them by Hagrid.”

“One less thing for us to do then,” Shruthi mumbled. Jane had planned on taking a very long walk around the grounds with her and Harry this weekend under the guise of seeing the off-limits quidditch pitch. “Now we just have to wait till he comes to us for help.”

“And you are so sure that he will?” He raised his left eyebrow as he folded his arms behind his back.

“I mean, who else would he ask?” After hanging out with Harry Potter for the last month, both girls had come to the conclusion that he was quite stupid for a main character. It was clear that he had only gotten as far as he has through sheer luck combined with Hermione’s quick wit. “Hermione is still sick, and if the rumours are correct, she’s lost her voice.” Hufflepuffs were the gossipiest house since nothing of import ever happened inside of their four yellow walls.

“They are.” As much as Severus Snape would never admit it out loud, most of the Hogwarts staff cherished the gossip that ran amok in the school. This year has been a very exciting year for teenage shenanigans causing Severus and Minerva to spend a few hours each week dissecting through the rubbish for the gold.

“Then, Harry has to come to us. He’ll never be able to figure it out himself.” Barty agreed that if Harry did come his way that he would vaguely hint at a suggestion and then send Harry towards them. Teachers were technically not allowed to help the Tri-Wizard tournament champions, but everyone knew that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons wouldn’t be following that rule.

“Do you two already have something planned?” He tried to keep the curious note out of his voice. It was a fascinating experiment to watch two Muggle girls learn to adapt at Hogwarts.

“No. Jane said it would be more authentic if we planned something with Harry. She’s right, it would be strange if we already knew the answer to his very specific problem.” How often does one need to distract a mother dragon so they can steal a golden singing egg from her clutches? And if even if that was a common magical issue, why would two supposed Muggleborn witches know the answer? “Make sure it works, Miss Patel.” Shruthi nodded gravely.

*

The days kept ticking down to the day of the first round of the Tri-Wizard tournament, and with each one that passed, the more Harry contemplated throwing himself into the quarantine room with the Gryffindor girls. He couldn’t even visit Hermione anymore, not because she couldn’t speak, but the staircase now barred him and any other boy from entering the witch’s dormitory. He tried sending notes to her through Hedwig but all he could back were gibberish scribbles which led him to believe that she was getting worse.

Harry had tried to reach out his godfather, Sirius Black, but he wasn’t sure if he would receive a reply in time from him while he was on the run. The last reply had been a warning from him to remain vigilant about tournament and to trust Moody. Since Harry couldn’t do anything about the first thing, he tried to follow through on the second, but Professor Moody had been evasive for the past week. When Harry had finally pinned him down, and Moody had given him some vague inspirational bullsh*t and not a concrete solution to his dragon problem.

He even contemplated going to the library and reading about dragons but thought against it since the library had grown uncharacteristically busy at this time of year. It seemed like the best place to find Victor Krum, who spent hours in there with a Bulgarian-to-English dictionary as well as popular Muggle storybooks. Both girls and boys from Hogwarts and Beauxabatons would occupy the tables surrounding the world-famous seeker to catch his attention, but Victor was very dedicated to learning the English language.

It took Harry some time on Saturday, but he eventually found Jane loitering around the Slytherin corridors. “Good morning,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, as he walked slowly so he wouldn’t accidently scare her. He found her standing awkwardly in front of a tapestry of sleeping basilisk, which made a cold shiver run down the length of Harry’s spine.
She turned quickly, not in fright but in the way a person does if they are expecting someone to creep up on them. Her shoulder visibly relaxed when she saw it was Harry Potter, and not another Slytherin, “Oh it’s just you. Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” Harry hopped from one foot to the other in impatience. He hoped that she wasn’t busy since he wasn’t sure what he would do if she was.

“I’m just… nothing really.” Jane stumbled over her words since she didn’t want to admit that she planned on waiting till Shruthi came out of her special detention with Snape all day. Shruthi was the only other person in Hogwarts who understood why both girls needed to stick together as much as they could. Jane was aware of her toothbrush that she had stuffed into her robe pocket, as she was summoning the courage to knock on Snape’s door to volunteer for detention with her best friend. “What’s up?”

“Great,” Harry brightened, missing Jane’s longing looks at the tapestry. “Do you know anything about dragons?” He tried to sound as casual as he could, but his words were dripping in desperation.

“No, not really. Why?” Jane almost thought that Shruthi’s faith that Harry would eventually come to them was misguided. Now she was annoyed that Harry decided to ask now, when Shruthi was busy for the entire day. She relied on conferring with Shruthi when it came to all things Harry Potter, so she wasn’t used to being the one in charge.

“Well, I’m not really supposed to tell you this…” Hagrid had warned Harry to keep his hint a secret, but Harry thought Jane wasn’t the sort of person to go talking about it at the Great Hall. “The first round of the tournament is coming up, and it has something to do with dragons. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to fight one or something, but yeah…” He scratched the back of his head, making his hair stick up more than it usually did.

“f*ck,” Jane empathised quietly. She had watched the movies, and it was cool to see Harry Potter and the rest of them take on a dragon. But now, she actually knew Harry Potter, and she couldn’t imagine the frail boy in front of her taking on something as big as a house and breathed fire. It had reframed her memory of it. She thought about what it would be like if she was in Harry’s shoes, and she thought Harry was brave for still being at Hogwarts year after year. Is it bravery or stupidity to keep coming back here?

“f*ck,” Harry echoed her expletive with a lop-sided smile. He felt a little tingle in his chest due to the fact that he felt understood by the girl standing in front of him. Harry thought it was rare for someone to understand him, instead of worrying about him excessively or thinking everything that happened to him just made him cooler.

“Yeah, I don’t know the first thing about dragons, but I can help,” Jane volunteered.

“Thanks,” Harry grinned. That’s all he needed to hear.

The pair shuffled towards one of nearby potions classrooms, and pushed two of the benches together so they could create a more collaborative space for themselves. Jane rummaged through Harry’s schoolbag and pulled out their Care of Magical Creatures textbook. The Monster Book of Monsters by Edwardus Lima was an interesting tome, that repeatedly tried to bite anyone who pried open the pages without lightly stroking the spine. Jane slammed the book onto the wooden surface, disorientating the object before quickly gliding her finger on the binding. Harry chuckled loudly at her antics since he’s never seen anyone else take such a violent approach to it before. Hermione would be appalled at the treatment since to her every book was a scared text and was treated as such.
Jane scanned the table of contents and flipped open to the pages that detailed information on dragons. Dragons had an entire chapter dedicated to them since they were the more common magical creatures that wizards and witches would interact with in the magical world. Also, there were a number of types of dragons: Antipodean Opaleye, Chinese Fireball, Common Welsh Green, Hebridean Black, Hungarian Horntail, Norwegian Ridgeback, Peruvian Vipertooth, Romanian Longhorn, Swedish Short-Snout, and the Ukrainian Ironbelly. Each breed had its own small sub-chapter dedicated to it with beautiful hand-drawn illustrations.

Jane couldn’t remember which of these dragons that Harry had to outsmart in the tournament, but it didn’t really matter as all of them were known to kill humans. Harry leaned over her shoulders as Jane quickly flicked through all the dragon pages. He wished he had a chance to get a better look at the dragons when he was out to see them with Hagrid, but it was dark, and he was more worried about making sure he wasn’t seen underneath his invisibility cloak.

The book had detailed descriptions on the habitats the dragons preferred to live in, their usual diets, mating and breeding habits, and their life cycle. However, it had nothing on how to fight against one if you were ever facing one. Jane had flipped to the very last page of the chapter. One it contained a very small chapter detailing the minority of witches and wizards that had dragon blood inheritances from ancestors that had questionable relationships with these fire-breathing beasts. They were classed alongside vampires, werewolves, veelas, and giants – creatures with very limited rights in the magical Britain.

“I’d kill to be one of them right now,” Harry joked nervously. He really did not think he was capable enough to hurt a dragon, but if he could speak to one, he wouldn’t have to. He thought back to fighting the basilisk two years ago. It was a shame that it had to die, Harry had been drawn to it. If he had the chance to go back in time, maybe he would’ve tried to talk to it and convince it to attack the horcrux instead of him.

Jane shrugged at Harry’s comment. Creature inheritances sounded like a double-edged sword. Sure, they gave an average witch or wizard inhumane senses and powers, but it came at a cost of never being accepted by society. She thought it sounded very similar to being a Muggleborn in Slytherin house – you get to be a witch in the worst house at magical school. “Do you have any Defence textbooks on you? Maybe there’s a page in there about fighting dragons.”

Harry hurried to pull out the one he had from last year. Moody had chosen to keep Remus’ textbook rather than assigning a new one for the year. He remembered how thankful the Weasley family had been since Lockheart had forced every single person at Hogwarts to buy seven new textbooks for a single subject. Harry felt sheepish as he looked at the stained cover of his textbook, with tabs and pieces of parchment sticking out every which way. It was his favourite textbook, and he found himself turning the pages when he was in bed and couldn’t sleep. He opened the book automatically to the page about dragons. He already knew what was written on there. The only recommendation to fighting dragons given by the author was to do so in groups and have each person capable of producing a very powerful Stunning spell. Fighting a dragon as an individual was guaranteed death.

Harry waited until Jane had finished reading the page, and he watched her thumb to the next one to find it was on a different creature and that was all the information available on dragons. “Uhh, how strong is your Stunning spell?”

“Not strong enough to knock out a dragon,” Harry admitted soundlessly. Moody had just started teaching it in his classes this year. Harry had only successfully cast it once so far. It produced a weak red bolt that rocked the practice dummy on its spot. Moody congratulated him on being the first to do so which made Harry swell in pride at the time. Now he wished that Moody hadn’t because it only made him more confident than he should’ve been. “Maybe, I don’t have to fight the dragon. Maybe its something else to do with them?” Harry faltered in his wondering. Surely, Dumbledore wouldn’t allow any of the champions to die in this tournament? Maybe all four of them will have to fight one dragon, but that theory quickly crumbled because Harry remembered seeing more than one dragon earlier this week. Unless it was worse, and all four of them had to fight multiple dragons at once.

Jane knew that he didn’t have to fight his dragon, just steal something from it that would enrage it to the point where fighting was necessary. “Instead of fighting, you can just run away from it.”

“I can’t outrun a dragon,” Harry said sourly.

“Duh, but maybe you can out fly one, right? Draco keeps whinging about quidditch being cancelled, and he said something about how good of a seeker you were.” Jane had twist Draco’s rant into a compliment. Not on purpose, she just didn’t have the patience to spout Malfoy’s endless rants about Harry Potter to the boy in question.

“He really said that?” Harry asked incredulously. He couldn’t believe his two ears that the boy he hated most at Hogwarts would compliment him on his quidditch skills.

“Concentrate, Harry. D’ya think you could outfly a dragon?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about something like that… Even if I could, I’d need a broomstick.”

“Just summon one then,” Jane’s voice was sharper than she had intended. Shruthi was the one who had more patience when dealing with Harry Potter. Jane disliked how Harry’s mind wandered when she was basically spooning the answer to him. It’s really a miracle he’s survived this far.

“Oh, right!” Harry exclaimed, temporarily forgetting he was a wizard. The Summoning charm was something they’ve been working on for weeks. Harry had been procrastinating putting effort into it since he was distracted by the tournament. “Err, I’m having trouble with that.”

Jane made a choking noise as she was holding back her laughter. The way Harry had worded his answer put her head firmly in the gutter. “Maybe there’s a pill for that,” she said before she could stop herself. Harry awkwardly smiled as he could understand that it was a joke, but he didn’t understand the reference. Jane gathered herself, “Just, I don’t know, practice the spell. When’s the first round?” She couldn’t give anything more concrete because she couldn’t do magic herself.

“Monday.” Jane blinked slowly. She was going to murder Shruthi. They had two days to help this boy be able to first stand in front of a dragon without sh*tting his pants, and secondly, steal the egg faster than every other champion without killing himself. Harry collapsed into himself slowly, the longer the silence continued from Jane.

“Harry,” said Jane in a defeated tone.

Harry was expecting anger, but this cut even more deeply. It felt as if Sirius himself had told him that he was disappointed in him. “I’m sorry.” He took off his glasses and made an excuse to clean them with the cloth of his robe so he wouldn’t have to look at Jane’s face. It reminded him too much of Hermione’s and he didn’t need any more reminders of his sick best friend. He didn’t want to make one of the only people at this school that tolerated him, join the majority that hated his entire existence. “I really am.”

“Don’t be sorry, just do the damn spell,” Jane snapped at him. She couldn’t believe her life hinged on the survival of the boy in front of her. She hoped whatever luck that Harry had in the movies existed. She pointed to the chalk duster that sat on the ledge below the blackboard, “Start by summoning that.”

Nearby, Shruthi was grumbling as she drove her toothbrush against the grout of Snape’s bathroom. “Aren’t you supposed live in the teacher’s tower?” She didn’t like how he loomed over her to make sure she was putting her best effort.

“I was given a choice by Dumbledore. I preferred to have my quarters closer to the Slytherin dormitories since I am their head of house.” He watched as the soapy foam crept past where she was scrubbing along the channels between the tiles. He would do this yearly himself when he was a boy. He hated the clouds of bleach that lingered in the kitchen even with all the windows open. He followed Shruthi around to deftly banish the chemicals in the small space she was working in.

His quarters were larger than if he lived in the tower. Another advantage was that he didn’t have any neighbours to disturb when he worked late into the night with brewing or his duties as a professor. He liked the solace it gave him to live alone but one that was intermittently disturbed by visiting Slytherin students. He had a central solar that he left sparsely decorated due to his number of visitors. He kept two borrowed armchairs by the fire and a small bookshelf where he stored his more precious potions books. Once or twice, he contemplated moving a small brewing setup to his room but thought against it because it gave him an excuse to wander the halls of Hogwarts late at night. His bedroom consisted of a four-poster bed like what the Slytherin students slept on, with one bedside table on the right side of it. He kept a wardrobe and chest of drawers; both had many compartments collecting dust and housing a family of spiders. The more he reflected on his rooms in Hogwarts, the more he was reminded of his own home in Spinner’s End.

Lucius was the only person who he permitted to visit his home during the summer. Narcissa complained about his lack of hospitality. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want his best friend’s wife coming to his house. He was simply embarrassed about his home, and didn’t want Narcissa who spent hours designing Malfoy manor to see the state he lived in. He didn’t know how but his house was both cluttered and claustrophobic in places but also empty in others. Maybe I should redecorate this summer?, he mused.

She paused her work and sat up on her heels, brushing the back of her left hand against her sweaty brow. She looked down and the fabric of her knees were soaked in the diluted bleach solution she was working with. She knew from experience that the black robes would fade into an ugly bleached yellow. Snape noticed as well, “Your robes are made to be protect against minor spell damage, it will take a lot more than some bleach to ruin them. Just finish those tiles and I’ll dry your robes for you.”

She looked at him with curiosity colouring her face, and he returned the look to an exaggerated degree. She looked away before he reneged his offer and continued to scrub silently. She dragged her scrubbing if she could before Snape realised, she was purposely doing so. “Why did you hit me?” She blurted just as she was about to finish. She inspected her work with pride, all the grout lines had transformed from being caked with dirt to a dull white. She knew from experience that once they dried, they would go even brighter. She recalled when she used to spend her summers cleaning her tiled floors at home, she would spend some of the day following sitting cross-legged on the floor marvelling her hard work.

Snape pinched his lips together. He had no good reason to justify his actions and anything that popped into his mind sounded like a weak excuse. He settled for the truth. “You were annoying me.”

“You seriously hit me because I was annoying?” Shruthi’s voice hitched in pitch. She followed up with a question once the initial disbelief wore off, “I don’t recall you hitting students in the books.”
I do want to, Snape thought, all the bloody time. “No, I don’t.”

“Why did you hit me then?”

“Because you are a Muggle,” he explained without hesitation. He knew within his bones that the girl in front of him was greatly his inferior. Someone, outside of these circ*mstances, he wouldn’t even acknowledge if he passed by her on the street. And now that he had gotten to know her, he thought of her as plain, brash, and stupid. The only good thing about her and Jane was that they were skilled in their womanly duties.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?!” She got up to her feet in a rush. Her fists balled against her hips, one clutching the handle of her toothbrush. Her grip tightened and tightened as her breathing became shallower. Her face flushed with sweat from physical exertion. Strands of her hair either clinging her skin or framing her in a frazzled halo. Her robes were wrinkled and wet in patches. Her anger faded to saddened understanding. “No, you’re not kidding.”

“No, I am not.”

“I hate you.”

“I am aware,” Snape smirked. Shruthi wanted to do something, but nothing came to mind that wouldn’t end in pain or death for herself. How deserved would it be if she kicked, punched, bit him, right now? She wished she was magical so she could do some of the hexes she’s seen other students being subjected to by their friends (and not so friends) in the hallways and corridors. She loathed the man standing in front of her so much. She didn’t think that she could hate someone until now. Hate always seemed to be an excessive emotion. Something that actively consumed an entire person, but now she understood the feeling. Snape took out his wand and cast a non-verbal Drying spell before Shruthi could react. He remained silent as he pulled out a neon, hot pink toothbrush still in its plastic wrapping and held it out it in front of her.

“Is that for me?” She asked dumbly, her right-hand loosening on her ruined toothbrush. The bristles were sticking up at odd ends, with some worn down to the hard plastic.

“Unless you plan to use that one,” Snape replied drily.

She snatched it from his hand and dipped her chin down so he wouldn’t see her pout. She wanted to know why he flip-flopped between being an almost decent human being to the worst person she had encountered in her eighteen years of life. She bit down on her tongue; she knew he would never tell her why. I hate him even more now, she complained internally.

Shruthi and Snape walked side-by-side in silence towards the entrance of the Slytherin section of Hogwarts. They heard a series of frustrated grunts sounding from one of the occupied potions classrooms, and Snape picked up his pace in fear that one of the students had stupidly decided to practice potion making without adequate supervision. He instead found Jane Becker with her arms crossed and her forehead glued to desk below her with her eyes closed, as the green-eyed menace from Gryffindor had trained his wand to the dust-brusher just below the blackboard.

“Accio,” Harry Potter shouted for what felt like the hundredth time this morning. The rectangular puff didn’t even wiggle in acknowledgement of his magic. He let out an exaggerated sigh as Jane mumbled tiredly, “Again.”

“It’s not working!” Harry complained, tossing his head sassily in Jane’s direction. Jane couldn’t see his tantrum, but Snape had a front row seat to Harry’s imitation of his father. As much as Jame Potter bragged about his natural talent for all branches of magic, he complained about not getting complicated charms to work on the first try.

“Have you tried pointing your wand at it?” Jane asked in exhaustion, still not looking up from her position. She had stopped watching Harry fail over and over again and curled up against the cold wood in boredom.

Harry looked like he was on the verge of screaming at the brunette before Snape stepped in, “Can you two not find a more suitable place to practice magic? My classroom is a very delicate environment where tossing around half-formed spells could yield unwanted results.” He would have ‘no silly wand waving’ in his classroom, especially from the likes of Harry ‘The Boy Who Lived’ Potter.

“Don’t worry about that, Professor, Harry hasn’t even got a ‘half-formed spell’ yet,” Jane retorted, sitting up and stretching out languidly.

“Hey, why don’t we all take a break and have some lunch,” Shruthi interrupted before Harry hexed out her friend.

“I could use some lunch,” Harry agreed with a rumbling stomach. Learning new spells always worked up his appetite, even more so than quidditch. He really wished he had Hermione now to help him. He knew that with her, he would’ve nailed the Summoning charm within the hour. All Jane did was sit there and shout corrections at him from what the textbook said. He eventually grew frustrated enough to ask her to do it if she was going to backseat him from the bench. She simply said that she wasn’t the one who was about to fight a dragon in two days’ time. He had nothing to say in response to that.

*

After lunch, Jane filled in Shruthi regarding Harry’s dragon problem and progress. Harry excused him and told the girls that he would like to practice by himself which Shruthi had disagreed with. Harry snapped at her fiercely, “I’ll ask for your help if I want it, Patel.” He did immediately feel awful for saying that because he didn’t want to push away the only people at school that liked him. He didn’t like the look of shock on her face, as he hurried away in discomfort at hurting her feelings. He liked Jane and Shruthi, but right now, he was so stressed about the tournament that couldn’t get the words out for an apology.

“He’s been grouchy all morning,” Jane told her friend when Harry was out of earshot.

“I can’t blame him, Jay. He’s stressed the f*ck out,” Shruthi replied empathetically as she gnawed on her well-formed linea alba. “I think a break would be useful, maybe he’ll figure the spell out if he’s by himself.” Jane didn’t share in Shruthi’s optimistic outlook on Harry’s progress with the Summoning charm. If he couldn’t summon an object right in front of his face, how the hell was he supposed to summon his broomstick located in the Gryffindor tower from the quidditch pitch?

“Why don’t we head to the library to see if we can come up with a back up plan, just in case,” Shruthi proposed while slowing guiding her friend in that direction. It took the pair some time to find a spot that was secluded enough for their research but still close enough to the shelves on magical animals. Shruthi made herself comfortable on the well-used library chairs, as she poured over Jane’s copy of The Monster Book of Monsters.

Jane on the other hand was crouched down to get into the proximity of the closet shelf to the floor. There sat the least popular books that had a thick film of dust covering them. She drew a line cutting across them, watching how the faded colours of top edge of their covers were revealed underneath the drab grey. One book in particular caught her attention by the sheer volume of it. She had to grab it with both of her hands, and it thunked loudly onto the rug below her.

“Do you remember owning one of these as a kid?” Jane questioned her studious friend. She wiped cover so they both could read the cover – The Big Book of Monsters and All other Magical Creatures. It took a moment for Shruthi to remember what it reminded her of, and then it clicked.

“Oh my God, is that like those pop-up Egyptian mythology books?”

“I had the dinosaur one,” Jane grinned as she opened the book to the very centre, and a hippogriff sprouted from the pages, pacing around proudly. It looked up at them with a judgemental look on its beaked face and let out a silent hiss. “Wow, this is a lot cooler than what we had,” Jane complimented. She flicked to another page and watched as the fairy sprung lithely from the pages and buzzed around the girls’ hunched shoulders.

“Yeah… a lot cooler,” Shruthi marvelled as she tucked herself right next to Jane. The Care of Magical Creatures textbook already blew her mind, but this book melted it into a puddle. The fairy’s giggles sounded like tinkling bells next to her ears, and she drew in a short breath of jealousy. I don’t think magic will ever get old, Shruthi mused. Every single day she was surprised by something new at Hogwarts. “Look up dragons.”

Instead of looking through the table of contents, Jane decided to just thumb through the pages. They would pause every now and then when a creature that they remembered from the movies popped up on the inked paper. The diagrams weren’t the only things that caught their attention, each was accompanied by a paragraph of mythology and lore for the creature rather than the scientific ones that were found in their textbook.

The page about dragons had a warning to the reader to avoid sticking their fingers into their mouths. Small, palm-sized dragons wandered around the open-faced book, crossing the edge onto the wood desk. Their claws added scratched to already dented table surface. The Welsh Green stretching out in a cat-like fashion before beating down its miniature wings to take flight. Jane felt a bubbling in her chest in excitement to see one of these creatures with her own eyes soon. She watched as the Chinese Fireball laid out on her shoulders making her feel like she was a supervillain with a ferret for an evil animal companion.

Shruthi giggled softly when Jane shared her thoughts, and Jane shushed her before the strict librarian would come to interrupt their ‘study’ session. Both girls scooped up the small, winged creatures back to their home before turning the page. Shruthi yelped in surprise and her chair tipped back precariously on its hind legs as a miniature basilisk leapt from the pages from its tight coil with its poisoned fangs barred.

Jane quickly pushed on the chair’s back, helping Shruthi calm down as the green snake slithered about angrily. Jane wasn’t too fond of snakes, but every inch of the Slytherin common room and dormitories were decorated with frightening reptiles. She learned that the symbol of the Slytherin family was an ouroboros of a basilisk one time she had gotten bored enough to look at the art in the common room. She found the symbol hidden around the room, and it got her through an afternoon to try to find as many as she could (she counted ninety-six before she had given up).
She picked up the snake by just behind its head and held it up like a jelly worm. It flailed around helplessly as Shruthi cracked a smile. “See, nothing to be afraid of,” Jane joked.
“I wouldn’t say that to the fifty-foot version of it,” Shruthi responded. She looked down at the beautifully ornamented page. It was edged in silver, as the ink used to describe the mythological creature was a beautiful jade green.

“It says here at they thought basilisks were dragons,” Shruthi pointed to the green words etched on the page.

“Well, in the dark, I would think that basilisks and dragons look pretty similar,” Jane theorised. She knew that if she saw either in the dark, she wouldn’t check what it was, she’d just figure out which spell would kill one the quickest. “And I mean, they know that basilisks aren’t dragons anymore.”

“But what if they were related? Like they were both reptiles or dinosaurs? Like pterodactyls and stegosaurus, or snakes and lizards.”

“Our textbook would say if they were,” Jane countered.

“I don’t think it would. I mean it says here that basilisks are rare, and even in the books we only saw them once. But we saw dragons lots of times, so of course there is going to be more information on dragons than basilisks.” Dragons popped up from the very first book and were even in the last one. But basilisks only featured in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Okay, let’s say that that they are. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Jane. Harry can talk to snakes,” Shruthi whispered. “The whole Chamber of Secrets thing. If he can talk to basilisks, then maybe he can talk to dragons.”

“I forgot about that,” Jane said with an open mouth. “But still, Shruthi, that’s a still stre-e-e-etch. But this is Harry Potter land...” Shruthi nodded and smiled as it was coming together. Jane remembered she liked the Chamber of Secrets a lot more than the other movies due to it featuring a very handsome wizard near to the end of it.

Both girls searched high and low for Harry Potter the following day to tell him about their idea. They figured out he was most probably hiding out in the Gryffindor tower since they couldn’t find him elsewhere in the castle. Jane spent most of the afternoon ranting to Shruthi about how much she hated Harry Potter’s irresponsible attitude. Shruthi let her friend talk at her, because it was better than her having to sit with the thought that maybe Harry wouldn’t pull through in time and actually get himself killed this time. Which meant the death of Jane Becker, something that Shruthi would never forgive herself for.

“Absolutely not,” Harry argued when Shruthi talked to him about her newest idea after finally finding him on Monday morning.

“Why not, Potter? Have you got the charm to work?” Jane spat back.

“No, I haven’t gotten the charm to work,” Harry informed in a sharp tone. “I’m not speaking parseltongue in front of the whole school again. Some of them still think I’m the bloody Heir of Slytherin.” After the events of the Chamber, Dumbledore advised Harry to move on and not tell anyone what really happened to protect Ginny Weasley. Harry agreed for the sake of Ron’s family, though he was upset that he couldn’t clear his name. He didn’t want the school to bring back attention to his ability to speak snake while he was already hated for being an attention seeker.

“So, you’d rather die by dragon fire than gain a few more haters?” Jane asked without any softness.

“Well…” When Jane had put it that way, Harry was more receptive to their idea. If it worked, it would be a lot easier than trying to summon his broom to fly away before the dragon took a bite out of him. “I don’t know if it will work.” Harry knew that his ability to speak to snakes was a spur-of-the-moment sort of skill. The first few times he didn’t even know he was doing it because it all sounded like English to him.

“You told us about the dragons. You’ve seen them, right?” Harry simply nodded. “Well, go see them again, and try to have chat.”

“I can’t, I wasn’t supposed to see them in the first place…” Harry said vaguely. He didn’t want to get Hagrid in trouble for telling him about the first round of the tournament. He shook his head, his hair flying everywhere and landing to cover up his eyes, “It’s alright. Thanks for all your help. I’ll be fine today.” He’s gotten this far being The Boy Who Lived. He had spent yesterday expertly avoiding the girls and hunting Cedric Diggory underneath his father’s cloak to tell him about the tournament. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve told Cedric, but it felt like the right thing to do considering that he was the other Hogwarts champion. He didn’t like to think that Cedric was the true Hogwarts champion, because firstly he didn’t want to use Malfoy’s words, and secondly, Harry had a feeling if he was old enough for the tournament, it would’ve been his name pulled from the cup anyway.

Shruthi wanted to get the last word in that he shouldn’t leave it up to luck, but Jane pulled her away before she could. “I know what you’re going to tell him, and for anyone else that would be useful advice,” Jane’s words were clipped. She didn’t want to leave this up to chance as well. It was her life on the line, after all. She didn’t have to finish off her sentence for Shruthi to catch on. Both girls split apart and went to their respective morning classes. Afternoon classes were cancelled for today and students were told to go to the quidditch pitch after lunch to sit in their houses.

*

Harry sat with his elbows on his knobbly knees, and his face in his hands as he contemplated just how lucky he was feeling today. He was waiting for his turn while the replica of the Hungarian Horntail bit down on his big toe through his dragonhide boots. He kicked it away reflexively, only irritating the small pest even more. It attacked with renewed vigour, now going for the exposed skin of his hands. Harry snapped from the air with both hands with a well-practiced manoeuvre. He had it by the scruff of its pointy neck and gave it a withering stare rivalling a certain Hogwarts potion masters.

His mind was cluttered with all the information that he read over Jane’s shoulder about the Hungarian Horntail. All he could recall was that it was considered one of the most dangerous breeds of dragon that even gave the most experienced of breeders a challenge to keep in sanctuaries. He couldn’t understand why a beast that ferocious would even be considered as a good challenge for students who haven’t even graduated their respective schools. Not fight, just steal a golden egg from a very angry mother dragon, ‘cause that’s easier, he sarcastically thought.

He’s already watched Cedric Diggory come in with half his face burned. He watched as the Hogwarts’ mediwitch tended to his injury while the Hufflepuff boy grimaced in pain but swallowed his sounds of pain. He heard his name called, pulling him from his thoughts. His legs trembled as he took step after step out the tent for the champions onto packed earthen floor of the tournament area.
They had kept the spectator stands of the quidditch pitch but had removed the trimmed grass of the field into an enclosure for the dragons. He looked across the length that he would fly across in seconds to see a furious black dragon crouched over her clutch of similarly coloured eggs. The golden one that he needed to nab stuck out like the golden snitch against a blue sky. With every laboured breath it let out, a stream of hot air blasted right at his face. It was warm, and he knew it would be scalding hot the closer he stepped towards the beast. Her wings unfurled from their tucked position against her body, adding to her already towering height.

Harry gulped as they reached the into the sky, blocking out the sunlight of the bright afternoon entirely. He looked up and noticed it was lightly snowing but every single flake melted before they could reach the rocky ground around him. As she reared back, Harry threw himself against one of the larger boulders. He felt the fire seared the rock against the back, and tunnel around him. He closed his eyes praying he wouldn’t wet himself in fear. Fire continued to burn, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was his imagination that the temperature steadily climbed. He looked right and left and realised that the tunnel of fire inching towards the hands he had been using to ground himself. The dragon fire was hot enough to melt away the stone.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t,” Harry chanted quietly as he waited for a pause in the fire so he could move to a boulder diagonally located from his current one. It was a few meters away, but it was closer to the dragon. He didn’t have much of a choice, and he heard the deep inhale from her he sprinted and threw himself across the ground, sliding the last few centimetres on his belly. He grabbed his wand out as the dragon resumed melting this stone barrier as well.

“Accio,” he breathed nervously, making a upside down crescent moon shape with his wand. Unlike most of the charms he had done before, the Summoning charm is colourless, which meant he had no idea if it had worked or not. Last night, he had managed to summon a few objects from across the room, but that was under very different circ*mstances. I should’ve practiced more. The regret heated him up as much as the dragon fire surrounding him.

He smelled an awful burning smell, and his fingers cautiously touched the ends of his bird’s nest as he curled even smaller. “Accio,” he kept trying fruitlessly.

Shruthi watched on from the back of the Hufflepuff stands between the slits of his fingers. From her angle she could see just how far the small black-haired boy was from his target. He couldn’t make it even on his broomstick since she was sure that the dragon would either torch him or whack him out of the sky before he could get to her eggs. It was an ugly scaled creature, with razor sharp teeth and lemony eyes trained on the boy in the enclosure. Each enclosure had been designed to simulate the natural habitat of the dragon, and Hungarian Horntail lived in a rocky ranges of its namesake country. She had a sharp tail that gouged the ground behind her, leaving large gashes in the stone. She couldn’t see what Harry was doing, but from his furious waving of his hands around his head she garnered that he was attempting the Summoning charm.

“He’s on fire,” A Hufflepuff near her whispered in excitement.

“What!” Shruthi gasped, pushing past the crowd of spectators. She jumped over empty benches and shoved anyone who got in her way. Everyone else in the house had adorned themselves with those awful, charmed buttons that Draco Malfoy had made to divide Hogwarts. Shruthi was sure that Draco wouldn’t have given a single sh*t about Cedric Diggory being one of the Tri-Wizard tournament champions, if it wasn’t for Harry Potter participating in them too. She ignored the shouts of the people that she moved aside until she was right up against the railing of the spectator area. “Oh God,” she exclaimed when she did see that Harry’s robes had caught aflame. She watched as he tried to stamp where the fire had yet to spread to.

She cupped her hands around her mouth to create a funnel, and screamed as loud as she could, “C’mon Harry!” People around started shouting at her to sit down and shut up. Others were a lot less nice about her supporting Harry Potter when she should’ve been on Cedric’s side because of her house affiliation. She ignored them and screamed again, “YOU CAN DO THIS!”
Harry turned towards the noise and saw Shruthi’s sweaty face from above. He was crouched near the Hufflepuff stands, and he had never been so grateful. She’s going to think you’re a massive loser if you die, his brain helpfully supplied as he watched her wave and pump her arms in the arm in support. He gave an awkward grin back before he remembered he was still on fire.

“I can do this,” Harry prayed. “I’m the Boy Who Lived, not the Boy Who Died by Burning to a Crisp.” He took in a massive breath in and scrambled to his feet during the dragon’s pause. He faced the fearsome reptile and shouted, “Stop!”

The brow ridge of the dragon dipped, and Harry wasn’t sure if that meant that it was getting ready for another round of fire or had understood them. He repeated his shout again, and he watched the massive, yellow eyes narrow into slits. They were the same eyes of a basilisk. From the round shape that was hidden behind folds of red flesh, outlined by thick protective scales. He didn’t care about what anyone else thought about him anymore. It didn’t matter if people thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, or his best friend Ron Weasley thought he was an attention seeker. He was the Harry Potter. He slayed the Dark Lord when he was a baby. He survived the Dursleys. He saved the school from Voldemort coming back twice now. He would survive a lot more than some mean words and icy stares at school.

“You dare ask me to still my flames, child?” The dragon roared. Harry only understood bits and pieces of the sentence, the rest blending in with the noise. He understood ‘stop’ and ‘flames’, and gathered the rest as the dragon swept its tail to the front of its feet, creating a perimeter of gouged stone between him and it.

He stepped closer before answering, “I’m not going to hurt you, I just need one of your eggs.” He winced as the dragon roared even louder, her long neck curling inwards in the same way that a snake curls its body ready to strike. “The golden one.”

“These are all my eggs, child. There are no others.” Harry understood, ‘no’ and ‘others'. The difference between parseltongue and whatever dragons speak was considerable. He was just glad that the dragon was smarter than him when it came to parsing their language barrier.

“That one,” Harry pointed to the one that was the furthest away from the rest of her clutch. It was right next to her longest claw on her left front foot. The dragon momentarily looked down and then back at Harry. “That’s the yellow one.”

“Mine,” the dragon insisted. She used her claw to bring the metallic one back to its brothers and sisters. She had a nest of six eggs, and she could count all six of them now.

“It’s yellow!” Harry shouted in frustration. How could the dragon not see that it was so very different to her other ones? It was sticking out worse than Jane Becker in Slytherin house. It was bright yellow and smooth, while her real eggs were squamous and dark. The dragon blinked slowly and geared up to fry the annoyance from her life. Dragons are colourblind, Harry recalled reading at the last moment. “The smooth one!”

Her claw ran lightly over the one that was oddly shaped at her feet. It was similar enough to the rest of her litter that she didn’t notice the difference until now. She had been disoriented and frightened when she awoke from her enchanted slumber in front of a crowd of humans. She lived in solitude with only her mate that visited sporadically to deliver her sustenance so she could nest. That was weeks ago, and now she was in some foreign land, away from her home and very scared. Her senses were overwhelmed, and now some small human child had come to take one of her eggs away from her. “This one is different.”

“Yes, different. That one is mine,” Harry stepped as close as he dared. He was still a stone throw away from a protective boulder in case his diffusion skills weren’t enough.

“Where is mine?” The breath blew Harry a step back, as his face warmed up like he had opened a warm oven. She pushed the foreign egg away from her and watched in tumble down the nest and wedge itself upright on the chiselled-out area of the stone floor made by her tail. “WHERE IS MINE?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” Harry mirrored. “PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOUR EGG IS, I DIDN’T TAKE IT.” His voice was strained by the end. He dashed forward and wrapped his hands around the object of the first round. The dragon roared, as his shoulder clipped the boulder’s edge as ran towards his protection. He felt fire scorch at his left leg as he screamed in pain. His hands wrapped tighter around the golden egg as he tried to tuck his injured leg to safety.

“I can do this,” He repeated in a sniffle, and he cracked one of his green eyes open to look at the damage to his limb. In front of him floated his Firebolt. He grabbed onto it limply and let it fly him to safety as his eyes drooped close from the pain. His grip never faltered aroundhis prize.

Chapter 5: In Sickness and in Health

Chapter Text

Barty Crouch Jr. who was disguised as one of the most famous aurors in English history was currently fretting over the state of his Hogwarts’ office. He was expecting two important-to-him guests, and he was unhappy with all the clutter that had been gathering these past few weeks. He grunted as he moved stacks of parchment to already filled shelves, shoving the scrolls forcibly into the nooks and crannies where they looked like they might fit. A few rolled out and onto the floor, and he sighed as he struggled to bend down to pick them up. His father had always been a very organised man – both in his workplace but at home. He would lay out his ironed work robes the night before. Barty Crouch Snr. left the house for the Ministry of Magic at seven in the morning sharp and returned home at five in the afternoon; Barty Crouch Jr. couldn’t remember a single day where his father did not keep to that schedule, and neither could any of the house elves at Crouch Castle. He preferred coffee in a very specific manner, and insisted on making it himself when he could’ve asked a junior auror to make it for him. Barty Crouch Snr. was a regimented man who instilled the importance of order to his son from a young age, but his lessons clearly never stuck to the young Death Eater.

He Scourgify’ed the toast crumbs from his breakfast and dust across his desk before arranging his tea set. They should be here any minute now, but he hobbled around his room impatiently looking at his watch. Painful sparks erupted from where his prosthetic connected with his flesh and he was forced to sit down after a few paces. He planned to Crucio ‘Mad Eye’ Moody after all this debacle had concluded and force him to see a healer at St. Mungo’s. No man his age and talent should have to live like this, but that was if he was allowed to live at all. His Dark Lord Voldemort was not the forgiving sort, and Moody wasn’t the sort of wizard to want forgiveness from a dark wizard.

Right on time Barty heard a rhymical knock on his office door and he shouted at them to come in. He put on his most welcoming smile (which came out to be a cumbersome grimace) and watched with his magical eye the two witches’ seat themselves in front of him. The door creaked slowly shut, allowing the three of them to speak frankly. “Why did you want to see us?” Jane asked, unwrapping the small note in front of her. On it was the spiky handwriting of Moody which had writ the words ‘see me’.

He brought out his hipflask embossed in silver with the emblem of the Ministry of Magic and poured amber coloured liquid into the two teacups closest to the girls. Shruthi arched her brow, “Why are you giving us Polyjuice potion?”

“It’s firewhisky,” Barty snorted. He held up an identical flask with his free hand and shook it teasingly. The girls didn’t know that the density of the two liquids were different, which meant that he knew without uncapping either flask. Dumbledore had only told him that he would be allowed to keep both on him as long as he is not so intoxicated that he cannot teach his classes. He uncapped his own and took a swig carelessly, so the dark blue liquid mixed with his spit dribbled down his chin. Jane judged silently as she watched Barty’s dry tongue lick around his lips and explore to gather the runaway fluid. It tasted vaguely like blueberries and a Yule log, something that Barty wouldn’t expected from the grizzled man he had imprisoned in a Matryoshka doll-esq trunk device.

“Why are you giving us firewhisky?” Shruthi rephrased her question now she had more information.

“You said you were eighteen. I thought the both of you deserved a drink after yesterday,” Barty winked impishly, his electric blue eye spinning out of control as he chuckled. Harry’s performance was the best thing that Barty Crouch Jr. had seen in a very long time, but what was better still was the reactions that he witnessed to parselmouth due to his perfect view. Moody was seated in the staff area which housed the foreign headteachers as well as his father, Ludovic Bagman and Rita Skeeter. At first, there was an uneasy confusion at why the young saviour was hissing at the dragon, which then turned into a spine-chilling revelation. The Hogwarts staff that were employed during the events of the Chamber of Secrets were only slightly more composed than the guests. Bagman had jumped to his feet in shock, as his father turned the same shade as the falling snow. Igor Karkaroff made excuses in half-formed English that he needed the bathroom before hurtling out of the metal seats clutching his hand to his heart. The bench rattling loudly as Igor rammed his knee into it in his hurry.

Even Severus Snape was shocked at the sight, though anyone else would think he was bored out of his mind by the way he held his face in an irritated pinch. Barty had seven years of friendship with the potions master and was adept at reading all the micro expressions that even he couldn’t hide. Barty himself had to stop himself from laughing and put on an adequate performance as Moody which entailed a terse conversation with Dumbledore sharing his worries about the newly exposed parselmouth. Dumbledore had replied in a reassuring tone that he was aware Harry’s abilities, and it wasn’t a concern of his. Dumbledore was empathetic of Harry’s unlucky nature, but he was worried that instead of the boy finding a more conventional means to take on a dragon, he chose a method that Dumbledore had warned the boy to hide. He reasoned this change was due to his two best friends not being able to guide him to more reasonable solutions, but he noted that he should still call the boy for some tea when he had recovered to find out if there were any other reasons why.

Despite all the upset Harry Potter had caused the judges, his attempt was most successful across all judging criteria. Begrudgingly, Harry Potter was awarded the highest scores for the first round of the tournament while the boy was laying unconscious in the champions’ tent. Barty didn’t have a chance to visit him right after the tournament since Rita Skeeter had cordoned off the area for a special post-tournament interview with all the champions which was to be published the in the Daily Prophet the morning after. The edition that was currently sitting on the desk in front of him. The entire front page was dedicated to it, as well as most of the middle pages of the newspaper. Harry Potter’s name appearing more times than any other champion’s combined, with a fantastical version of his events (though Barty thought she could’ve gotten away with even more verbosity and exaggeration since it was really that epic).

Jane stared suspiciously at the liquid and denied it on both of their behalf’s. Barty shrugged, which turned into a roll and stretch of his stiff shoulders, “More for me.” He took both cups and downed them one after another in quick succession. “That was truly fantastic, you two. Severus told me that Jane was focused on teaching Potter Accio, I can’t believe you swindled the both of us with this instead.” Barty’s voice was kind but filled with excitement. “Absolutely brilliant – brilliant.”

“Uh, thank you,” Shruthi replied with a sense of discomfort at his sudden change in demeanour. “I think he did end up summoning his broom though.” Shruthi couldn’t see what happened after she shouted at Harry during the event since her house pushed her to the back of the Hufflepuff grandstand. Even today they were acting very frigid towards her. Her roommates hadn’t spoken a single word since last night, and she had been forced to sit at the very end of the Hufflepuff table this morning for breakfast at the Great Hall. She could put herself in Jane’s shoes with being ostracised from her own house.

“Yeah, he did. Almost fell off the damn thing,” Barty roared loudly, throwing his head back in peals of laughter. “I suppose he thought the dragon would catch him.” Jane snorted as Shruthi let out a single forced laugh. It wasn’t that funny to think that Harry almost died yesterday. Both girls wanted to go see him in the infirmary this morning, but the school mediwitch had banned all visitors from seeing any of the injured Hogwarts champions telling them that they needed to recover in peace. They couldn’t argue with that.

“Keep up the good work, Becker and Patel.” I think we’ll have a very entertaining tournament if these two have a hand in things, Barty mused. He almost offered a firm handshake to the girls but then remember who he was talking to. “Make sure to keep it up,” he tacked on before he dismissed them.

*

The final bell had rung for the day, and Jane slung her schoolbag over one shoulder before shuffling out of the Charms classroom with the rest of her green coloured house. She had planned with Shruthi in the morning to go to the infirmary after classes to see if they were permitted now. The trek from charms tower to the infirmary wing was shorter than from any other place in the school since most of the magical injuries at Hogwarts occurred within this wing. Though Jane privately thought there should be an infirmary wing for each of the subjects at Hogwarts. She arrived at the cleanest part of the ancient castle before her friend and took a seat on one of the waiting chairs outside. There were a couple of students occupying the others, nursing various magical ailments. One Ravenclaw boy was sporting a crab claw for a left hand, and a young Gryffindor girl who was uncontrollably laughing. Jane watched as each person in front of her was carefully assessed by the exhausted witch clothed in all white robes who tsked and fretted over each injury. Some she sent straight into the infirmary with a bed number in hand, and others she lectured about adolescent reckless but never dismissed anyone with quickly treating them.

Madam Pomfrey had been serving as the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry’s one and only healer for the last half century. Before she worked at the prestigious London medical establishment of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She worked on the ward on the fourth floor of the disguised hospital tending to spell damage. She was hired by Headmaster Armando Dippet when he first arrived at Hogwarts after being attended by her a few weeks before his headmastership after a pub fight. The only time Poppy Pomfrey was not stationed at the remote magical school was during the war when all capable healers were called to St Mungo’s for emergency around-the-clock shifts. She did not miss have back-to-back double shifts when wizards and witches would come with a range of light and dark damage done to their bodies and souls. Those years were the ones that took the most toll on the healer, as St Mungo’s had kept a neutral stance on the war and opened its door to both suspected Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Pheonix.

The time that Albus Dumbledore captained the school, he asked Pomfrey if she needed another hand at tending to the injuries at the school and she told him that she was perfectly capable of monitoring the health of all the staff and students at Hogwarts. A fact that she had proved time and time again. It was very rare that students needed to stay more than a few hours within the infirmary, and she even kept a personal record in her books to monitor that. Her streak broken early this year by both Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory. Poppy was a vocal advocate against the Tri-Wizard Tournament, advising that it was banned from all three European magical institutions for a rational reason. Like always, the Ministry had not headed the words of a healer and forged on with the idiotically dangerous tournament. She was aghast to find out that the first task for these juvenile participants to fight a fully grown, nesting dragon.

And like she predicted she had both Hogwarts’ champions occupying two of her white-sheeted infirmary beds under a magically induced slumber. She offered her services for the Durmstrang and Beaxbatons’ victors, but they had declined saying that they had brought a healer with them. She then revised her offer if those healers ever needed anything for their work that they should come her straight away. No matter where in the world, a fully licensed healer could expect to find help from another of their kind. Poppy always wanted to test that fact. Maybe one day after her retirement she would be able to travel with world and see all the beauty that she had heard from her more careless patients.

She worried for Harry Potter the most, with a large part of his body suffering direct dragon fire. It was only his stubborn magic that had kept the boy alive long enough for him to fly out of there in time. She watched over him as he inhaled his laboured breaths and wiped away the sweat from his feverish skin through the night. Professor Severus Snape had concocted a Burns-Healing paste for the Griffyndor winner without her asking for it, something she admired from the dour man. Without the potions master, she knew that healing times at Hogwarts would be dramatically longer. Cedric Diggory, she had healed with a spell in the champion’s tent but moved him into the infirmary to keep an eye on him. He had politely asked for a Dreamless Sleep potion during the night which Poppy had wordlessly given to the boy. Like Harry, he slept the egg beside him, and she didn’t have the heart to move it to his bedside when they put everything on the line to win it.

Her fury had been simmering the entire night and into the day when an elderly wizard dressed in pale blue robes walked in without knocking on her doors first. “Albus,” she greeted with no friendliness.

“Poppy,” he replied with his usual joviality, giving her a jaunty wave that was completely inappropriate for the pristine infirmary. Albus Dumbledore already knew he was in for an earful at the next staff meeting but it was too late to stop the tournament now. The Ministry of Magic was aware of the bloody past of the tournament and had accepted the injuries of the first round as a continuation of that history. The Bulgarian and French governments had as well, though they were still upset at Hogwarts having two participating champions, especially when both have come first and third place.

Albus wandered over to Cedric who had sat himself up with a pillow supporting up his back as he read through today’s edition of the Daily Prophet. His grey eyes stared at his photograph tucked away on page number ten. It was a small portrait shot right after his round with the Swedish Short-Snout where he was cradling his right arm while giving a grimacing smile to the camera. It wasn’t his best-looking photo, but it was captioned with flattery from the article author, Rita Skeeter, which had called him brave and handsome. He tried his best to ignore that the rest of the article was dedicated to the small boy that was laying on the bed beside him.

“In an electrifying twist to the already spell-binding commencement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, yours truly has unearthed a scandalous secret that is bound to send shockwaves through the wizarding world. The Boy Who Lived, none other than Harry Potter himself, has been revealed to share a dark, serpentine bond with the most feared Dark Lord in Britain’s history. Witnesses were left gasping in sheer astonishment as young Potter daringly communicated with a fiercely protective Hungarian Horntail in the ancient and ominous language of snakes – parseltongue. For the uninitiated, let me remind you, this shadowy tongue has long been intertwined with...”

It’s really not a secret if everyone heard it, Skeeter, Cedric thought bitterly. He thought his solution was an admirable show of magic. Turning a rock into a fully formed Labrador puppy was no small feat in transfiguration. Too bad that Cedric skipped over to Harry’s post interview which was better than his when the boy wasn’t even coherent enough to speak.

"In an exclusive, heart-wrenching interview following his death-defying encounter with the sharp-fanged monstrosity, Harry Potter could barely speak through his tears, which glistened in his emerald-green eyes. His plea to the world was simple yet profound, 'Please, don't harm her. She was merely frightened,' he implored, his compassion shining through as he spoke of the Hungarian Horntail. It is this reporter's belief, dear readers, that despite the dark shadows cast by his connection to the Dark Lord, The Boy Who Lived's heart beats with nothing but pure, unadulterated goodness."

Cedric wanted to toss the newspaper as far away as he could. He couldn’t deny that wasn’t said from Harry, but its author, Rita Skeeter had certainly taken some artistic liberty to paint the boy as some misunderstood saviour. In Cedric’s mind he was anything but a clearly troubled; with the Dark Lord following wherever the dark-haired boy stepped. And now there was some familial connection between them! This tournament was supposed to be about him, not Harry Potter like every single other year. He only harboured an inkling of conflict since Harry Potter did warn him about the event the day before (which was not enough time for preparation as Cedric sorely found out).

“Are you well, Cedric?” Dumbledore inquired as he startled Cedric. He folded the newspaper neatly and placed it on his lap before plastering on a polite smile.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Thank you for asking about me. I’m well, all thanks to Poppy,” he flattered the witch. He angled his face so the headmaster would only be able to see the good half of his face. The other was a bright pink with his eye shut with a sort of glue that was put on his healing eyelid. It didn’t hurt unless he pressed into the skin and Madam Pomfrey told him that he would be able to restore his usual vision by tomorrow. He had hoped that she was right because he wouldn’t be able to play as the Hufflepuff seeker and quidditch team captain with only one eye. Dumbledore continued make small talk with him until they were interrupted by Harry’s bedside guests.

Two girls, one that he had seen around his own common room, arrived by Harry’s beside. The Hufflepuff severely out of breath and a smear of dirt on her nose as she spoke in hushed tones to her Slytherin friend. She paced up and down the side of the bed, while her friend stood still and spoke to the fretting witch. “He should’ve woken up by now,” the Hufflepuff exclaimed in worry.

“Miss Becker, Miss Patel,” Dumbledore addressed when he remembered the names of the newest arrivals to Hogwarts. He didn’t expect to hear or see from these two unremarkable witches until their graduation but now they had caught his attention. “Are you friends of Harry?”

“Yeah, you could call us that,” Jane agreed. “We wanted to see if he’s alright.”

“I’m fine. Hullo.” Harry yawned, barely covering his wide-open mouth with his hand. He had been awake for a while but didn’t want to speak to anyone until Jane and Shruthi had arrived. His leg throbbed in pain, but it was the sort of level of pain that he could ignore from years of experience. He pushed himself up using his palms, his face twitching in discomfort as the raw skin rubbed against the cotton sheets underneath the covers. He was dressed in the hospital sheet that he had adorned a couple of times in the past.

There was flurry of movement around him as both the school mediwitch and the headmaster checked over him. Harry sat obediently as his skin faintly buzzed and his nose itched. He found out that he liked being tended to at the school infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey always gave him a chocolate frog after his visits. He never had the chance to go the hospital as a Muggle, and only once did he accompany his aunt and uncle to the emergency room when Dudley had come down with a high fever. He was blamed for that since Harry was the only person in 4 Privet Drive that didn’t come down with the illness. It earned him a lashing from his uncle’s oversized belt. “Is my Firebolt okay?” Cedric was in disbelief that the first question that would come out of the younger boy’s mouth would be about his broomstick and not any of the fallout of his reptilian revelation.

“Yes, Harry, your Firebolt should be in back safely in your room,” Dumbledore chuckled. Just like his father; quidditch was the only thing on his mind too. Harry let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if his Firebolt had caught aflame as the Horntail had let out its last angry shot of fire at him as he sped off. He was sure that Sirius probably wouldn’t buy him another one, and he didn’t want to use the crappy Shooting Stars inside the broom shed. Malfoy would beat him to the snitch before he could even get the broomstick to turn around. He didn’t want to give another reason for the blond-haired git to bully him for.

Harry smiled at the two witches as he tossed the covers off his bed and cradled the yellow dragon sized egg, cupping it between his arms as it sat between his thighs. It was lighter than he thought it should be, which meant it wasn’t solid. He studied it without his glasses, and he felt some ridges that ran longitudinally and connected at the very top, almost like the petals of an unbloomed flower.

He found a knob at the top and just as he was about to press it, “Don’t do that, Harry. It makes an awful noise,” Cedric warned the boy. Cedric had grown curious before he had taken his potion and pressed the egg open, only to frighten himself with an ear-splitting screech. Madam Pomfrey had run, half-dressed into the infirmary from her quarters due to the noise, and Cedric had to shamefully tell the mediwitch that it was the first-round prize, and not him. Still, she ran her diagnostic spells with bleary eyes in case the boy was hiding his trauma, both physical and mental from her. It was common for witches and wizards of his age to think that they were indestructible which only led to festering injuries which were harder to heal.

Harry headed his warning and grabbed his wirerimmed glasses from the bedside table and pushed them haphazardly onto his face. He was in a much better mood now that he had finished the first task of the tournament. Surely it can’t get worse than a fighting a dragon. If Ron was still his friend, he knew that they would’ve spent the entire night feasting on their hidden stash of lollies, recounting the event beat by beat. One beat Harry would like to forget was him being pulled into the champion’s tent and seeing his Cho Chang standing next to Cedric Diggory with a worried expression on her beautiful face. He tried to catch her attention, but he was rudely interrupted by Rita Skeeter who wanted an interview that very second from him. Worse was that he didn’t realise the awful smell emanating from him wasn’t just the charred skin on his leg, but he had cursed himself with the awful prediction of sh*tting himself in fear. Harry really hoped that she didn’t notice that, and instead thought he was cunning and cool wizard that was able to talk to dragons.

“It is very good to see that Harry has found others who care about him,” Dumbledore complimented Jane and Shruthi. “I’m sure that Ron would like to speak to him as well.” Dumbledore knew that the boys had fallen out recently, but he was sure that it was temporary break in their steadfast friendship. Harry frowned at the mention of his redheaded ex-best friend. If Ron Weasley did want to speak to him, he would’ve been here as soon as he woke up. He knew that Hermione would be by his side if she could’ve been.

“I’ll see him at dinner,” Harry said half-heartedly. He sat with Neville between himself and Ron at the Gryffindor table now. He would’ve preferred to use Hermione as a buffer between him and Ron, but she was still very sick according to Madam Pomfrey. He preferred the prattling of the herbology obsessed boy instead of hearing Ron’s huffing and puffing through his meals. Ron pointedly ignored him by only speaking to Seamus and Dean like it wasn’t obvious enough that he hated him.

“Very well Harry. I’m sure that Ron will be able to help you with the next task,” Dumbledore hinted. He had complicated feelings about the two Australian witches. He didn’t want to label them prematurely as sympathisers for what the Dark Lord stood for. Muggleborns were rare in the ranks of the Death Eaters but not unheard of. What he was sure was that they had successfully influenced Harry to act in a manner that he would’ve never done so in Ron’s and Hermione’s companionship. Encouraging the boy to speak parseltongue in public was curious behaviour, and something he would need to keep an eye on. Harry shrugged in response and the fallen Daily Prophet on the floor between his bed and Cedric’s caught his eye.

“Can I borrow this?” Harry struggled to lean over and grab it from the floor while holding onto his egg. Cedric agreed since he was done reading it. Harry scanned through article quickly and rolled his eyes when Rita Skeeter had described him as a cry-baby once again. I was crying from pain, and not for the bloody dragon! He stopped reading the words and focused on the magical sepia filtered photograph of him on his Firebolt whizzing past the audience. It was cool enough that he wanted to cut it out of the paper and send it to Sirius the next time he sends a letter to his eccentric godfather.

*

Harry found out much to late over the weeks following the first round of the Tri-Wizard tournament that there was another challenge for the champions to face before the year was over – finding a dance partner for the Yule ball. Which he only realised was happening because Professor McGonagall had forced all the Gryffindor students from fourth year and up to compulsory weekly dancing practice. After which, she would have a recurring private conversation with the youngest champion that he was tasked to find a date for the dance. I would rather go another round with the Horntail than ask out a girl, Harry balked.

His mood was still in the dumps, but those buttons that Malfoy made had slowly started disappearing on the lapels of the student robes. He thought it might be a potential swing in opinion of the school regarding his position as champion in the tournament, but he found it was more out of fear as people found out about his unfortunate connection with the Dark Lord. He convinced his only two friends at the school to help him dig up any information about his ancestry.

Encyclopedias of all major wizarding families were spread across the largest library desk at Hogwarts. N.E.W.T.s. level students did look envious at the trio not even in their O.W.L.s. year occupying the desks, but after seeing that Harry Potter was sitting amongst them, they left without a word to sit somewhere else. Jane couldn’t understand why they just didn’t make their own desks bigger if they needed a larger desk. They were currently pouring over the dusty tomes to find out if the name Tom Marvolo Riddle was in any of them. Shruthi knew that it wouldn’t be listed anywhere within these pages since Tom’s magical mother was most likely disowned after her family found out that she was interested in Tom’s Muggle father. Yet she didn’t know how to let the curious boy sitting in the squeaky wooden chair that. Jane had the family tree of the Potters in front of her and to the side of that her half completed herbology homework.

“Surely, the Dark Lord of Britain would have his family listed here,” said Harry in a sarcastic tone too loud for the quiet library.

“Some of these families only count Pureblood relatives,” Shruthi whispered back, trying to get him to quiet down. The thought of which saddened her since it shouldn’t matter the blood purity of a family member. The Black family book was the most egregious with its culling and she found that Sirius Black’s name was missing from it. I wonder if he would’ve been added back if his parents knew that he was sentenced to twelve years in Azkaban after being incorrectly labelled as one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers.

“So, he’s gotta be in there somewhere,” Harry replied not catching her subtext. He flipped another Pureblood family’s book – the Selwyn’s – haphazardly. From all books they had, Riddle was not a family name anywhere, which either meant that the Hogwarts’ collection was incomplete, or the Dark Lord came from somewhere other than Britain.

“I don’t think he’s a Pureblood,” Jane finally pointed out when she thought they had wasted enough time following Harry down this rabbit hole. Shruthi had sat her down one day and forced her to learn all the nitty gritty details from the books. Her fingers were stained with ink as she penned down the final sentence of her essay.

“That can’t be, he’s literally the Dark Lord Voldemort. He wanted to kill Muggles and everyone else who wasn’t Pureblood,” Harry debated with a temper. He knew a bit about the war from what Hermione had told him over the years. He learned from Ron that his family were considered something called blood traitors because they were Purebloods who didn’t think that anyone with Muggle blood deserved to die. He supposed his dad would also be considered a blood traitor in Voldemort’s eyes for marrying his mum, but he didn’t want to linger too long on that thought.

“I mean Jane could be right, Harry. Just because he hated Muggles and wanted to genocide them, doesn’t mean he could’ve been a Muggleborn himself. Plenty of Muggleborns at Hogwarts, even now, don’t tell anyone else that they have Muggle parents,” Shruthi guided Harry into a more productive argument. The Hufflepuffs didn’t care about your origins, but the Slytherins did based on the treatment of Jane. Jane had told her that Slytherins consciously ranked themselves based on their purity. If their families were listed on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they were treated like they were royalty with Draco Malfoy currently perched at the top.

“I still don’t think you’re right. If he was a Muggleborn, why would’ve he had any Death Eaters follow him?”

“Maybe he was a Halfblood then, like you,” Jane fanned the flames intentionally. She almost laughed out loud when Harry looked aghast at the realisation that he possibly had another similarity with the man who murdered his parents.

“We haven’t looked into his middle name,” Shruthi interrupted Harry as she tapped on the piece of parchment with Harry’s chicken-scratched handwriting with Voldemort’s original name on there. She continued her suggestion with narrowing their search to the older Pureblooded families, since Harry was half right – the Death Eaters wouldn’t have followed any random wizard, they would only trust one of their own. It took them some time, but eventually Harry had found the name Marvolo in the Gaunt family tree.

"Marvolo Gaunt,” Harry read out in hushed excitement. There weren’t many names listed in the Gaunt family book. Harry was reading an older ancestor with the same name as Tom’s maternal grandfather, born around the same time as Armando Dippet. There were large gaps until the last name listed was Ominis Gaunt. Shruthi theorized that the books at Hogwarts only updated with family members that attended Hogwarts, rather than every single person in the family. “So, Voldemort was a Gaunt, maybe I’m related to the Gaunt’s?” Jane looked over the page Harry was reading with the incomplete family line.

With the names that were listed she noticed a funny pattern that connected the family members in more than just blood. “Uh, maybe? But look, they tended to marry each other.” She pointed out a pair of siblings that had attended Hogwarts just after it was founded in the tenth century that had a line for marriage connecting them. Harry’s lips curled in disgust, as the pattern continued down the tree. She opened the Potter family tree, which was far more complete, and there were no marriages to the Gaunt listed on it.

Harry slammed the Gaunt book shut and leaned back on the wooden chair. It creaked as he rocked it back onto its hind legs in frustration. He pulled at his hair in thought, “Voldemort came from a weird Pureblood family which I’m not related to, but we can both speak to snakes?”

“Maybe Voldemort’s your dad,” Jane deadpanned as she wiped her hands on an ink rag that she had gotten into the habit of carrying with her. Harry did not find the humour in her words. His mum would’ve never cheated on his, much less for the Dark Lord. But the more he thought about it, Tom Marvolo Riddle didn’t look too much different from Harry. He wanted to see a picture of his dad at Hogwarts’ and Tom to see if there was much difference at all.

“I’m a Potter. My dad is James Potter,” Harry insisted, curling his hand around the edge of the desk to stop himself from falling backwards. If Voldemort is my dad, why would he want me dead? Surely, Sirius would’ve told him if Voldemort was his dad? “I think I’ve had enough for today,” Harry spluttered glumly as started putting away the books.

*

After everyone else in the Gryffindor tower had gone to bed (including the studious Percy Weasley who had late night Prefect rounds), Harry Potter crept out of his dorm room to the nearest bathroom. He slid the metal lock to bar anyone else from disturbing him, as the scones in the tiled room came alive. The mechanism desperately needed to be oiled because no matter how quietly he tried, it made an awful jamming sound until it was all the way to the right. After a few rapid heartbeats, he crept away to stand in front of brass sink. He washed his face quickly, scrubbing with his blunt nails at the place where his glasses sat on top of his nose. He continued to splash water onto himself until his hair was drenched. From this distance, his reflection in the mirror in front of him was muddy. He leaned forward, until the top of his drawers met the corner of the stone vanity countertop. Closer he could see more clearly. He could see the flecks of toothpaste from whichever Gryffindor boy had used the bathroom last, but more importantly he could see his own emancipated self.

His right index finger glided across the jutting cheekbone, and he mentally pictured his father’s face. From Hagrid’s picture book, Harry’s father had a shadow of a dark beard over his strong jaw. His face was handsome enough but not the breathtaking beauty that was Tom Riddle. Tom had sharp cheekbones, Harry remembered. The Tom he remembered from the Chamber wore his crisp Slytherin robes over his tall frame. His hands were lithe but deft, giving Harry the impression that he could’ve played quidditch. Maybe he was a seeker, like I am… like my father.

Harry used both his hands to flatten his wet hair, slicking it into the coifed hair style that he saw the boy wear. His own hair sat in two halves, but he couldn’t quite get the swoop that the young Voldemort sported. His father’s hair was unmanageable like his own, but maybe his hair’s behaviour came from years of having Aunt Petunia cut it in the kitchen when she decided it had grown too long. He always sat deathly still on the stool, holding his breath with every snick-snick from the scissors.

He stood as tall as he could manage and ignored how the light fell deepened the shadows of his ribs peaking through his skin. “Hello Harry Potter, my name is Tom Riddle,” Harry imitated his memory, speaking at a volume barely above his own breath. He speaks as if he knows exactly what he is going to say, Harry swallowed.

“As poor Ginny Weasley grows weaker, I grow stronger,” Harry declared. He tried again, trying to get Tom’s intonations correct. He spoke very properly… and politely. People would want to listen to him, listen to what he says. People don’t listen to me when I talk, Harry grumbled. They were always quick to dismiss him because of his age, or because he wasn’t smart as Hermione or a knowledgeable about being a wizard like Ron. They only saw what they wanted to see. A fact that Gilderoy Lockheart had warned him once about.

Harry wiped his wet hands on his torso and sighed out loud. He would never have the gravitas of the Dark Lord. He didn’t have the magnetic charm that he did. Tom would have no trouble asking a girl out for the Yule ball. Harry imagined that he would have girls ask him! I wish girls would ask me to the ball. He imagined Cho Chang coming to find him after class. She would be waiting with that worried look that she had in the champions tent a few weeks ago. The one with where her pretty almond eyes were downturned so the long, black lashes that trimmed her face touched her cheeks. She would look up at him and smile - the shy one where she didn’t show any teeth. “Harry, I was wondering if you had a date for the ball?” She would speak in her quiet, breathy voice.

What would Tom say?, Harry gritted his teeth. He wished he still had the diary, at least it would keep him company when he was feeling lonely. “Erm, no,” Harry whispered and shook his head - that would be what he would say if Cho Chang asked him. Droplets of water dispersed from his locks like he was a dog shaking its fur out after jumping into a puddle. “Tom would say something like, ‘Is a beautiful witch like yourself asking for my company? I would be honoured, Miss Chang.’” He liked to think she would flush a sweet pink as he would take her hand and kiss it gently like a gentleman.

Harry could suddenly understand why women would flock to a man like Tom, even if he was cold-blooded murderer. Maybe even my mum… If he was really Voldemort’s son, maybe Voldemort just didn’t know about it before he tried to kill him. Maybe he knew after he died. Harry distinctly remembered that Voldemort would always offer for Harry to join him before trying to kill him. He didn’t know if he wanted to be related to a man like Voldemort, but the thought of having a living dad filled him with inexplicable hope. “I’m a Potter,” he reaffirmed, but there was a small voice in his head that wanted to believe that he was a Gaunt.

Harry looked once more in the mirror. If Tom was in the Tri-Wizard tournament, he would like Cedric – the crowd favourite. “He probably would’ve spoken to the dragon as well,” mused Harry Potter. Even if people feared him after. Maybe he would’ve liked people to be afraid of him? Harry thought about his treatment before the first round and after. He decided that he liked after a lot more. No more stink eyes across the hallway, no more shoving or not so muffled conversations about how he was an attention seeker or show off. Now, people gave him a wide berth, his favourite seat in class was always free (the one at the very back) and if people did talk behind his back, he wasn’t there to hear it.

“I’m going to get some hair gel,” concluded Harry.

*

“Has he asked yet?” Snape asked point blank after Harry had left the room after detention to Jane and Shruthi. He had predicted that Harry Potter would ask one of the girls to the Yule ball due to desperation, but the date was quickly approaching, and he hadn’t heard from either in confirmation.

Jane shook her head no, and Shruthi verbally confirmed the same. He looked over both girls, “Well, do something about that. Don’t tell me that he’s asked Chang or Weasley.” Shruthi wasn’t sure but if he had, he would’ve told them about it. She did know from overhearing talk in her cozy common room that Cedric is taking Cho Chang to the Yule ball. Snape stalked in front of them and bent down until he was right in their faces. He studied both Muggle girls in front of him and sighed. “Surely at least one of you can appeal to a fourteen-year boy’s likings,” he muttered. He remembered Mulciber and Avery when they were fourteen, and they were interested in any girl that would spare even a glance at them (even accidental). Though they did have this awful obsession over one particular Gryffindor girl in their year, Snape remembered, Mary something.

“Well, that’s the problem, Professor. We don’t want to appeal to a fourteen year old,” Jane cringed. She had limited experience with male company, but she had no interest in trying to catch the attention of an underage boy, especially if that boy was the irritating, Harry Potter.

“I don’t care, Miss Becker,” Snape scolded. “I’m not asking you to get into bed with Potter, I’m asking you to position yourself to be his dance partner at the Yule ball. It is quite a simple thing, isn’t it?” Jane was attractive enough. She had nice clear skin, her brunette hair tucked into a ponytail now, but if freed would reach her shoulders. She had eyes the colour of the sea – her anger crashing like strong currents. If he were to cast her in a film, she would be the girl next door – sweet and pretty, the sort of girl that the books had Harry Potter’s type as. “Laugh at his jokes, make conversation with him. Drop hints. I don’t care what you do, make sure he asks you to the ball.”

Shruthi he already could tell was never going to catch the attention of Lily’s son, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t try. “Patel, fix your hair,” he commanded. She looked away and her fingers played with her frizzy plait. He didn’t have time to lecture two young women on the finer points of flirting. At least Harry Potter wasn’t a Pureblood, otherwise Snape would’ve had to explain the exhaustive Pureblood courting process. He brought out a pair of old dress robes that he had gotten for cheap at Gladrags Wizardwear in Hogsmeade village. They were the only ones left since the more organised students at Hogwarts had placed their order in as soon as the ball was announced, and he didn’t care to get better ones for something that was only going to be worn once.

The first one that he held was a powdery blue set of illy tailored set of formal robes. It was if the tailor amalgamated a pale blue ball gown with a cape made from the Beauxbatons’ school uniform fabric. Snape assumed that it was made in the mind for a witch from the French magical school, but clearly no one had told the creator that the students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic have working eyes and a good fashion sense. Both the dress and the cape were layered like a cake, puffing out the already large shape of the formal dress robes. Ruffles piped along the puffy sleeved shoulders and the gusset of the dress.

The other set of formal witch’s robes Snape had selected were alike to the Hogwarts school robes. They were black in colour but had a more intricate design around the sleeves, collar, and the small pewter buttons at the front. They could be worn open-breasted, which was a new trend among Muggleborns and Halfbloods, or more traditionally, which was fully buttoned. If Snape had to pick between them, he would’ve taken this one. Luckily, he had his standard formal robes that he had first bought for Lucius’ and Narcissa’s wedding.

“Take one,” he huffed as he thrust them in front of the girls. Jane reached for the black one which left Shruthi with the other. Snape internally thought they should swap but the way that Jane’s fingers clung to the black fabric indicated that she had no desire to. “You’re not here to enjoy the ball. Get Potter to take you or else,” he threatened.

*

The days till the Yule Ball were nearing and Harry had been trying to find an appropriate time to catch Cho Chang alone. She was always surrounded by her posse of friends, and if Harry was going to be rejected, he’d rather it not be in front of an audience. He had been dodging Jane and Shruthi for the past couple of days since he didn’t want to give Cho an idea that he was already taken for the ball. Today was a Tuesday, which meant that as he finished Charms the sixth years would have their N.E.W.T.s. class right after. He lingered longer than necessary, even pretending to ask Professor Flitwick a question from class until he heard footsteps walk up the stairs. Cho Chang always came early to her classes, a trait that Harry both admired and felt thankful for at this very moment. He excused himself from Flitwick’s lengthy explanation on Red Sparks charm and the variations to produce different colours. Flitwick also congratulated Harry on mastering the Summoning charm, especially one of such a long distance and complexity.

He opened the door, and his heart sank when he saw Cedric wrap a strong arm around the Ravenclaw seeker’s dainty waist. “Hey, Harry,” Cedric greeted as he saw the boy.

“Hi Cedric, _{hi Cho},” Harry quickly replied as he took the stairs two at a time to get away from the pair as quickly as possible. He gritted his teeth in jealously that the other Hogwarts champion had asked out the witch that he had been crushing over for more than a year now. It felt like the crushing defeat Harry feared every time Gryffindor played against Slytherin (except one that never came since Gryffindor had yet to lose). She looked so happy to be wrapped up in Cedric’s strong arms, and that upset Harry so much that he tripped and fell the last few steps. A few incoming older students asked reflexively if the boy was okay, and he took off running after rambling some sort of apology and excuse. So much for trying to act like suave Riddle, he sighed internally.

He needed to put as much distance between the Charms tower and himself, and he took every shortcut possible he knew, all the secret doors and pathways. Sneaking around the hidden statues and painting, until he arrived at the eery Slytherin halls. He hadn’t meant to come here; he had wanted to go one of the open courtyards of the castle.

“Harry,” Jane called out as she saw the upset boy. Harry’s eyes looked frantically until he located where she was standing. She was just on the outside fringes of the Slytherin girls, as they all walked in a mob towards their common room. He had caught them just in time since they were the first to leave the charms classroom.

“Will you come to the Yule ball with me?” Harry asked in such a hurry that all the words melded together into one almost incomprehensible jumble. All the Slytherins had stopped dead in their tracks, and even Draco Malfoy was speechless for the first time in his life. He didn’t know that the mudblood stain of Slytherin had caught the attention of Harry Potter.

“No,” Jane said much more clearly than Harry. Draco raised his manicured eyebrows at the blatant rejection from her. Perhaps I’ve underestimated her Slytherin nature. It is good to know which house she belongs to. He liked that she wasn’t desperate to throw herself at the first wizard that asked her to the ball, even if that wizard happened to the Boy Who Lived. He found it almost cathartic that she rejected him, because he knew what it was like to be rejected by Harry Potter. Perhaps if she kept up her house pride, he may ask Crabbe or Goyle to take her to the ball. It wouldn’t do for a Slytherin witch to be unescorted to the ball.

“No-no?” Harry clarified in shock. He couldn’t believe that she would reject him after almost the enduring the entire term with him. Soon the snigg*ring started from one of the posse, Harry’s already flushed face from physical exertion reddened further.

“No, Harry, I don’t want to go to the Yule ball with you,” Jane rejected once again. She knew her life was on the line with the Snape’s vow, but she really didn’t want to go to the ball with him. Harry’s mouth flopped open like a fish, and Draco burst out in boisterous laughter.

“Oi Potter, you need a date for the ball?” Draco teased, making kissy noises with his mouth.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry retorted without his usual bite. He couldn’t come up with anything better in the moment as he shuffled off. His nails dug into his palm as he tried to get away from squealing giggles of Pansy Parkinson, and the booming laughter of Crabbe and Goyle when they finally understood what was going on.

*

Vernon Dudley was a betting man. He took his family to the Epsom Derby yearly and studied each jockey and thoroughbred pair carefully. Fred and George Weasley were also betting men. They prophetically bet on the Quidditch World Cup against the British Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ludovic Bagman. Harry Potter was not a betting man, and even if he was, he knew his odds were terrible. He had only one other witch at the school that he could ask to the ball, and if she said no, he might have to go ask Moaning Myrtle to leave her bathroom stall for the night.

Speaking of the ghost that haunted the second-floor girls' lavatory, Harry had planned to go see if the Chamber of Secrets was still accessible. Maybe the diary still had a little bit of life left after he had viciously stabbed it with the basilisk fang two years ago. He had put off going there until the whole news about him being a parselmouth calmed down a bit. He didn’t want everyone to think he was trying to open the Chamber again to exterminate all the Muggleborns at Hogwarts again.

He found Shruthi Patel loitering at the closed entrance of the Hufflepuff common room. She was sitting on the ground, with her back slumped the wall with her knees tucked into her chest. She was resting her forehead on her knees as she had been sitting and waiting for a while for another Hufflepuff to come to the common room so they could open the door for her. No matter how many times she tried with her wand, it just wouldn’t work for her. Stupid Hufflepuff passcode, why couldn’t it have been a password instead?

“Hey,” Harry said softly as he stood with the tips of his boots touching the tips of her. She looked up at him and hastily pushed up her glasses on her nose. “Do you want to come to the ball with me?”

“Oh,” Shruthi gasped in surprise. Not at the fact that Harry Potter had suddenly appeared in front of her, she was used to people doing that at Hogwarts now. House elves would catch her off guard as they conducted their business around the school. She was more shocked that Harry had asked her to the ball in the first place. “Are you sure? I think Jane-“

“Jane said no,” Harry interrupted. Shruthi looked taken aback by the news, but she also felt a sense of dejection that she was second place to her friend. She had expected that, but it still hurt all the same when it happened to her. Harry took her long silence as her trying to find her words to reject him, and he hastily tacked on, “I just happened to see her first and ask.”

“No worries, Harry,” Shruthi hid her emotional discomfort behind an empathetic smile. “I would love to go to the ball with you.”

“Really?” Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “You really want to go to the ball with me? You know you’ll have to dance in front of everyone.” No matter how many times Harry practiced dancing with whatever Gryffindor girl had pulled the short straw that day, he never could get the steps or the timing right.

“Yeah, I know. Cedric’s been practicing his dance daily in the common room. I don’t mind, I already have my dress,” Shruthi got up slowly from the floor. She popped her hip to the side, so she didn’t look like she towered over the boy in front of her. “I’ve been practicing too.” She didn’t want to tell him that ever since the ball was announced, she had been practicing in her dorm room when her dorm mates were at meals. No one else in Hufflepuff wanted to dance with her after she publicly announced her support for the other Hogwarts champion, but that didn’t deter her. She was truly very excited for the Yule ball despite the situation she faced.

“Oh good, I’m terrible,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I really hate dancing.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’ve heard from other people… around the school, and stuff,” Shruthi clambered for an explanation that wasn’t her recalling a fact from the movies. Harry just gave her an embarrassed grin that alongside people taking about the tournament, students also gossiped he was a bad dancer.

“Hey, I’m not that bad.” He tried to salvage his reputation. He wanted to warn her that he might step on her toes from time to time but that would only make it worse. “I can show you.” He held his arms out like a wooden puppet, hoping that she would take his offer. Shruthi shyly closed the gap between them, taking Harry’s right hand with her own. Harry awkwardly placed his left hand on her waist, and they swayed out of time.

Shruthi began counting an eight time underneath her breath, which allowed the pair to finally get used to dancing with each other. Harry relied on her to guide him through the dance while he held his breath the entire time. His gaze was firmly on his feet as the soles of his boots skidded against the rough stones causing him to lose balance a couple of times. “C’mon Harry, you got this.”

He looked up at her for the first time in minutes and his worry faded when he looked into her kind brown eyes. I didn’t die… I’m not a loser. “Thanks, Shruthi.”

“Anytime, Harry.” She gulped back the feeling of betrayal as the boy in her arms gave her a genuine smile so freely to her.

*

It was the afternoon before the Yule ball but that did not excuse the mismatched trio from attending Snape’s detention. Harry had a spitting headache the entire day and trudged behind the two chatty girls in front of him. A bad cold had been transmitting through Hogwarts this week, and he had already gone to the infirmary for a Pepper-Up potion but that hadn’t solved his symptoms. He silent as he entered the classroom, and without instruction from the professor he began performing his usual detention chores. He hated being sick. The Dursleys always punished him more when he was ill, like it was his fault for contracting whatever virus had decided his body was the perfect host. They punished him by making sure he cleaned any surface he even breathed near straight after.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Shruthi asked as she passed him a mop from the rack.

“Nothing, my head just hurts,” He dissuaded. A sharp sting ran through his curse scar, and he clutched his forehead reflexively. He knew that Shruthi would be more worried now. “I just hit my head this morning when I was getting out of bed.” Harry had grown skilful at lying about injuries. The Dursleys were careful to only hit him where his clothes would cover him (and they covered a lot of his body since they were hand-me-downs from his bigger cousin) but sometimes they would miss their mark. His primary school teachers assumed he was a very clumsy child, and would tell Dudley to look after him, which his older cousin did with glee.

“Then get on with your work, Potter,” Snape interrupted their cyclical conversation when he saw his free labour standing around chatting. “I want these rooms spotless.” In truth, Snape didn’t really care about how clean his classrooms were, they were bound to return to their usual grimy state after another days of use. He had overheard that students were finding his dungeons more welcoming as of late due to the organisation systems that the two Muggle girls had enforced. It also helped him keep track of how many ingredients he had in his various communal supply closets. Now he could place orders for resupply at the potion’s apothecary on the north side of Diagon Alley well in advance in addition to berating students for wasting ingredients in the first place.

“I didn’t realise they were holding the ball in here, sir,” Harry grumbled underneath his breath as he took the mop from Shruthi’s hand. The school had cordoned off the Great Hall for preparations. Students from all three academic institutions were only allowed to enter for meals now, compared to before where it was a popular gathering site for the numerous clubs and societies at Hogwarts.

“What was that, Potter?” Snape heard the boy clearly, but he wanted to see if he was foolish enough to repeat his words. Harry did not. It was a small improvement over James Potter’s behaviour. Snape knew from experience if James was asked the same question, he would repeat it with even greater volume which was usually followed by the rambunctious howling from Sirius Black, and the quieter snigg*ring from Peter Pettigrew. Snape found it incredibly grating that the professors would sometimes laugh along with James Potter’s disobedient comments instead of reprimanding him. Lily used to scowl along with him, agreeing that Gryffindor seeker was spoiled. That was until they started dating, and his cheeky comments became endearing to her.

Chapter 6: Blood of My Blood

Chapter Text

The afternoon sunlight melted away into the rich cool colours of the evening on the day before the Yule ball. Harry had excused himself early from his detention with Severus Snape with a note from his head of house. Professor McGonagall was irritated that her house ward and champion had not found himself appropriate attire for the ball and now last minute had to arrange for some for him. This was not what she wanted to be spending her afternoon on when Albus Dumbledore had asked her for help bewitching the ceiling of the Great Hall alongside the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick. She didn’t like to leave both wizards short staffed for problem that could have been solved if Harry had told her in advance. Usually, Snape would work Harry to the very last second of detention even with a note of excuse, but uncharacteristically he let the boy go without even so much as reading over the note himself. Today, Severus Snape had his own rehearsals. It was critical that everything went as planned tomorrow evening, which meant that him, the two Muggle girls that arrived this year to Hogwarts and Barty Crouch Jr. needed to walk to Muggle town just outside the magical borders of Hogsmeade.

Snape had arranged to take the outside patrol shift during the Yule ball in exchange for not helping with the preparations. A job that the others were quick to give away since they wanted to enjoy the festivities alongside the students inside, where the only snow that fell was enchanted. No one had asked Professor Moody for help since his expertise was not conducive to the finicky wand work needed for the Great Hall decorations. Though the real Moody would have insisted on assisting, refusing to believe that the others had excluded him on his area of competency but rather his physical stature. This left the two men unquestioned as they accompanied Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel away from the grounds of Hogwarts.

Snape was mentally timing the journey since it was the first time that Barty was coming with them. It was taking longer than he wanted due to the slow, hobbled walk of his magical companion. He could see the irritation on Barty’s face mirroring his own, but he was grateful that his school friend never once verbally complained about their pace. The two girls had left their elders, preferring to walk more quickly to overcome the bitter cold environment they were trekking through. No other students were out at this hour, but they knew they would have to slow down their steps when they reached the outskirts of the magical village that was adjacent the school. The last thing that they needed was to be seen and questioned about their journey.

“Severus,” McGonagall was quick to greet her work friend. She remembered how natural it felt to transition from calling him Mr. Snape when she was his teacher, to Severus when they both sat together at the staff table. Severus Snape was a hard-working but quiet boy in school, and he carried that to his adulthood. When Albus had told her about Snape’s political inclinations, she was rightfully appalled. It forced her to look at every brief interact she had with him in a different light. Was he quiet, or too quiet? She blamed herself deeply for failing to notice any hints of his ideology in his youth. So, when he did return to Hogwarts to teach, she promised that she would never fail him again. “…Moody,” she greeted as an afterthought.

“Minerva, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Severus replied hiding his surprise.

“Neither did I. I’m here with Harry to help him get his robes.” She waited for his reason since it was rare for Snape to leave the grounds.

“Jane needed her robes resized,” Snape said, shared the irritation that underpainted McGonagall’s words. They both sighed in unison, completely understanding each other’s circ*mstances.

Her attention shifted to the ex-auror, “My leg’s been acting up, I thought a walk might help get the blood flowing,” Moody grumbled, clutching at junction between his prosthetic and limping away awkwardly in the direction of the Muggle village. McGonagall thought nothing of Moody’s sudden exit, he was the same during the war. He would leave Order meeting abruptly since he felt that they achieved nothing by sitting around a table discussing what they should do instead of doing it. However, ‘Mad Eye’ Moody was a reliable duelling partner and had saved the lives of Order members countless times, many times to the expense of his own health. She sympathised that that he felt out of place at Hogwarts. Perhaps he was irritated that after a blatant attack from the past earlier this year, they forged on to hold a ball instead of preparing for uncertain reality of the return of it. He would only see the Yule ball as a fanciful distraction to waste precious time, which maybe it was.

“Severus, since you are here, could you do me a favour and look after Harry as well? Albus needed help with the ceiling,” McGonagall pushed on Harry’s upper back until he was standing in the middle of their semicircle. She gave a pointed look at Severus Snape, one that she might’ve given James Potter when he was pushing the boundaries of impertinent behaviour in class. Snape wanted to decline since he wasn’t James Potter, and he was much more immune to McGonagall’s disappointment.

Through gritted teeth, “Of course.” McGonagall chalked his reluctance to take the boy due to his tumultuous relationship with his father. She gave an apologetic but thankful look to her friend before quickly walking off back to Hogwarts castle. Harry wasn’t thankful that he was now stuck with a man who hated him.

“Typical Potter,” Snape chided as he swept past the boy.

“It’s not my fault. I didn’t know we needed dress robes for Yule ball.” He thought it might’ve been somewhere on the supply list for the year, but he left that Molly Weasley to handle over the summer. He was sure that she was arranging for his robes but after the fall out with Ron he should’ve wizened up. He opened his mouth to argue that Jane was here for the same reason today, but after looking at Snape he decided against it. “Augustus is adjusting mine, he said it will take about half an hour.”

Harry had bought him the only remaining formal wizards' robes at the store left. It looked like something out of Dumbledore’s eclectic wardrobe with the frills and ruffles around the borders. The colour was this dreadful plum that on him brought out splotches of redness to make him looked diseased. Augustus was in the process of hemming the robes for Harry’s height, which was a difficult process since the delicate lace had to be carefully removed and reattached.

“I am sure you are capable of collecting your robes when ready and returning to the castle by yourself, hmm?” Snape questioned the boy.

“Yes, sir,” Harry fumbled with an edge of delight at the prospect that Snape was abandoning him.

“Then… you two, come with me.” Snape pointed to Jane and Shruthi listening in with his bony index finger.

“Isn’t Jane supposed to get her robes tailored?” Harry quizzed as he watched them walk away from the storefront of Gladrags Wizardwear. The front of the store resembled a French boutique emporium which was out of place for the small wizarding village. He was aware that Gladrags branch in Hogsmeade survived purely on the coming Hogwarts students that needed tailoring or new school robes after an accident. However, this year’s stock changed to accommodate the newcomers to Hogwarts – Durmstrang and Beauxbatons – as well as the general magical fashion in both countries. Before Harry was forced with the plum monstrosity, he searched the barren racks for the fur robes that the Durmstrang wizards preferred. He envied how those robes filled out their shoulders and gave them an authoritative air.

“Erm, yes. She was. She doesn’t require them anymore, I think those robes will suit her fine as they are,” Snape corrected.

“Right,” Harry studied Snape intently. It was rare for the dour man to be caught off guard, and unheard of to be caught off guard by himself. “I don’t mind waiting for her, we can go back to the castle together.” Harry would like the company during the dusk walk back to the castle. It trekked too close to the Forbidden Forest for his liking after what transpired there last year.

“No, she will come with me. I don’t want to hear another word from your mouth, Potter,” Snape snapped.

“Then why did you come to Hogsmeade?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Potter,” Snape growled. “What my business here today is my own.” Snape stalked off before Harry could question him again, and the two girls hesitated for a moment standing still in place. Are we supposed to come up with an excuse?, Shruthi worried before Jane tugged her away from Harry. Harry decided that he was about to make it his business.

“Oh, I just remembered that I forgot my coin purse at Hogwarts,” Harry excused himself. Snape was up to something, and he was going to figure out what. He needed his invisibility cloak and the map if he was going to get to the bottom of this. Harry watched curiously from gravel path to note the direction that the three figures disappeared to. It’s the same direction as Moody…

*

Snape was in the foul mood as he trekked through the snow-covered path with his dragon-hide insulated boots. He ignored the pants and grumbles from the two Muggle girls trailing him. His sad*stic streak flared as he watched each one curl into themselves to shield themselves from the cold that they couldn’t magic themselves out of. If anything, it was the best demonstration of the superiority of those gifted with magic and those without. It was the same satisfaction that he hid as a child when he watched his father complain about the lack of heating at Spinner’s End.

With each step he inspected the ground carefully for Moody’s. Barty was on the right track to the village and Snape hurried to catch him before he arrived. He didn’t trust Barty Crouch Jr. to be left to his own. During the war, he would’ve trusted the wizard with his life, but a decade apart was a long time for characters to change. He needed to see Barty undisguised and in a neutral environment to see if the wizard he knew at school was still lurking underneath. Severus Snape knew he was different. He also was aware that Barty would have his own reservations on Snape’s loyalties. He hoped that tomorrow would be able to correct doubts.

Red blotches dirtied the muddy snow that crunched beneath his feet. He winced and clutched at his right forearm as it spasmed in pain. The throbbing continued to grow exponentially, as he summoned his wand into his non-dominant hand. He threw out his hand behind him to quiet the mumbled complains. A pregnant silence filled the air, and his breath came out in puffs. “When I tell you to run,” he whispered harshly, not looking back in confirmation if they had heard him. He edged closer to trees, using the shadows to hide his figure.

Step. Step. Crunch. He cast a quick Silencing charm on his boots wordlessly, as the line between his eyebrows creased further. The blood stains grew in regularity. He knew he shouldn’t assume that they were Barty’s, but he shouldn’t assume that they weren’t either. Plenty of beasts roam these forests, Snape reasoned, none of which that Barty isn’t capable enough of handling himself.

He rounded the meandering course of the path cautiously and found his friend unconscious splayed on the ground. Blood was dripped onto the dirt, and Snape broke out into a run to see what had attacked him. Stood beside him was a plump figure of a man he had only briefly seen the year before in the darkness of the Shrieking Shack.

“The Dark Lord does not like his plans to be changed,” said Peter Pettigrew in an imitation of confidence.

“What does that mean?” Shruthi blurted as Jane covered her mouth with her hand at the sight of Barty. The effect of Polyjuice potion was fading, at laid there was an amalgamation of blonde haired, youthful Barty Crouch Jr. and the greying, old Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody. His throat had been shallowly cut by Severing charm, and intermittently he gurgled on his own fluids.

“Who’s that?” Jane managed to choke out in a strained voice not unlike Barty’s own. The man in front of her seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place the resemblance. He held himself with hunched shoulders and any aura of menacing dissipated underneath the faded red and yellow Gryffindor scarf. His nose twitched and sniffled from a long-suffering cold, and his eyes were consistently watered.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Shruthi whispered through the haziness of panic. She knelt on the ground, the errant rocks digging into her knees as she held her hands tightly over the wound on Barty’s neck.

“Get away, girl,” Snape pushed her away as he placed down a worn bag onto the ground besides them. It unfurled and he rummaged with bloody hands to grab the gauze that had been soaked in Dittany. It was expired by the way it was stained green and the frayed edges. There was barely any Essence soaking into it, but it would have to do for the neat cut. Snape pushed into the wound carefully, as to not agitate it any further. One of his responsibilities as a death eater was to heal any battle injuries, however, as he was a potion master and not a healer, he didn’t have to do so on the field itself. His expertise was in long-term care for complicated curses and hexes. He left this to Regulus Black or Narcissa Malfoy.

Shruthi almost fell to her side, her knees collapsing one on top of the other as she used the palm of her left hand to catch herself. Her elbow creased at the force, but she didn’t fall. “The rat,” Jane finally connected as she helped her friend to her feet.

“The rat,” Shruthi echoed as she nodded. She looked at her hands in uncertainty before wiping them onto her robes. It was hard to see the darkening against the black robes when the sun was setting quickly.

“I'm not 'the rat',” Pettigrew sneered as he rolled his eyes. He hated that the two Muggle girls had referred to him by the form of his Animagus. When he first had transformed, he was jealous that the rest of the marauders had larger, ferocious beasts and he was stuck in a puny creature. He then realised what a blessing having an unassuming beast is to a wizard. Just like him, his Animagus was overlooked when Sirius Black had stalked him after the death of the Potters. And his Animagus once again was missed when those idiotic redheaded blood traitors had adopted him. For years he lived underneath their noses, eating their food, sleeping in a warm bed, disguising his own magic underneath their wards. By the manner that they spoke of him, they were going to underestimate Peter Pettigrew once again.

“Where are they? The Lord demands his uh- trinkets,” he shouted excessively. He paced around the two men on the ground, stomping loudly to make his anger clear. “Barty did not say where they were.”

Trinkets?, Jane questioned. “We don’t know where the horcruxes are, Barty didn’t tell us,” Shruthi clarified her thoughts. Jane used the fact that Pettigrew was distracted by Shruthi to look around for something to defend herself with. She didn’t have magic, but Pettigrew looked like he was one good wack away from death himself.

“Rubbish. I don’t believe you, Muggle. Find it,” Pettigrew commanded, kicking up snow with the toe of his boot in the direction of the two men on the ground. “Now,” He threatened with his wand pointed at Shruthi and his words dripped with venomous hate.

Snape grunted in pain, his hands leaving Barty’s throat momentarily to clutch at his inflamed forearm. He tugged hurriedly at his sleeve, and the cold air hitting the dark mark was a small reprieve from the bone-chilling pain. “He’s calling,” Pettigrew teased in a sing-song voice, which broke into a chesty cough.

“It’s probably not on him, he’d find some place safe to hide it,” Shruthi reasoned. “Probably wherever he keeps the real Moody.”

“I’m not returning the Lord empty handed.” Pettigrew’s own fear melted into his words. He expected the Dark Lord to be grateful for Peter’s intervention since Barty Crouch Jr. had intended disobey his orders. However, the Lord sicced his oversized snake on him, and threatened him with death if Peter doesn’t come up with a way to stop his disobedient death eater. He had been stalking Barty for the past week using his Animagus to find evidence to where the man had kept the horcruxes but had been unsuccessful thus far. His own mark reminding him of the limited time left before the pain became unbearable enough that he had to return.

“It’s on him,” Pettigrew raged.

“Just find it,” Snape snapped at the two girls. Jane rustled through Barty’s robe pockets and came out with a few protective trinkets of Moody’s, his wand, the two metal flasks that he carried with him, and a piece of half-chewed Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Her lips curled as she flicked the neon blue candy away from her. Nothing in his pockets resembled the horcruxes that Shruthi had told her about.

“They’re not here,” Jane shouted at Pettigrew. Pettigrew already knew the contents of Barty’s pockets; he had a look through themselves himself before they arrived. He even checked if the any of the objects were transfigured to hide their true nature. Barty Crouch Jr. was clever, but he wasn’t particularly dumb either. He helped the marauders make the map after all.

“Pettigrew, they’re not on him. Shruthi is correct, if I were Barty, I would have not kept them on my person either,” Snape protested. He hoped wherever Barty had kept the horcruxes they would remain safe until they were needed once more.

“Snape, I need them,” Pettigrew whined pathetically. His hands clung to the clumps of remaining on his balding head. “You don’t understand what he’ll do to me if I don’t return without them.” Pettigrew had kept the existence of the books away from Voldemort. He wanted to prove to the Dark Lord that he was the most loyal of his death eaters. When Barty had been chosen to play Moody to lure the Potter boy, he raged in envy. He had been the one to tell Voldemort about the Potters! Barty Crouch Jr. did nothing but torture the Longbottom’s to insanity. He didn’t understand why Barty was rewarded while he was forced to nurse the remnants of the Dark Lord.

“LESS THAN I WILL FOR RUINING MY PLANS, PETTIGREW!” Snape seethed. “YOU SELFISH IMBECILE. BLACK SHOULD’VE KILLED YOU WHEN HE HAD THE CHANCE.” Though I’m glad that he didn’t because now I can have the pleasure of killing the man who sentenced my Lily to death, Snape thought darkly. His hands tightened subconsciously around Barty’s throat. He struggled to keep pressure on it while trying to fend off a potential attack from the man.

“NO, YOU HAVE RUINED MINE!” Pettigrew shouted in reply. “I’ll bring you back to the Lord myself, he’ll see you for the traitor that you are, Snivellus.” And hopefully he won’t see mine. Pettigrew grabbed the back of Snape’s robes and with an ear-shattering crack both men Disapparated.

*

“f*ck’en hell, what are we supposed to do now?” Jane swore looking to Shruthi for help.

“Uhh, let’s help Barty first,” Shruthi fretted with uncertainty. There was a swirling conflict inside of her. She could let Barty bleed out and they would have one less death eater apart of their unbreakable vow, but she also couldn’t just let him die while they didn’t know where the horcruxes were. She knelt and took over the role that Snape had while he was present. It gave her some time to think. He’s losing a lot of blood, Shruthi panicked. “Can you see if there’s a Blood-Replenishing potion in the bag.”

“The red one, right?” Jane opened each compartment and found vials neatly stacked against each other in leather vial loops. She found a few red coloured potions in there, with no other discernible characteristic between them. She held them up for Shruthi to see. Her friend was slick with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead.

“Dark red,” Shruthi murmured. “f*ck, I’m pretty sure one of the really bad poisons was maroon coloured as well.” Everything she had read in the past month was congealing together unlike the free flow of Barty’s blood.

“We can give him both and give him the antidote to the poison,” Jane theorised.

“Yeah… yeah! What the hell, sure, we can do that.” Jane unstoppered the first vial and handed it to Shruthi. “Wait, he can’t swallow.”

“Just pour it into his neck, he can’t get more dead at this point,” Jane said in a joking manner. “It’ll probably absorb faster.” Both girls had taken human biology before they had graduated but the course didn’t cover any first aid.

Shruthi carefully removed the blood-soaked gauze and threw it wetly beside them, so it landed with a gross plop. More blood gushed from the wound now, and she poured each vial carefully into the wound site lest she waste a drop. “The antidotes are different shades of green, and so is the Wiggenweld potion.” It was supposed to be used on light injuries, but surely it could help with increasing the rate of healing? Shruthi watched as Jane flicked through the bag’s compartments again like they were vinyls in a store. Nothing was labelled and whatever organisation system that Snape implemented was unknown to them.

Teal, moss, and emerald-coloured liquids sloshed into the hole before Shruthi resumed holding Barty’s neck together. “Hey,” Jane caught her frazzled friend’s attention. Pinched between her index and thumb was a small, brown stone. “These are supposed to come in handy for poisoning, right?”

“Yeah, maybe not right now though,” Shruthi nodded tiredly. A sigh emanating from the very bottom of her lungs left her as the adrenaline was crashing on her. Jane offered to take over for her, which Shruthi readily agreed. As she let go, she swore that the wound had begun to knit itself together since the stream of blood was slowing to a trickle. She sat cross-legged on the ground next to Jane as she busied herself with stuffing Barty’s pockets with his belongings.

Various thumb-sized dark detectors that chimed or spun out of control as they were repocketed near the arm that was marked. She placed them one by one, watching as the last remaining rays of light reflected off their metallic surfaces. She wondered how Barty had kept them silent since they obviously reacted to his presence. She then picked up each of the flasks with her two hands, and just as she was about to rehome them something about them caught her eye. “Jay.”

“Mmm,” the other girl replied, she was morbidly fascinated by the sinewy strings of muscles that were reknitting underneath her fingers.

“When Barty offered us firewhisky, what was on was on his flask?”

A shadow of smile crossed Jane’s face as she found humour in her friend’s sudden pop quiz, “It was the Hogwarts one, the one with the big capital ‘H’ in the middle with the four houses in the quadrants.”

“Definitely not the Slytherin crest, right?” Shruthi angled the flask for Jane to see.

“Maybe he changed it so he would know which one was which,” Jane pondered logically.

“Why now? Surely, he would’ve done that before he showed it to us. He made a big show and tell of knowing which one was which without opening each flask,” Shruthi retorted. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, it is Barty after all. She looked at the still unconscious man. He would look like he was sleeping if not for the gash on his neck. More of the Polyjuice potion had faded now. I think he could be handsome, Shruthi thought, or could have been.

Her thumb glided over the crest, and it made a subtle clicking sound as it pressed into the flask. Jane made a small sound of surprise as Shruthi quickly unscrewed the cap and looked inside with one of her brown eyes shut close, and the other lodged into the opening. It was dark, too dark, like all the light had been sucked by some great void. She moved it from her eye and turned the flask upside down. Horcrux after horcrux poured out from the opening before bouncing onto the ground and becoming full sized. The delicate silver Ravenclaw diadem; the emeralds snaked into an ‘S’ of Slytherin’s locket; a small golden version of the Goblet of Fire that belonged to her own house; a simple ring with a black gemstone of Voldemort’s maternal lineage.

“Far out, Shru,” Jane mumbled before a sudden giggle left her.

“Yeah?” Shruthi grinned as she quickly shoved all the horcruxes into her pocket. She wished she was a real witch so she could ask Barty to teach her whatever he did to create that. It was stellar work.

“We need to get Harry,” Jane reminded. Shruthi looked between herself and Jane. Who would Harry be more likely to follow back? “You need to get Harry.”

Shruthi sighed in resignation. “Fine, here, let’s swap robes. You keep the horcruxes and Barty safe, I’ll be back soon.” Shruthi found that Jane’s robes fit her well despite being a good couple of inches taller than her friend. Maybe these should’ve been the robes that she needed to tailor.

*

She occupied her mind on the walk back by counting five sets of footsteps in the snow heading towards then Muggle town – Barty, Snape, Peter, Jane, and herself. Two sets heading back towards Hogsmeade. That’s strange, maybe Pettigrew Apparated from the Muggle town towards Hogsmeade. The blood trail did start from a little ways back. She rounded that Snape had and followed the red spots, but the footsteps continued after.

“Wouldn’t there have been evidence of a scuffle if Pettigrew fought Barty?” She was no detective, but she had watched enough true crime shows to know some of the basics. She crouched down to take a better look at the footprint in the snow. It was smaller than hers. Pettigrew is a small man; he could just have small feet.

“Gosh, Shruthi, it’s nothing, stop wasting your time,” she scolded herself. She rubbed her hands together for warmth as she continued her trek. It was getting darker every minute she squandered on figuring out how Barty was attacked. He must’ve been surprised – caught off guard. Maybe Pettigrew was waiting behind a tree and attacked him before he even had a chance to defend himself. It would suit Pettigrew to do something cowardly instead of facing Barty like a man – wizard.

The footprints adjacent to the fresh ones she was leaving continued, “Why would’ve he come this far?” Her stomach dropped, someone else was here. She wasn’t sure for how long or when they arrived. How much had they have seen? She broke into a fear-ladened jog as she continued to see where the footsteps had led. Her heartbeat was thrumming in her ears but through it she heard the muffled boot stomp of a person ahead of her on the trail.

Faster she moved again, cursing that she needed to run. New boot prints formed up ahead of her but there wasn’t anyone leaving them. Anyone that she could see were leaving them, or it could be the fact that her glasses had fogged up by the mingling of her warm breath. Either she was going insane or there was an invisible person. She saw the fluttering of fabric as the air around them warped. Snow and gravel were upchucked by their running feet. They were faster than her (and probably in a lot better shape) but she just needed to catch them by their robes.

She took a gamble and lunged grabbing onto what felt like an ankle, “Stop,” she commanded breathlessly as her grip tightened. The person fell forward with a grunt and kicked back harshly connecting her face. Her face lit up in pain and her eyes stung with tears. “You f*cker,” she swore as she crawled over their struggling body and pinned them down. Unrobing the individual felt Scooby-Doo-esq when she looked to see the furious green eyes staring back.

“What are you doing here?” She queried in confusion. Last she saw of him he was expected to return to the castle. A horrible stitch formed on the side of her torso, and she struggled to breathe through it.

“What the hell happened to Professor Moody and why is Pettigrew here?” He shouted right at her face, spittle flying to land on her cheek.

She groaned in pain, both mentally and physical. “It’s too much to explain, you have to come back with me.”

“Like the f*ck I am. Why would I do that?” She took a moment to consider her next actions, and then kneed Harry Potter as hard as she could in his groin. The boy yelped in pain and his eyes became half-lidded in a daze. Dazed was exactly what she needed as she hauled the both of themselves up, supporting Harry by slinging one of his arms over her shoulders as she trekked back towards Jane. She grunted as the hazy Harry Potter dragged his feet in determination.

*

"Took you long enough," Barty joked weakly. He was sat up on the ground, rubbing at his sore throat. Jane had caught him up on what had transpired whilst he was out cold. Before Jane had even offered, Barty had asked for the bezoar. The amateur first aid was appreciated but the only person he trusted to give him unknown potions was Severus Snape. Still, he appreciated their valiant effort to elongate his life. He would've haunted Pettigrew until he surely found his well-deserved demise. Rather he would prefer to have a hand in it himself. He had a choice few dark arts curses and hexes in mind. "Stupefy," Barty cast at the struggling kidnappee. A red beam of light hit Harry square in the chest.

Shruthi unceremoniously dumped the boy on the ground and winced as she inspected the scratches on her face and hands, "Next time, you're getting him," she told Jane had a small smile of enjoyment on her face. Barty took out the magical blue eye that Moody had and his prosthetic leg. He shrunk both and put them into his pocket for safe keeping. When he stood up, he drank in the feeling of finally being himself again. His lower back wasn't constantly in pain, and he didn't have to walk with a limp. He stood tall and fingered his straw-blond hair out, so it settled mostly flat on his head barring the cowlicks from the middle of his scalp.

He walked over to the unconscious boy and scooped him up before tossing him over his shoulder with ease. "C'mon, we're missin' the party," he jested. It was the only time he was going to allow two Muggles to touch him as the group Disapparated away.

*

They arrived at a rundown wooden veranda, that would have wrapped around the entire outside of the two-story house. Many of the lower windows were broken in by the curious youths of Little Hangleton that dared each other each Halloween to explore the supposedly haunted house of then prominent Riddle family. Barty turned the rust speckled doorknob of the front door and it creaked loudly to alert anyone inside of their arrival. A thick layer of dust had settled on the remaining furniture that was either too heavy to steal or not worth the effort. Their robes dragged across it until they reached a rickety old staircase. Though some of the stairs had rotted away, the railing had kept its structural integrity. It painted a picture of the faded elegance and bygone craftsmanship. Constructed originally from sturdy oak with its balusters spaced evenly along its lengths. Now, Shruthi clutched at it with white knuckles as they ascended in almost pure darkness.

She only allowed herself to take a breath when they reached the landing of the first storey. An action that was accompanied by muffled sneeze. The few microseconds that her eyes were closed made her miss that they were greeted by Voldemort's massive python. Jane edged away from it as it moved closer to them. Barty stepped over it as he pushed into the room that he had left the Lord in when he was given his infiltration and retrieval mission. A flash of longing for the opportunity to continue to stay at Hogwarts was squashed by the overwhelming relief that he had successfully completed it well ahead of schedule.

A small dying fire was the only source of light in the room, as the heavy velvet floor-length curtains had been drawn close. There was a whistle of wind that sung in the room with a weedy note, and Shruthi supposed that one of these windows must've have gotten the downstairs treatment as well. The rest of the room was in better state. Barty Crouch Jr. and Peter Pettigrew had spent a few hours after the Dark Lord had asked to be moved into this house fixing the furnishing in this room. The baroque wallpaper now only peeled at the corners, rather than hanging down in torn strips like wilted flowers. The Persian rug was thread-bare underneath the bassinet that was transfigured from the bed that resided in room previously.

Whatever laid within it was obscured from view, but Severus Snape was standing next to it speaking in a fast but informative pace. He was efficiently reporting as much as he could to the Dark Lord as Pettigrew was magically silenced and bound, quivering in the corner with his eyes wide-open with fear. Nagini slithered away to return to her usual position, curled around the clawed wooden foot of her master's bed. His eyes only flicked up to take in the arrivals but returned to make strict eye contact with the Dark Lord. It was a habit that was drilled into every Death Eater, and a lesson that only needed to be learned once.

"I want to see them," a feeble, high-pitched voice came from the bassinet. Snape crooked his finger, summoning them to the bedside. Jane took Shruthi's hand as they walked forward with no idea what to expect. The only image in their mind was the child-sized skeleton that had grotesque pale skin stretched too tightly across the bones. They were expecting horror, and what they saw was weak and pitiable. "These are the Muggles?"

"Yes, m'lord," Barty answered.

"Do you still require them?" Barty considered the question. They needed Harry Potter for the ritual, and now he was here.

"No, m'lord."

"Kill them." Jane no longer pitied the creature in the bassinet, now replaced by fear. She took hurried steps back, digging her nails in Shruthi's hand. Her shoulder collided with the edge of the mantel, blooming in pain. Pain kept her mind sharp as she refused to give into her panic. Shruthi on the other hand had a blank look in her eyes as if she had quite yet understood what was going on. Jane stared at her numb friend who usually caught on quickly to situations. C'mon Shruthi, he wants us dead.

"What are you waiting for, Barty? I want you to kill them."

It was Snape that answered next. "My Lord, we could use their help to convince Potter to participate in the ritual." The original potion required the blood of the Dark Lord's enemy, but Severus Snape's improvements required the blood to be willingly given.

"Have you grown so weak in the years without my presence, Severus, that you cannot Imperio the boy?" Jane didn't wait for Snape's reply as she pulled Shruthi with her. Her movements didn't feel fast enough for her mind. She pulled and pulled, almost tripping down one of the broken steps of the staircase. Shruthi wasn't so agile and the heel of her boot was wedged in the hole.

"Shruthi, c'mon," Jane whispered as she tugged. "Cry later. We have to get out of here." Shruthi didn't even realise that there were tears staining her cheeks as she moved. All she could focus on was the fact that she had trusted the wrong sort of people and has sentenced her best friend to death. They ran out of the backdoor into a garden that verged on overgrowth and disrepair. It looked like it was only recently not taken care of in comparison to the rest of the house. At another time she might've found it odd that the backyard wasn't fenced off, but right now she was grateful as she trampled over snow-covered flowerbeds.

She glanced a look back and saw movement through the door and she pushed to sprint faster. "Shruthi, what do we do?"

"Um." The black-haired girl couldn't think. Her legs felt leaden with fatigue as her heartbeat against her chest cavity at a pace that she thought it would burst apart. I'm going to die either way, she thought morbidly. She dug her heels into the dirt and let go of Jane's insistent hand.

"What are you doing?" Jane stopped and asked through ragged breaths.

"I can't outrun them, Jane," Shruthi complained with the same stature. She bent over with her hands on her knees. She felt like she could vomit but her mouth was too dry. "You go, you're faster than me," she urged Jane.

"Not without you."

"Don't be stupid. Go, get out of here! I'm the one who got us into the mess. If they kill me, maybe they'll let you go." Shruthi couldn't believe the one subject she would regret not paying more attention to in high school would be P.E. I always thought it would be maths.

"You're the one being stupid, Shruthi," Jane swallowed back her own bile rising to her mouth. She looked over her friend's shoulder and saw Peter Pettigrew stumble with ropes loosely tangling his feet stumbling towards them down. "We have the horcruxes."

"You, girls, stop," Peter pleaded, his hand outreached in front of him. The rope caught at his bare feet, and he fell onto the ground. That didn't stop him, he began to crawl towards them with practice. "Please, sweet girls, help me. Give me the horcruxes and I promise you'll live." He reached Shruthi first, clinging onto her left calf. Barty said the Slytherin had the horcruxes. He had just been given a second chance to prove to the Dark Lord that he was the most loyal of his army. While Barty and Severus were distracted by the girls, he had slipped out in his Animagus.

Shruthi shrieked and tried to kick him away, but he held on to tugging harshly at her green trimmed robes. His uncut nails dragging across her skin causing prickles of blood to emerge from the surface. He hooked his fingers around the seams of her pockets and torn viciously. He never saw the other girl approach him from behind armed with a garden gnome between her two hands. She hit him square in the back of his head.

Shruthi's shriek grew weaker as Jane rolled the unconscious Peter Pettigrew away from them both until he was laying belly down on a nearby garden bed. She watched as an earth worm had inched to take residence inside of his nose. Her friend was shaken up and looked like she had been brawling with a houseless cat. "You okay?"

"No," Shruthi said timidly. She didn't have any more to clarify why as two other death eaters had caught up to the runaways.

Jane held her weapon up threateningly as they approached. Barty sneered at Pettigrew and stepped over his misshapen legs. He wanted to kill him, but they needed him alive until the ritual was completed. "We aren't here to kill you."

"Fat f*ckin' chance of that. Do you think we're stupid?" Jane swore. She didn't have to check out Barty's behind to know they were aflame. "Take another step closer, and I'll swing."

"We have spoken to the Lord about your contributions to our cause," Snape worded carefully. "His desire to kill you was a brief lapse in judgement. Our deal still stands; you help us resurrect him to full power and we will make sure you get home. Give the horcruxes to us."

"Now you're doing PR for the Dark Lord! We aren't going to hand over the only things that are keeping us alive."

"W-We want to keep one," Shruthi finally stammered. She cleared her throat and tried again, "We want to keep one of the horcruxes as collateral. We'll give it back when we get home safely by mail."

"I'm not going to let you ship a piece of the Dark Lord back through the Muggle post because you believe that we will not hold our end of the bargain." Snape took a threating step forward towards them, the shadows of his robes growing in length. Barty had taken to toss Pettigrew over his shoulder and let out a grunt of exertion.

"It's only one, and its not like he would notice. He lost them in the first place," Shruthi joke died in the back of her throat. She moved to wedge herself against Jane, so the pocket holding the horcruxes was crushed between their bodies. She snaked a finger into it and grabbed onto the first one she could feel. A small silver ring decorated with a dark stone was looped around the first knuckle of her index finger.

"Miss Patel," Snape growled, "Give it to me." He didn't want to spook the girls again; he didn't want the Muggles living in this village to come out to investigate why Barty and he were hounding after two teenage girls in the middle of the night. "Give me the ring now," he spoke in the paternal way that he had seen Lucius use on Draco.

The ring slipped from her knuckle into the palm of her hand as she considered what she wanted to do. Right now, she had a choice, all the horcruxes were with them. She had an opportunity to end everything right now and vanquish the Dark Lord herself. She knew that Jane had a flight booked out of Edinburgh Airport for tomorrow night. Jane didn't need Snape's help anymore. Jane could always write a letter to Hogwarts saying that she changed her mind and repatriated with whatever magical school existed in Australia. Would Nagini's venom be enough to destroy a horcrux? It was powerful enough to kill Snape, who was a potions master who had spent most of his life around her, Shruthi thought.

"Okay," she said quietly, closing her fist over the ring. "Let's go back to the house."

*

"What are you doing?" Jane whispered to Shruthi as the climbed the stairs up towards Voldemort's bedroom ahead of the two wizards behind them.

"I don't know where Little Hangleton is relative to Hogwarts or London, but it isn't magical. Go knock on someone's door until they open and then call for help," Shruthi's words were muffled by the rickety sounds of steps. She felt almost weightless at the thought of walking to her death – a sort of calm smothered every fray nerve. The only feeling she had was the acute awareness of the small weight that the ring had in her pocket. She felt it with every movement as it was the only thing keeping her grounded. "Kick up a fuss. Snape and Barty will leave you alone if they see the police."

Jane narrowed her gaze at her friend's odd behaviour which Shruthi replied with a squeezing of her hand. The weight of her pocket grew a heavier as she pilfered each horcrux. They reached the final step and she waited by the end of the railing. Jane stepped out first and stood aside to let Snape and Barty through. She waited until Barty had placed on leg on the landing and shifted his weight from supporting leg on the step below it. She stuck her foot out with her ankle protesting at the movement, and watched as surprise took over her facial expression as he slipped.

"Go," Shruthi pushed Jane down the stairs, and just as she hoped Jane staggered at first, but her reflexes took forward as she tried to keep balance by taking the rest of them as quickly as possible. She didn't wait to see if Snape would help Barty or chase after Jane thinking that the girls have given him the slip again. She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door close behind her so hard that the hinges rattled on the frame. A small explosion of dust dispersed into the air, as she jammed a nearby chair underneath the handle. She knew theoretically they could just blast through the door, but it would give her time if they tried to open it normally.

Nagini wasn't hard to spot as she rose from her slumber to hiss at the intruder. "Who is it?" Voldemort asked weakly. Shruthi grabbed the diadem out and crouched down to her level. She watched with a lump in her throat as Nagini reared back to strike. She had to fight every instinct in her body to remain still. She lunged with her mouth wide open, and her fangs bared to bite. Shruthi stuffed her hand right into Nagini's gullet.

Shruthi always hated snakes. Maybe that was simply something that was ingrained in every Australian – one of the questions on the citizenship exam. She hated how they slithered around, hiding the bush. She hated how she needed to wear gators when she hiked because they could be lurking anywhere. In the hallows of dead logs, underneath stones, in the homes of marsupials. What she really hated about them were the ones who swallowed their prey whole and slept while they would slowly be digested by being dissolved in stomach acid. At which point in that process did they die? Did they recognise what was happening to them? Did they feel the pain as their muscle and bone would disappear in front of their eyes. Shruthi hated snakes for their sheer cruelty.

She ignored the burning pain that shot through her forearm and up her spine. She grabbed object after object made sure each one was thoroughly covered by the slimy venom ejecting from Nagini. She even tried to pry one of the fangs from her mouth, but it was hard as Nagini had clamped down on her flesh. Her eyelids grew heavy; maybe they fell unconscious in their stomachs, like babies. The last item in her hand before she crumpled to her side was a small dagger with its hilt encrusted in glowing rubies.

*

Jane didn't make it further than the front door when a Freezing charm stuck her feet to the floor. Barty had one hand clutched on the growing lump on his head, and the other concentrating on his spell. Moody had tried that one when Barty had kidnapped him from his house. Barty didn't understand why Moody even bought a house with an upstairs when he was could barely walk up them.

"Unbelievable," Snape sighed. "It would incredible how you two don't understand that you cannot escape us if it wasn't so annoying." If this was the state of Muggles today, Snape wasn't so sure how the Dark Lord planned to control the entire population. At this rate, they would need to reintroduce lobotomies to curtail the Muggle desire for freedom. He Accio'ed Jane towards him and grabbed her harshly by the upper arm, manhandling them to the door.

"Stupefy," he cast before a word could be uttered from her mouth. He usually withheld rendering his opponent unconscious as they always awoke in a flutter of panic afterwards, clinging onto the last memory they had before their consciousness was taken away from them forcibly. He waited for Barty to gather himself and Pettigrew before blasting open the closed door. A close range Bombarda was a spell that required much mastery, especially when paired with a Silencing modifier.

He bit his lower lip almost completely off when he was greeted with the scene of a murder. The Lord's snake thrashing about widely with the circumference of the diadem wedged behind her fangs as the other Muggle girl was limply laying in a small pool of her own blood. After reading about his own demise in the book, he made sure to carry around the specific antivenom that would've saved him then. He quickly arranged both girls away from one another dissuade them from another escape attempt. They were much easier to handle when they were unconscious and smeared the antivenom into the puncture holes of Shruthi's palm before helping Nagini. He did so very carefully, but she was clever enough to stay still as he maneuvered the silver circlet out of her mouth.

"Severus," Voldemort hissed from the bassinet. "What is going on?"

"Nothing of import, my Lord. Everything is going according to plan," Snape lied as the circlet freed itself. Nagini hissed endearingly, and once upon a time, Snape would've been open to it but all he could picture was the snake attacking him viciously on command.

"Then why has the ritual not begun? We are losing precious time," Voldemort urged.

"Yes, my Lord." It was always easier to agree with him immediately than to explain delays, especially when those delays were embarrassing as two Muggle girls evading them. "Rennervate," he cast on Jane Becker. She came out of her magical slumber tugging at her binds. Only after useless moments of struggle did she think to look up at him. "When I undo the Silencing charm placed on you, I need you to convince Potter to give his blood for the ritual. If you scream or do anything other than that, I will siphon the antivenom from Shruthi until you do as I say."

Jane nodded slowly as she took in the sight of her best friend propped up against the wall opposite to her. Snape undid the spell slowly and held his wand firmly waiting for Jane to act impertinent again. "I'll need my hands free if you want me to talk to Harry."

"I didn't know you spoke with your hands, Becker," Snape snarled. "You would be much more likeable if you were mute."

"I don't know how to speak to him, Shruthi always did the talking," Jane complained. The gritting of his teeth made her reconsider, "We were meant to convince him that Voldemort is his dad." A plan that they had only come about when Jane had offhandedly teased that Harry was related to him during their study into Harry's ancestry. Snape blinked once slowly, but it was Barty that reacted first with a preposterous laugh.

Snape was incredulous, it didn't even register to reprimand her on calling the Dark Lord by his chosen name. He trusted that they had a plan better than convincing the living remnant of James Potter that his real father was the man who had tried to kill him as a toddler. He shouldn't have listened to Barty when he had convinced him to let them guide Harry Potter organically. At this point, the Imperius curse was his only choice, but it would heavily affect the effectiveness of his potion.

"We put the thought in him. Just get Voldemort to talk to him as his dad. Surely, he can lie," Jane continued.

"Of course, the Dark Lord is capable enough to hoodwink Potter…" Snape retorted in offence, but he wasn't sure if he could convince Voldemort to do such a thing. This was an awful plan, but the current state of the Dark Lord wasn't strong enough to do anything more than sic Nagini onto his unsuspecting victim. He would be safe from the Cruciatus curse but at the price of his dignity. He approached the bassinet and looked down at the Dark Lord bundled up in three layers of blankets.

"Are we ready?" He asked impatiently.

"Not quite. As you are aware, the modified potion relies on Harry Potter's willing contribution to it. The Imperius curse will suffice, but for greater efficacy we would like to take a different approach. The Muggles have planted a seed of doubt in Potter's mind about his ancestry, stating that he may be related to yourself. If you could convince the boy that is true, you may have a very useful pawn in your army, my Lord. Think, your very enemy convinced that you are his family."

"Severus, I have warned you that I am not partial to your humour."

"I'm afraid I'm not jesting," Snape stated earnestly as he folded his hands in front of him.

"His mother… was she not the woman you pleaded for me to spare?"

"Yes," Snape confessed.

"Tell me something that only a man who loved her would know."

Snape faltered; a decade of burying Lily Evans mentally had not prepared him for such a question. His mind blanked on how to condense years of childhood love to the Dark Lord as he dredged up every painful memory of her. "She hated her auburn hair because she was the only redhead in her family. She was bullied for it by James Potter stating that the only reason that she was in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw was because of it. She never knew how it glowed in the sunlight and looked like a smothered flame when snow fell upon it. She is- was so beautiful."

"You are still in love with her?"

"Always," Snape inhaled. It was the only word that he could think of in the moment.

"Bring Potter to me," Voldemort commanded.

Voldemort waited until he came face to face with the green piercing eyes of his teenaged enemy. He was sure many people spoke of his failure to slay a babe in a crib after a few too many butterbeers across the various magical pubs. They would laugh and belittle him behind his back, but would they be able to say the same to his face? He hated the boy's eyes; they were the very same colour as the Killing curse. Constantly mocking him as he looked down unabashedly at him.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort croaked. "Do you see what has become of me? What have you done to me? I am a sliver of the man I was once was. You have met me in my past, the boy who roamed the very halls that Dumbledore hides behind now. Do you remember him, Harry? The handsome man, that I was. They say I am the spitting image of my Muggle father. I'm not much of a father now, am I, son."

"You're not my dad."

Voldemort forged on, "I knew your mother, Harry. I knew many witches during my youth. You see, when you reach the pinnacle of strength that I have, when you have conquered what there is to conquer – every luxury, every power, every person - that I desired, I realised something. I needed someone to share it with me… an heir. I needed to find a suitable witch – clever, beautiful, strong, and young. Severus had told me of your mother."

"Stop," Harry raged. His hands were tied behind his back and Snape had forced him to stand next to the bassinet at wandpoint. "You're lying to me."

"Am I? Has Dumbledore told you about my humble origins? Origins not unlike your own. Thrown to the edges of Muggle society to fend ourselves. Unloved by everyone and separated from our true families. Destined for a life of ostracization for our something we can't control. But then a little letter arrives at our doorstep on our eleventh birthdays, and we find an explanation. Hogwarts was my first home. Where I had finally found my family. You see, Harry, family is very important to me, and therefore you are very important to me. Look inside yourself and you'll find it to be true," Voldemort urged the boy. He could see the cracks in his disposition. Harry Potter was stubborn, but apart from Dumbledore, he had not met a single wizard he was unable to convince with his honeyed words.

Harry interrupted again, "This entire conversation has been in Parseltongue, Harry. A gift you inherited from me, not the man you think is your father." Harry shut his mouth, was he speaking in Parsletongue all this time? He never was able to discern between it and English, it was only when someone told him that he was he knew.

"You tried to kill me… and my mother," Harry interjected weakly.

"My greatest shame, Harry. At the time, I received incomplete information about a prophecy. It foretold our meeting, saying it would end in one of our deaths. Had I known the boy I had come to slay was my very son I would have done the opposite. It was only right that the seers would have prophesised my vanquishing at the hands of my heir. No, Harry, you will not vanquish me, you will rule beside me. We, together, can make this world a place where no wizard must cower at the hands of Muggles – being starved and beaten for our magic. Magic is might, Harry, and we are mighty. Your mother knew that when she came to me. I had hoped you would have inherited more of her beautiful appearance, but I am joyed that you look like me, my son." Voldemort saw from the corner of his peripheral vision the stiffening of Severus Snape. As soon as the ritual was done, he aimed to Obliviate all the witnesses to his embarrassing fabrication. He would never take a Muggleborn to bed, not even when he identified as Tom Riddle. They were beneath him.

"Let me be a father to you, Harry. It is what we both wish. All I need is your blood - my blood," he tempted. He knew the dazed look on Harry's face. He had seen all the children in Wool's Orphanage wear the same one on the day they were adopted. It was a mingle of confusion but also a fierce inner desire. He one had read that fundamentally all humans desired connection and community. The author must have never met people like himself. Voldemort needed only himself.

"You killed Muggles and Muggleborns. You'll do that again now," Harry challenged.

"Only those who stand in our way. I want to make a better world," Voldemort declared grandiosely. "No magical child left behind. The Muggles will have their place in the world too. What would you do with the Muggles, my son?"

"I wouldn't kill them," Harry immediately answered. There were nice Muggles, not all of them were like the Dursleys. He had teachers from his elementary education that he remembered fondly. But sometimes that fondness turned into betrayal when he questioned why no one had noticed how the Dursleys had treated him. "I think we should stay away from them."

"We can make it so," Voldemort cackled in agreement. A strange tingly sensation formed at the bottom of Harry's stomach. His usual gut reactions kept him alive so far, but also got him in a lot of trouble with the Dursleys. This was a familiar feeling; it was the same he experienced when he sat at the Weasley's dinner table in the Burrow. The man he looked upon reminded me of the hairless cat that Mrs. Figg had. He pitied that one the most since it was the one that always looked left out of her pride.

*

The amendments to the original potion were simple. The original Regeneration potion only consisted of three ingredients:

Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!

Flesh – of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master.

Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.

Barty had already dismembered Pettigrew's wand arm. It was only fair that he was the one to do so when Pettigrew had tried to separate his head from his body. He wrapped the stub with cloth torn from Pettigrew's haggard robes as he waited for Snape to finish drawing a vial of blood from Harry. The boy was eerily calm during the procedure. He sat perfectly still and watched the steady stream of blood exit from his body without single squirm of discomfort.

Severus prepared the cauldron inside the room. They forwent the graveyard since the Dark Lord didn't want to use this opportunity to advertise his return. Barty had carefully convinced him that taking a few months to gather his strength before summoning his followers than if they saw him moments after his return. He wanted to project an image of strength and dominance. He had spent too long away, and most of his followers had moved on with their lives, shunning their past.

The room filled with thick grey smoke as Severus fanned with flames of the cauldron. It was the one that he always travelled with. A sturdy, wide base that over years of use had seasoned for even the most difficult of brews. It was his first time working with the Regeneration potion, it was only something he ever considered theoretically. Even St. Mungo's had only used it a handful of times in all the years it had serviced the British wizarding community. He was proud to add this to the repertoire of potions he was able to brew.

Barty cradled the Dark Lord in his blankets and gently lowered him into the murky depths of the potion water. He disappeared into the void as if he never existed in the first place, adding a white swirl into the brew. Severus stated strongly as he added each ingredient with a flourish watching as the potion turned from a liquid into a blackish-purple smoke with each addition.

Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!

Flesh – of the servant, forcibly taken, you will revive your master.

Blood of the enemy, willingly given, you will resurrect your foe.

Only when the room had been thrown in complete darkness did a skeletal hand emerge from depths to grip around the lip of the pot.

The Dark Lord emerged with a ragged breath as if he had spent the past few minutes drowning. He swung each one of his tall, thin legs over the edge until he stood barefoot on the floor of his paternal family. "Robes," he asked. His voice was deeper and clearer. He did not have to speak as if each word laboured him. He didn't care for nudity; his body was only a vessel for his soul and his mind. He remembered a time when he did care for such things. He remembered growing up a runty, weedy boy, gaunt from hunger. Then he was pitied for being able to count his ribs, now his appearance was unsettling.

He wrapped the black wizarding robes around his naked frame. His bleeding red eyes let him see through the darkness as if it was the midday sun, a trait he embedded himself with during his exploration into the dark arts. He could see the two Muggle girls held hostage in the corner, both now awake. "My wand," he demanded as he looked over at Pettigrew. He did not tolerate rivalry within his ranks, but he was not in the position to cull that behaviour. Peter Pettigrew could still prove useful to him. He summoned a metal arm to replace the missing one on his body. He watched as the snivelling man thanked him devoutly, flexing his new mechanical fingers. Loyalty like that could not be bought.

He felt the magic thrumming through his body, steady as his own heart rate. It had been a very long time since he remembered the feeling of power running through veins. He stalked over to where Harry Potter had taken to lounging casually. His body became rigid as he knew that someone had approached him. "Best of luck with your tournament, Harry Potter. I will be keeping an eye on your progress." Voldemort's lipless mouth curled into a wicked smile.

Chapter 7: Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye

Chapter Text

"We need to talk," Jane pulled Shruthi aside after classes had ended early today because anyone fourth year and older needed time to prepare for the Yule Ball tonight. The events of yesterday kept Jane from being able to join the rest of her cohort on hushed whispers about whom-was-taking-whom to the ball, or how they had just discovered the perfect enchantment to bring to life their snow globe earrings. The hallways where the History of Magic classroom was located at was quickly deserted by even the most studious of the fourth year Ravenclaw students, leaving both girls behind. If Jane was to pick a favourite part of the castle, it would be this one.

Each artwork that hung here represented an important historical event in the lengthy history of British wizardry. Just to the left of the door of Professor Binns classroom was a moody landscape of the burning of one of the prominent wizard flour mills during the Goblin Rebellion of 1752. She watched witches dusted in flour, running towards the frame of the painting clutching their hats to their heads as goblins armed with pitchforks and torches did the opposite. She read in A History of Magic that the forced starvation of the British wizarding population had led to prominent Pureblood families reestablishing trade with the Muggles after centuries of isolation following the first wave of European witch trials.

Bathilda Bagshot did not care to mention or wilfully omitted the fact that the Purebloods had first tried to force the Muggles to supply them with flour and other essentials. As expected, the Muggles denied, and when attacked by magic spurred the second wave of European witch trials due to the fear. The Purebloods had just cut off their only avenue for reliable source of food while they were already at war with the goblins, who had grown more and more violent with each failed rebellion. They culled the hungry wizarding population by using targeted accusations of witchcraft to the Muggle church against the Muggleborns. Outside of Voldemort's decade of terror, the European witch trials were the most lethal time for Muggleborn witches and wizards.

Not all those pictures were wars and travesty. One, shrouded in a dark corner, was an image of a witch that couldn't be much older than herself. She had chestnut brown hair, some of it braided in intricate patterns but most fell like a waterfall down her dark blue cape. Her arm was outstretched as she gently feed a luminous fully grown unicorn. She stood with her companion in the clearing of an enchanted forest, a lake pictured behind her teeming with fairies. Stood right beside her frame was a dashing knight battling a fearsome Welsh Green. Beneath his helm peeked a momentary glimpse of his blazon locks as he swung his longsword grasped with both of his hands. The Welsh Green had reared up onto its hind legs, readying itself for another round of fire blind to the fact that the knight had rushed underneath it. He thrust the longsword into the soft belly, piercing the heart of the dragon. It let out a silent, painful wail before toppling over roughly onto the patched dirt.

None of the paintings of this hallway explored further than their frames. None even acknowledged that they had neighbours. They had a silent dedication to their professions of showcasing parts of wizarding history for the generations to come. They didn't even acknowledge Jane as she studied them when she finished listening to the ghostly Professor Binn's droning lectures. Jane wished she had more time at Hogwarts to study each painting in this hallway. She wanted to know all the stories did they hid in their colours. She wanted to understand how wizarding historical events interwove with the great tapestry of human history. If being a historian made any reasonable salary, she would have pursued that over the sciences.

"What was going on with you yesterday?" Jane asked openly, barely being able to control her valid anger.

Shruthi looked away from her friend's firm inspective gaze. It was hard to tear away from Jane's captivatingly blue eyes, but she couldn't look at them when she had known that she was in trouble. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Shruthi," Jane scolded. "I want you to tell me why you tried to get yourself killed, twice! Not only that, but you also tried to get me to run away to safety, when we were in trouble together."

"I get it! I know! I messed up, okay?" Shruthi said defensively, taking a step back from Jane. She crossed her arms at her chest, her fingers digging into the flesh of her biceps. "I won't do it again."

"I-" Jane shook her head in disbelief. "Shruthi, I'm not here to tell you off for being stupid. You already know you were. I just want to know why." Jane held herself back from closing the distance that Shruthi was creating.

"I wanted you to get out of there, and if I was dead, you wouldn't feel burdened to stay."

"And you don't think I wouldn't be burdened by the fact that I left my best friend behind to die!" Jane shouted. Shruthi shrank into herself again.

"You would get over it," Shruthi faltered. "And we didn't die, so I think we should focus on that."

Jane took in a deep breath to steady herself, before speaking in a pained voice. "Look, I don't want to shout at you. I don't like that you're lying to me right now. I don't know what's going on with you, but I want to know. I want to help you and be there for you, but I can't if you don't tell me."

"I think we should just forget about all of this; I mean, it's not going to matter after today. This is all just a dream," Shruthi evaded. She didn't want to tell Jane the real reason why lest she think less of her for doing so.

Jane sighed in exasperation, "You don't want to talk about it, fine… just don't do that sh*t again, Shruthi. I don't need you to put yourself before me. I don't want to be the person calling your parents telling them that you've died." If she was, she wasn't even sure where she would begin. She wasn't sure if it alright to lie to them if the truth was so unbelievable. How was she supposed to tell them their only child died because she was bullish to think she could solve everything by herself. She loved her Shruthi Patel but disliked her in moments like these.

*

It would be fantastic to have an entire bathroom to herself to prepare for the Yule ball if Jane had anything more than just slipping on her robes. Dressing up for the occasion reminded her of her own ball earlier that year at her high school. She wasn't the one tasked with hosting the preparatory party (known as colloquially as pre's) but she vividly recalled sitting on the bathroom floor of one of friend's, with her makeup littered before her on the cold tile. Her friends shoving each other for mirror real estate in front of her while the Top 40s was blasting from nearby speaker.

All the mishaps that occurred in the weeks leading up to the event could be a tale in their own right. The last-minute fake tan fixes because someone cried while getting on because her boyfriend broke up with her on the day of. She stood with a latex-free glove that she had stolen from her science class and a paintbrush borrowed from arts as she painted over the streak marks from her tears. Another opening up the online package for the first time and finding out that the dress was two sizes too big. Nothing a few bobby pins and strategic posing couldn't hide.

She remembered holding onto Shruthi's hand as she wobbled in her heels for the first time after one too many guava-flavoured vodka cruisers. Shruthi with a wide grin on her face, as Jane wiped the edges of her mouth as her lipstick had become smeared with a tissue. They couldn't afford to rent out a limo or a fancier form of transportation so all of them piled on the backseat of one their mum's cars as they were driven to the school gym. Her lockscreen was a terrible photograph of all of them in a silly pose before the metallic letters of 'Class of 2019' strung limply between two thumb tacks.

All of them agreed to not bring any fellas to the ball in solidarity. Jane was happy with that decision, it saved her quite a bit considering the price of each ticket was well over one hundred dollars. She knew she made the right choice when she saw the girls that had brought a date spend the entire night babysitting their guests instead of having one of the best nights of the most stressful year of high school. Compared to that, the Yule ball didn't feel magical at all.

There was a knock from bathroom door and Jane opened it up moments later to find Draco Malfoy on the other side. The scent of cologne made her recoil before she took in the outfit he was wearing for the ball. It was some floral smell that she couldn't quite discern the origins of because every time she tried it changed. It wasn't unpleasant but she recoiled from him all the same because of who he was. He had slicked back his platinum locks exposing a faint blond widow's peak. His layered robes were a collection of neutral hues, with the most interior in an open breasted style with the lightest shade of the collage. He had a few pieces of silver jewellery adorning his person, the signature piece being a sapphire robe fastener that clipped the two halves of his outermost robes over his front of his cream waistcoat. He had a pair of satin gloves with a few rings worn over them, the most prominent being his heirship ring lest anyone forget that he was a Malfoy. Jane thought his cheeks were rosier than usual, and his lips were shiny from a clear coat of lip oil. He wore a pair of heeled white leather dress shoes that he had borrowed from his father, shrunken down to his size.

"Have you finished dressing?" He asked pointedly.

"Yes, I'm done. Do you need to use the bathroom?" Jane asked in confusion. She was surprised to see him in the witches' dormitory since Slytherin wizards weren't permitted to enter it.

"Are you sure?" Draco ignored her question. The restrictive wards had been lessened tonight as it was customary for couples to accompany one another from the dormitories to the Great Hall tonight. He had passed the other Slytherin girls when he made his way to their bathroom. Daphne Greengrass was dressed in a metallic silver robe that caught the light no matter which direction she faced. His own date, Pansy Parkinson, had decided that feathers were now the trend had dressed herself in a way that reminded him of his father's albino peaco*cks. In comparison, Jane Becker wore something that he could've mistaken for her daily school robes.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" She didn't wish to entertain his rudeness for any longer.

"Since you arrived, the number of the Slytherin girls now matches the Slytherin boys. Goyle is taking Millicent, which means Crabbe has you," he announced in a magnanimous manner. He pitied Crabbe for being stuck with the mudblood.

"I'm not taking Crabbe to the ball," disagreed Jane.

"Have you gotten someone else then?" Draco was surprised that she would reject such a generous offer. He had to ply Crabbe with an entire box of Honeyduke's mixed sweets for him to agree.

"No. I'm not going to go with anyone." Jane didn't plan on dancing either since the only people that were required by tradition to dance were the victors and their dates.

"It's unbecoming of a witch to be unaccompanied to the Yule ball. I know you are unfamiliar with Pureblood traditions, but I was sure that that Daphne would have at least informed of this."

Jane tended to tune out anything that the Slytherin girls talked about since it didn't matter to her. If they did address something to her, they did so by speaking to one another through implications that she was meant to hear. Jane thought that it was one of the cantankerous things she had ever experienced. "I don't care what you think, I'm going by myself." Shruthi would only be busy with one dance and after that they can spend the rest of the night together.

"You can't do that," Draco spluttered as Jane slipped by him. He hurried to catch up to her as she walked at a pace uncomfortable for casual conversation. "Is this about Potter? I hear he's taking some Hufflepuff as his partner. Severus says that she's in detention in everyday with him for being so stupid," Draco sneered. He liked to think that she was Harry's last resort.

"She's not stupid," Jane snapped at him. "And I'm detention with Snape everyday too."

"Yes, but Severus said that's because you needed extra tutoring to make up for your subpar education from Australia," Draco countered her. "I don't imagine there would be enough hours in the day for the Hufflepuff to catch up. The sooner you accept that the other houses are inferior to us, the better, Becker."

"Don't you get tired of yourself? Do you wake up every morning and think 'How can I be the biggest wanker today?'" Jane insulted. Draco gaped at her before blustering into another bout of anger.

"I'm doing you a favour, mudblood. You should be grateful that I'm even talking to you." He had left his wand in his room as it was customary to come unarmed to larger social gatherings, but he considered going back to get it just to teach her a lesson. Draco didn't understand what had continuously drawn his godfather to the witch standing in front of him. His father had warned him that Severus went through a brief obsession with a Muggleborn witch when he was younger. It wasn't uncommon for Purebloods to be intrigued by Muggleborns, Draco had been from the moment that Jane Becker had been brought to Slytherin but now he was reassessing that curiosity. "If you want to go to the ball, you will obey me."

Her eyes widened in incredulousness. Draco patiently waited for her response with a satisfied smirk. It was her last night here. She didn't want it to end up with causing a commotion that would make her late for her flight. "Whatever you say, Malfoy," she appeased. She let him walk her towards Vincent Crabbe was standing tall, with sweat beading at his temples as he suffocated himself with a set of traditional wizard's robes, topped with flat, felt hat trimmed with pearls. He hesitated for a moment before holding out his elbow for Jane, which she feigned ignorance to by straightening out the pleats of her own clothes.

*

The fourth year Slytherins were amongst the last to arrive at packed Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling had been spelled to trickle a gentle fall of snowflakes that disappeared before they touched the heads of the partygoers. All four of the house tables had been pushed against the walls and draped over with white tablecloth. Silver platters of finger food allowed guests to eat just enough to not feel overburdened by their fullness. She saw students gather around the glass pitchers filled with carbonated honey coloured liquid that they poured into chilled metal goblets. Ice sculptures of various magical creatures sectioned off the dance floor from the sitting area meant for secluded conversation. Draco led the group there, driving the Ravenclaws that were occupying a series of milk-coloured settees away. He led Pansy to sit before asking her if she wanted anything to drink, spurring on the other wizards to do the same.

"I'm okay," Jane said to the stumbling words that came from Crabbe. He stared at her in disappointment until she added, "Feel free to grab some for yourself." He smiled in thankfulness before hurrying to join Goyle for a drink. She focused her attention to the closest sculpture; it was one of the dragons that she saw earlier that year. A Chinese Fireball she identified based on the spikes that framed its face and continued along curled spine. It was frozen at the exact moment it had expelled fire from its agape mouth, with drips of saliva at the edges. A sense of misery filled her as she realised that this was the final moments of her knowing such a world existed. There would be no more dragons, no more students running to the infirmary in the corridors with mushrooms for ears, no more learning about the origins of different charms, no more daily detentions with Snape.

Her thoughts were broken by a sudden sharp fanfare that echoed around the room. She turned to look at the two large wooden doors of the Great Hall that swung open to the parade of victors. Cedric Diggory entered first with Cho Chang snuggled to him. Jane swore that Cedric had dressed in the same robes that she was wearing, but his fit much better. Cho Chang was in a two-piece midnight blue pantsuit with a matching floor length cape that trailed behind her. Embroidered around the edges were dancing fauns, a symbol of the family she hailed from. She had adorned herself with a plain silver circlet interwoven into her updo, drawing attention to her darkly lined tawny eyes. Jane was fixated on Chang's shoes which were heels made entirely from powdered glass that left the ground frozen with each step. They were followed at awkward pace by Harry Potter and Shruthi Patel, struggling to match pace with the couple in front of them without stepping on Chang's outfit. Harry had slicked back his hair which Draco Malfoy began grumbling to whomever was closest that he had obviously copied him. Shruthi was desperately looking around the room and only relaxed after seeing where Jane was. The embarrassment of the situation only smacked her when she saw the Slytherin girls snigg*ring together.

The two foreign victors followed in the current order of points placement. Fleur Delacour had chosen to wear her usual school robes (forgoing the beret) and attend with a wizard from Hogwarts that Jane didn't know the name of. "I could've had a chance," Draco sputtered, which resulted in a nasty side glance from Blaise Zabini. Victor Krum entered with an unenthusiastic attitude which soured as he glanced around the room and found the only witch he desired, missing from attendance. He also chose to come in his school robes as per his headmaster's instructions.

"How's your hand?" Harry grasped Shruthi's right hand with tenderness. It was swollen purple, and warm to the touch.

"It hurts, but she'll be 'right," Shruthi bit back a wince. She sooner this dance was over, the sooner she could go back to icing it. She didn't know how she was going to explain to her parents once she landed back in Australia why she was covered in scratches and what was wrong with her hand.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked through his plastered smile as the music swelled to cover up his conversation. He felt less like a buffoon in his own outfit next to Shruthi's fashion disaster.

"About what?" Shruthi lied, trying to make it through the steps without seeming like she was hurrying. McGonagall told them that the first dance was to go on for seven minutes as per the customs of the Yule ball. Seven long minutes that she was stuck with Harry Potter.

"About You-Know-Who?" Harry teased. He was in a fantastic mood after last night. He understood his place in the world now. He had a family, a man who wouldn't have been his first choice but now no longer had to worry about a looming destiny to fight a man who was at the very least ten times more powerful than he was. He was certain that he could convince Voldemort to leave the Muggles alone and to treat the Muggleborns equally. He had listened to Harry yesterday, which only meant that he would take his suggestions in the future. He wanted to tell Sirius, but he was waiting for a reply to a letter he sent months ago. Sirius would surely help him navigate his new relationship with Voldemort.

"We weren't sure if you would go along with it," Shruthi told him truthfully.

"To be honest, I never thought I could take on Voldemort myself. I think the only person who could is Dumbledore," whispered Harry apprehensively. "But now I don't have to."

"Yeah…" Shruthi replied half-heartedly. She didn't know much longer she could take lying straight to Harry's hopeful face. How long would it take for him to figure out that Voldemort only kept him alive because inside of Harry was a piece of his soul?

"So, who is Professor Moody?"

"A man named Barty Crouch Jr.," Shruthi answered. Harry looked over to the thin man with a groomed moustache standing in the corner next to Cornelius Fudge. "His son," Shruthi tacked on after turning to see what he was looking at.

"Really?" Harry exclaimed, finding it hard to believe that a man like him could have a son that was loyal to Voldemort. "I wish he would stop the tournament then, I mean, he's the one who put in, right?"

Shruthi shrugged, "Yeah, but I think you reckon you could win it."

"You really think I could win?"

"You've won the first round. If you keep that up, I know you'll win the entire thing," Shruthi shifted the conversation optimistically.

"I only won the first round because of Jane and you," Harry pointed out self-consciously. "I'll need the both of you for the rest of it, if you want me to win. I heard you were going back home tonight." Shruthi hummed in agreement. "I guess I'll have to deal with the egg after you two come back," Harry thought out loud. He had plenty of time till the second round so it didn't worry him that he hadn't made any progress on figuring out the puzzle of his prize yet.

"I think you're cleverer than you give yourself credit for, Harry. You should try to figure it out yourself first before asking for help." Harry shook his head in disagreement. If already knew what the egg was, then he wouldn't ask for any help. He was hoping that Hermione would feel better by the new year so he wouldn't have to rely on his two new friends so much. Puzzles were Hermione Granger's speciality, and she jumped at the chance to solve them during her first year here.

Harry was disappointed that Shruthi abandoned him so quickly after their dance. I practiced! I don't think I was that bad, Harry mused miserably. He melted into the crowd that quickly flooded the now open floor, joining the sea of strange bodies and faces. He was certain that before he wouldn't dance more than he was required to, but he found himself liking it if he had the right partner. He wished he could've done some of the eye-catching dance moves he saw Cedric share with Cho, and Fleur with Roger Davies. They caught everyone's attention with the spins and fancy footwork they exhibited. Harry thought that Voldemort would've known all those, and more. He looked for where Shruthi had disappeared to and found her standing next to Jane at one of the side tables.

Jane handed her trembling friend a glass of water, which Shruthi gulped down too quickly before realising how cold it was. "Ow," she winced through chattering teeth.

"Yep, that was painful enough to watch, I can't imagine what it was actually like to dance with him," Jane snorted watching Shruthi rub at her shut eyes.

"It was fine," Shruthi sighed as she put the drained glass down. The condensation formed on the bottom of the glass leaving a wet ring on the tablecloth. "I think I need some fresh air." Jane nodded as she pocketed an assortment of chocolate truffles into a napkin as she helped Shruthi out the door.

*

Clunk, stomp, clunk, stomp. Barty hurried out the door, shouldering the cold of Christmas to intercept the two leaving witches. "Out of my way," he huffed gruffly. Dancing and loitering partygoers parted before their night was ruined by having a sore foot. There was an odd satisfaction of being so respected that even while Barty was rude, the students around him still offered to help him get to where he needed or asked if he wanted a drink.

"Alastor," the firm voice of his father interrupted him as he reached the door. He had been preparing for a moment like this one since he assumed the identity of Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody.

"Bartemius," Barty greeted the impeccably dressed man, turning to meet him. His father had adorned himself in formal, plain black wizards' robes with no identification of the Crouch family and a matching bowler hat. There was a subtle bulge from his upper arm, where Barty knew his father preferred to keep his holster. Moody kept it inside of his wooden leg which required it to be magically Summoned to his hand if he wanted to use it. He was unsure if his father had approached him for recent business or events that occurred during the first war.

"As I expected, another Irish exit tonight? You should know better than that considering what happened at a large gathering of witches and wizards just a few months ago. I suppose retirement has softened you." Barty Crouch Sr. pronounced with superiority. His father whilst ascertaining the role of the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry during the previous decade never sided with Moody when it came to how to best curtail the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Moody was insistent that they should never fall as low as using the Dark Arts to gain the upper hand in the war, but his father reasoned it was the only way. My father was right, Barty agreed back then and even now.

"We wouldn't need extra protection if you hadn't agreed to hosting this useless tournament in the first place. Maybe I have not kept up with the news properly or are you not the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation." Barty Crouch Jr. retorted.

Barty Crouch Sr. bristled in response, "It was Bagman and Fudge's idea. I told them it was a terrible when there were Azkaban prisoners still at large. I'm sure he's made his way back to Hogwarts by now. It is appalling that we weren't allowed to keep the dementors on the grounds because of Karkaroff." He stroked his handlebar moustache in thought.

"Sirius Black?" Barty Crouch Jr. had to hold back from smiling.

"Yes, of course it's Black," Barty Crouch Sr. shot. "I don't know what is happening with the Aurors these days, if it was back when you and I were around, Black would have been back in Azkaban within the day."

"He would've never escaped in the first place. Was there an investigation into how he managed that?"

"I'm not in the know about Auror investigations anymore, Alastor, but I would hope so. Azkaban was built to be inescapable. If Black figured it out, it's only a matter of time before the rest of them do," his voice turned grave.

"Perhaps he had help from the outside," Barty Crouch Jr. took out his flask filled with Polyjuice potion and had a sip to quell his parched throat. Though he was enjoying speaking to his father while disguised, it was still an effort to maintain his fake identity. His slippery tongue reflexively chased to catch the wandering drops before he thought to wipe them with the back of his hand. Barty Crouch Sr.'s thunderstorm coloured flashed like lightening for the briefest moment.

"Who do you suppose would be capable enough to help with such a thing?" He tipped his brow forward, so the rim of his hat cast a shadow down his sharp nose.

"I don't know, Bartemius, I'm no longer on the force. Maybe your house elf has a lead or two," Barty Crouch Jr. couldn't help but rile up his father. He knew that he was catching on but there was no way the man in front of him would accuse the beloved Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody was secretly his supposedly dead son without proof (or enough to abscond himself).

"The elf was thoroughly investigated under all appropriate manners of interrogation, there was no evidence linking myself to the attack," denounced Barty Crouch Sr. straightening his rigid posture further to stand taller than the hobbled Moody. "You know me better than to mix myself up with the dark arts, Alastor."

"Yes, it’s a pity your son didn't know that." Moody chuckled brusquely. "Good night, Barty. You ought to let your hair down, it is the Yule ball after all." His humour doubled at the sight of his irritated father being told to relax. How desperately he wanted to tell his father that he had the word of the Dark Lord himself that the Yule Ball would conclude without any interruptions from him or his followers, and all his worrying was for naught.

*

He ran into Severus Snape before he was able to catch up to Jane Becker or Shruthi Patel. Well, it was more that Severus Snape had physically run into him while looking the other way. "Excuse me," Snape snapped in an overworked tone, assuming he had run either an underage student trying to sneak into the ball or overage students trying to sneak off with their dates. "Professor Moody."

"Professor Snape," snorted Barty through the remaining half of his nose, which came out a high-pitched wheezing sound. "You look stressed."

"Is that the sort of nit-witted observations they teach you to make at auror academy, or is that all you are capable of making?" Snape snapped. "Of course I'm stressed, I've running around and ducking under rose bushes and behind trees so I can prevent a night of regrets for these brats. All the while, being hounded by Karkaroff while I'm making my rounds." He clutched at the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply, letting out a puff of steam.

Barty nodded along sympathetically, "You can't be more stressed than he is, Severus."

"Do I look like I care? He should've thought about that before rattling off his names. We all had a choice to make, Azkaban was the noble one," Snape spouted in a righteous tone.

"Weren't you Dumbledore's pet? You certainly didn't have the money to buy yourself out," Barty licked the row of his top teeth.

"Are you trying to get yourself cursed out?" Snape threatened, letting out little huffs and puffs of warm condensed air.

"No, but I wondered why you didn't just ask Malfoy to help you. You two were close," Barty pondered.

"He offered," Snape tsked. "I didn't need it, but maybe if things didn't go my way, I would've taken the out." He certainly wouldn't have. It was one thing to befriend Lucius Malfoy, another to owe the shrewd man. "Also, it didn't work for everyone… Bruce tried." Snape swallowed as a painful memory of seeing Bruce Mulciber II being carted off to Azkaban in the Magic-Locking chains.

"He didn't know," Barty whispered, reaching out a hand and squeezing Snape's shoulder in camaraderie. Mulciber II bet on the funds of his family's Gringotts' account working on the assumption that he had any funds left in it. His father's gambling debts had left his estate destitute with only money left for his own Hogwarts' tuition. "When I was there, Bruce took it the best out of all of us. He adapted quickly, and he even had certain privileges compared to the Lestranges or Black who was battering against the bars daily." Barty tried to make humour out of the situation.

"That's good to hear. I should've gone see him," Snape vacillated.

"You haven't?" Barty was astonished that Snape hadn't gone to visit his best friend in Azkaban. "Ever?"

"I wasn't sure if I was allowed to. I didn't want to give any reason to doubt me to Dumbledore," Snape explained. "And I didn't want him to see me free when he wasn't. I don't know how he would take it."

"He'd be the only person who would understand, Severus. He knew you loved Lily." More than him, Barty left the thought unsaid, creating a long pause of silence. He blamed Yule for making him so nostalgic for his own days at Hogwarts. The ones where he felt like he was invincible with power and backing of the Dark Lord.

"Never mind that," Snape forced himself out of his painful memories. He wanted to dump this entire conversation into his pensive when he returned to his rooms. "Why are you out here?" He envied the professors who had taken the supervising the warm Great Hall. He had only volunteered for outdoors supervision to execute their plan that was already concluded the previous night. His ears had turned blue half an hour ago.

"I wanted to talk to the girls one last time before they left."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Barty scolded. "I have something for them to take home."

Snape's brow tensed, forming a line between his eyebrows. "They're Muggles, Alastor. Don't get attached to them. Surely, you're not stupid enough to give them something magical."

"No, nothing like that. Just something to keep them safe and remember us by," Barty gave a crooked smile to Snape.

"If had even an iota of sense, they would forget this as soon as they return to their hovel. Any smarter, and they would never set foot on English soil for the rest of their dull lives," Snape insulted. Barty continued to smile at him until he finally told him where they were, "They're by the carriages. Patel wanted to see the snowfall one last time before they left."

"You don't have anything for them?" Barty asked before he left.

"No, I've done what was required by me. I've spoken to Dumbledore, he's not particularly heartbroken that they're leaving." He had gone to Dumbledore's office earlier today to express that both Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel intended to rejoin their magical institutions in Australia. Due to the isolation, Severus Snape found it difficult to discovery any information about the country. Only with the help of Irma Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, he discovered there were two magical schools in the country that served both Australia and the surrounding nations. One more ancient than Hogwarts, which only had its name was known, Numbulwar Institute of Magic, the other that had a small descriptive paragraph and sepia photo, St. Catherine's School for the Gifted.

St. Catherine's School for the Gifted is in the bustling southern city of Adelaide, Australia. It is in one of many Adelaide's Muggle places of worship, called a Cathedral. The students are hidden in plain sight by their white robes as they match the dresses that the usual Muggles that reside in this place. Twice a year, during Yule and Eostre the students at St. Catherine's School for the Gifted are expected to help the Muggles that come to them for aid.

He made an educated guess and decided that both girls would most likely attend St. Cat's if they were truly gifted. He was grateful to wash his hands of the two Muggle girls, and the Unbreakable Vow had finished its contract leaving his left forearm once again unblemished from the blue lines that were only visible to him and Jane.

*

Barty found them fascinated by the pale blue and white carriages that the students of Beauxbatons had journeyed with to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament. They emanated a pale glow that originated from the filigree designs wrapping around the doors and windows. The carriages were as large as a house, and most of the designated sleeping ones were two stories or more. The others served as a makeshift classroom, kitchen and living area. The very last one in the line was the headmistress' private quarters and therefore, was the most ornate of the collection. It was simple to see why oversized dollhouses required a dozen industrial size winged horses to move them about.

Shruthi had pulled Jane to see them one last time because they reminded her so much of the carriage from Cinderella. The same pale hue, the same magical quality, the same oversized wheels. "I almost thought you were one of the French kids," Barty joked as he made his presence known while inspecting her dress robes.

"We were just leaving," Jane responded for them both, as she tugged Shruthi away from the carriage. She didn't want anyone to think the last thing they did before leaving Hogwarts was sabotage the competition.

"Wait, I have some for you two," Barty hastened as he closed the space between them. He opened a flap of his auror satchel and brought out two pieces of crystal jewellery. "Moody believes in all sorts of wacky bits of magic, especially if it’s supposed to protect the wearer," He sighed as he fiddled with the objects in his hand. "I don't reckon they worked out for him," Barty chuckled. "But maybe it'll work better for you."

One looked like it could pass for a gobstone but one that was radiantly blue with veins of rust and lemon and flecks of aquamarine. Barty almost didn't want to gift away since it was fun to play around with in his hands. If he held it up to the sky, he could almost convince himself that it was celestial body that had shrunk and fallen to the ground. The other was hypnotizing black opal which he learned could only be found from where the girls had come from. He hoped that they didn't already own one, but considering the rarity and the price he didn't think it was a possibility. Even in the night, as it turned in his palm it showcased a dazzling array of the jade and red.

"I don't know too much of them, but I think this one is for courage." He handed the bloodstone to Jane Becker. "And I think this one is protection." He handed the remaining stone to Shruthi Patel.

"You haven't cursed these, right?" Shruthi questioned as she gripped the black opal gingerly between his fingers.

"No. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't use something as boring as crystals to do that," Barty immediately disagreed. "Can't you see that I just wanted to do something nice for the both of you?"

"Just because we wear glasses doesn’t mean we're blind, Barty. You have tried to kill us multiple times," Jane deadpanned.

"Well… gave you the true Hogwarty experience, didn't I?" Bart chortled. "You can think about that on the ride home. If you ever in London, don't be a stranger. Come around for tea. I don't know if you've heard of it, but the Muggles around here call it Windsor castle. Just knock on the door and ask for Crouch. One of the house elves will know what to do."

"You really live in Windsor castle?" Shruthi wasn’t sure if Barty was pulling her leg.

"Why would I be lying about that? I'm a Pureblood, 'course I live in a castle." Barty co*cked his head to the right. His family have lived there for generations when William the Conqueror had portioned off a place for the Crouches. King William was progressive for his times and preferred the protection of both his guards and a court magician. Barty Crouch Jr. was sure that his father hadn't taken him off the will yet, so it would pass along to him when the old man dies. Shruthi was simply speechless. Isn't that where the Queen lives… or is that Buckingham Palace?

Jane handed back the stone to Barty with an explanation, "I don't think we can get these through customs. Oz biosecurity is pretty anal about stuff."

"Customs?" Barty asked in confusion.

"They check whatever you bring into the country is alright to be let in," Jane explained.

"Take it with you. If they ask you to toss it, then toss it, I guess," Barty conceded sadly. He didn't want his present to end up in a Muggle rubbish bin. "Maybe stuff it into your bags. That's what I did when I travelled with dad." Which resulted in a lengthy lecture from said man when his father found out that he had successfully smuggled a niffler all the way from France. Barty had just wanted to bring to Hogwarts something that wasn't an owl, cat, or toad. It was a stifling set of rules that he didn't believe he needed to abide by.

"We're not packing anything," said Jane. They didn't need to check any bags in since they weren't planning on coming back. They had no use for their schoolbooks, wand, and robes in Australia. The only thing that Shruthi had extra stuffed into her pocket was a recent copy of the Daily Prophet. She had finally figured out a way for Jane to have a picture to prove to the parents that magic was real. Jane had thought it was clever as well, and agreed to halve the newspaper so Shruthi could show her own family as well.

"Nothing at all? Aren't you worried you'll be bored? It's a long way from here to Australia," Barty wondered.

"Yeah, I think its around eighteen hours, plus a couple of hours for the layover," Shruthi recalled. She had her ticket on her phone.

"Eighteen hours? Don't you mean months?"

"No, it’s a long flight but it doesn't take months to travel from here to Australia anymore," Shruthi answered.

"Don't Muggles sail around on boats? You're talking about flying there? On what - wings?" Barty couldn't wrap his mind around the prospect that Muggles had discovered a way to fly. He knew that he was sheltered for the past decade, but surely, he would've overheard his father talk about flying Muggles.

"It's sort of like a flying train," Jane attempted. "It's hard to explain without just showing you one." Barty didn't understand, all trains were capable of flight. Trains only stuck to the tracks for a more scenic journey since the clouds were quite boring of a view. Barty himself had stopped looking out of the window of the Hogwarts Express after his first year of catching it since he would rather use the eight-hour journey to catch up with his friends, swapping summer stories in their cabin.

Still, he decided to humour them. "Now I want to fly like a Muggle, it sounds like fun," Barty mused. It must be some sort of special Muggle train, he pondered. One that they've stuck wings onto.

"One day, but we should get going now or we'll miss our flight," Shruthi excused herself.

"Oh, right," Barty thought it was inconvenient that they couldn't just 'catch their flight' at any time they pleased. It sounded like the Hogwarts Express, and that was the only time Barty had made anything on time because the repercussions of missing it was a tense flight with his father all the way up to Scotland. "Severus says that he'll miss you too," Barty added.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll miss us lots," Jane rolled her eyes. "Bye Barty. Don't go kissing any dementors."

"I'll try not to," Barty grinned with his eyes creasing in laughter. Repressing a shudder at the thought him dying to one of those abhorrent creatures. He had been given a second chance at life; he wasn't going to squander it so desperately like last time. He felt that the future was very bright for himself, he just wished that the two girls wandering off towards the gates could be able to see it.

Chapter 8: Welcome (Back) to Hogwarts

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger woke up that morning without her throat feeling it had been stuffed with cotton. She took one single deep breath in through her nose, and the second through her mouth before she confirmed she could breathe normally again. She tested both again after she had sat herself up to make sure the first two weren't a fluke or a cruel joke being played by her Spattergroit addled brain. Madam Pomfrey had told her not to touch any of the grape-like pustules on her face or otherwise they'll spread to other parts of her body. However, her curiosity won against her medical advice, and she pressed her index finger against the outer corner of her lip. She only felt sleep-crusted saliva and not the usual painful boil. Her hands roamed her face in glee – she was cured! She was the last Gryffindor girl to overcome the disease, and she helplessly fretted if it was because she was the only Muggleborn to have contracted it.

Hermione Granger flicked open her diary and with red ink crossed off the previous day. It was the first day of the new school term at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and her cure could not have come at a better time. She pushed aside her worries about having missed half a year of her studies as she paced impatiently across the Gryffindor crested rug in the room. Madam Pomfrey arrived like clockwork every morning with a breakfast and to check her patients' progress. Finally, Hermione had some good news to share with the dutiful nurse. She pressed her cheek to the door and as soon as she heard the soft footsteps of the witch coming down the hall, she shouted through the door, "I'm cured!"

"I can hear you that," Madam Pomfrey laughed with a happy note in her voice. She knew how much the illness had affected the studious witch. It was only a matter of time before she had recovered from the sickness, though for a while it did worry Poppy just how long it was taking for Hermione Granger. There were no recorded cases for death from the disease, but all those cases were recorded for Pureblood or Half-Blood wizards and witches. Poppy had taken the Yule break to nip down to London to check the Mungo's records to see if they had any recorded cases for Muggleborns. She even considered asking a Muggle healer (which she found out were called doctors) to see if Muggleborn physiology was different.

"I'll need to come in a check before I let you out," Poppy explained as she tied a white cloth over her face to cover her mouth and nose. She tested the knot resting on the back of her head for security before turning the golden doorknob to the dorm room. The other girls had been temporarily moved to the fifth-year witch's dormitory and Minerva had talked off her ear about the number of complaints she received. They would be glad to know they could finally move back into their own rooms.

Hermione felt warm as the medical charm glued itself to her skin. It felt like small prickles brushing against her which left her on the verge of ticklish madness. "Open your mouth, dear," Poppy prompted. Spattergroit was an insidious disease that was prone to reactivation. The uvula was the last hiding place for it. Hermione Granger hesitantly opened her mouth and felt like she was back in the dental chair with one of her parents hovering over her. She was suddenly self-conscious of her dentition; she had suffered an overbite before she had received her Hogwarts letter. Her parents have continuously postponed the correction. They had finally promised her that she would have them put on this coming summer holidays after she had told them there was a magical remedy for it.

Poppy Pomfrey inspected the inside of her mouth with the end of his wand lit using the Lumos spell. She held Hermione's chin softly, tilting it side to side and backwards to make sure she inspected carefully. "I think your initial assessment is correct, Miss Granger. You better hurry if you want to make it to breakfast on time."

Hermione Granger tended to run impatient on many activities in her life but one thing she chose to take her time on was her self-care. She hadn't been confident to look in the mirror for the past couple of months, and even now she held her breath afraid of the repercussions of the magical disease. She expected hideous pockmarks the size of thumbnails, but she blinked rapidly to confirm the constellation of pinprick size moles and freckles.

It could've been worse, Hermione, she sighed internally. At least it wasn't Ron Weasley's acned complexion that he spent ages complaining about. She had long given up trying to get Ron to at least wash his face or buy a Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher from the Hogsmeade apothecary. He always relished in people feeling pity for him when he was more than capable of remedying the issue himself.

Unlike Ron's teenage dilemma, Hermione's hair was just as unfixable as Harry's. Today was a particularly bad hair day with some of her curls affixed and protruding outwards no matter how much she tried to smooth them with water. She had tried asking her mum who shared a similar hair texture, and motherly advice was to embrace the bushy mane. The topic of her hair had caused a rift between them when Hermione had returned home after journeying on the Hogwarts Express with remnants of magical intervention. She didn't want to upset her mum, or her dad for that matter, over something as silly as her hair. They both worked endlessly to afford the overpriced Hogwarts' tuition. Every year she would come home to see an extra wrinkle on her mum's forehead, or the slow creep of her dad's hairline. It was that guilt that pushed her to do her best at Hogwarts, so after graduation when she was free to use her magic, she would be able to repay them ten-fold.

She crammed her hair into one of her hand-knitted beanies beanie hat which only covered about half her locks. She hoped that the garish flower that she had sewed to the side of it would distract from the rest of her looks.

*

It is an only moment of pure coincidence that Victor Krum was able to see the one witch he had been trying to meet at Hogwarts this morning. He quietly excused himself from the rest of his classmates and urged them to continue onto breakfast without him. Her hair was barely restrained underneath a beanie that had a few loose threads and an adorable pinkish flower pasted onto its side. He didn't know her name, and he also didn't want to run up to her and scare her off without even getting a chance to introduce himself. However, an opportunity was gifted to him, as one of the books that she was precariously carrying in one arm had freed itself. It landed onto the ground face side down, with the pages that opened crushed underneath its weight. Great, Hermione exhaled. She usually was far more careful about keeping her textbooks in perfect condition, but she was just so excited that she could finally rejoin classes. She didn't know what books that she would require today as she hasn't received her new class schedule that she decided to bring all of them.

Victor Krum did a shuffling run until he closed the distance between the book and him. He picked up and yelped when the book bit down hard on the flesh of his palm. "Your book bite me," Victor exclaimed reflexively. He wanted to kick himself hard in the backside. This was not the introduction he wanted to make.

"I'm really sorry about that." Hermione was incredibly flustered as she grabbed the book from his hands and quickly subdued The Monster Book of Monster with stroke along its spine. Hermione loved all books – thick books, slim books, large books, small books, picture books, dense books – but she disliked this one when she caught it tearing apart her poor Charms textbook. She just didn't have the heart to tell Hagrid, their new Care of Magical Creatures teacher, that he should assign a different book as their textbook.

Victor sucked on the bite marks, trying to ease his pain. "Vot is your name?" His accent coupled with his unclear speech made it difficult for Hermione to understand what he was saying. "Your name?"

Hermione didn't want to give her name straight away. She was worried that he was going to say that she purposely attacked not only the Durmstrang Tri-Wizard tournament champion but also an internationally recognised seeker. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I can take you to infirmary ward to have your hand looked at by Madam Pomfrey. She's a really good healer," Hermione assured. She did spend a month of her second year at Hogwarts under magical petrification and most of this year sick.

"I vont to know your name," Krum asked again, his tone becoming desperate. He couldn't understand why she was so hesitant about sharing it. Every single person who's approached him at Hogwarts so far have thrown their name at his face when they would ask for an autograph.

"Her-Hermione," she finally broke.

Krum frowned, his forehead wrinkling in frustration. What sort of name is that? "Herm-own-ninny," he repeated out loud trying to get the pronunciation correctly.

"Yes, that's close," Hermione agreed, inching away from Victor Krum.

"No," he barked. He couldn't leave without him only learning what her name was. "Say your name again. I vont to learn it."

"Why?"

Krum's baritone voice was caught at the back of his throat. He looked at the face of the witch before him. Dotting across her tanned skin were marks, freckles he assumed, and his heart melted all over again. He tried to remember what she looked like the first time he saw her across the Great Hall, and he saw clearly that her skin was unmarred then. He didn't know if love clouded one's eyesight, and worry ate at him since he needed to have the sharpest eyes on his quidditch team as he was the seeker. "You are very beautiful," he stammered, stuffing his clammy hands into his pocket as he leaned forward onto his toes, so his already rounded shoulders hunched further inwards. He decided the truth was better than whatever lie he could string together in his limited English.

Hermione hesitated and looked around for the other Durmstrang students to pop out from the alcoves and hidden walls nearby in the castle. This must have been an elaborate joke for them to play on the Hogwarts students, and she was just the unlucky one to get caught up on it. There was no plausible scenario where an internationally recognized wizard would think that she was beautiful. Her entire face was pock-marked with spattergroit scars, and she had just spent a few furious minutes at the library trying to see if there was a way to reduce their appearance. Hermione Granger knew that compared to other witches at Hogwarts, like Angelina Johnson or Daphne Greengrass, that she was painfully average (or sometimes she felt even below that). Her mousy brown hair ranged between slightly frizzy to an unmanageable bush depending on the season. Draco Malfoy and his posse have been making fun of her oversized maxillary central incisors and the way it affects how she speaks since she has stepped foot to the magical school. She was short, stout and Ron always called her annoying.

The silence only made Krum more anxious. Lots of witches would follow him around and confess their attraction towards him. He knew that none of them were truly genuine as they were only attracted to his fame. But he thought that if he were to respond amiably to one of their come-ons that they would be thrilled. How come the witch in front of him was looking at everything but him? "Her-mine-knee." He pointed at her, and then at his chest and finally patted his knee. From locker room talk, he gathered that humour was one of the things that could attract a witch. He wasn't most skilful comedian, limited even more by the language barrier, but the situation couldn't ditch itself further. "Her-mine-knee," Krum repeated his joke, thinking it was a clever demonstration of how fast he could adapt to learning the English language and difficult words like the cute witch's name.

Hermione only replied with a polite giggle, and was glad for Ron Weasley's interruption, "'Mione!" He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her stack of books painfully between both of their chests. Ron didn't mind, he was elated to see that his best friend was feeling better. "What's on your face?" He asked as he pulled back from the hug and attempted to thumb the dirt from her cheek.

Hermione scowled and swatted his hand away, "It's nothing, Ron." Krum copied Hermione's irritation at the red-headed wizard's blatant disrespect. Is this her boyfriend?, Krum pondered judgementally. He straightened his back and resented that the boy was an inch taller than him. Ron's stomach grumbled for breakfast, and his face almost matched the shade of his hair as he realised that the man, he idolised was standing right next to him. Ron tried sputtering an introduction for an autograph, but eventually bit his tongue into silence at the sight of Victor Krum's squinched face.

"Let's get some breakfast," Hermione announced, grabbing onto Ron's hand, and pulling him away from Krum before making even a greater fool of himself. Ron was conflicted, he almost had a chance to ask for a signature, but his tongue flopped thickly in his mouth.

"Vait!" Krum called out. "I vant to see you again. After classes…" He looked at her stacks of books again. "The library? I like to read as vell." Krum spoke with such haste that the words slurred together, which made Hermione struggle to understand it through the film of his thick accent. He walked quickly beside them, trying to look over Ron's shoulder to keep her in sight.

"Okay," Hermione agreed so that the Durmstrang champion could leave her alone. Krum beamed that he had secured himself a date with her. He nodded before walking off in front of the pair with a lightness to his step. He was sure that the wizard beside her must just be a friend of hers, otherwise she wouldn't have agreed so quickly.

"When did you and Krum get so close?" Ron's bushy brows furrowed to a point. He couldn't make sense of why someone like Victor Krum would be interested in his best friend. She had spent the last couple of months in isolation so its not like she had an opportunity to perk his interest in classes or something.

"We're not. I dropped one of my books and he picked it up for me and then he kept talking to me afterwards," Hermione explained. Her mind was still reeling from the conversation with the international quidditch sensation. It was only her muscle memory that guided her in the direction of the Great Hall. She could already smell the rich, butter-lathered spread that she indulged in daily at Hogwarts.

"Maybe I should drop one of my books in front of him so he can have a chat with me," Ron pouted in jealousy, readjusting his schoolbag that was slung casually over his right shoulder. "Did you ask him about the world cup?"

Hermione blinked in confusion, "No, why would I ask abou-"

"Blimey, I know you don't keep up with the quidditch, 'Mione, but it was all over the Prophet. Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland won anyway," Ron schooled. "Everyone and their mothers want to know why Krum would do that when they Bulgaria was down by more than hundred-fifty points. The Bulgarians haven't made a statement or anything about it. Dad even thought that they kicked Krum off the team after that blunder."

"No, I didn't ask, and even if I did, why would he tell me?" Hermione retorted shrilly. She hoped to have a nice morning with a warm cup of tea to warm her throat, not an argument with Ron Weasley over quidditch.

"He might've if you'd asked. He doesn't speak to anyone at Hogwarts, except to sometimes give out his autograph," Ron complained. He had been following Victor Krum around Hogwarts whenever he could – between classes, before and after mealtimes, after the school day had finished. He never had the courage to approach him, but he witnessed that the Bulgarian seeker was an incredibly private person who only spoke in short sentences even to his classmates or his headmaster. Even interviews of him were rare, despite Victor Krum now being considered an adult by magical law. "You still have a chance. You can ask him tonight."

Hermione's lips flattened into line, "I don't think I'm going to go. I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on."

"What?" Ron shouted in disbelief, causing a few nearby students also heading to breakfast to turn around to see what the commotion was. "You've got to be joking, Hermione. Victor Krum wants to read books with you, and you want to flake out on him?" His voice was climbing in pitch, and he refused to even look at her. Ron would sell The Burrow and Percy Weasley, his older brother, if he had a chance to go spend time with Victor Krum. He'd have to take a Calming Draught beforehand so he wouldn't trip over his words but an opportunity like that with a man like Krum is unheard of. He'd even pretend to read if that were what it would take to for Krum to talk to him. Hermione shushed him loudly and it only made Ron shake his head in disbelief, his ginger fringe covering his eyes, "I can't believe you're brushing the Krum off."

"If you're so upset about this, why don't you come with me then?" Hermione snapped and came to stop just outside of the widest set of doors in the castle. They were as tall as a troll, and if you laid one to bed, they would be a wide as one and a head. Those measurements were estimations from the brightest witch of her year, and one that irked her constantly. They were the perfect size for the troll from her first year at Hogwarts to have burst through, especially one that had stalked her to the girl's bathroom (with a tiny door, human sized door) for a snack. The entire castle had convened for dinner at the Great Hall, but it was only her rotten luck that had drawn the dangerous twelve-foot-tall creature to her. If The Monster Book of Monster hadn't gone out of its way to emphasise the sheer stupidity of trolls, Hermione would've thought that Quirrell had targeted her on purpose. Her breathing was laboured as she shrugged her satchel up her shoulder. It was digging into the muscle there painfully and she felt lop-sided by the weight of it.

Ron gaped at her like a fish, opening and closing his mouth several times just he did when he tried to talk to Krum earlier. "I-I… okay," Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do you think he'd mind?" He took his seat next to Seamus Finnegan.

"Um, I don't know, probably not…" Hermione trailed off. "Where's Harry?" She looked at the rest of the Gryffindor table and found that her other best friend was missing. Ron and Harry always came to breakfasts as an inseparable pair, and always sat together. Hermione usually sat across from them after realising that switching between sitting next to either one of them made conversing with them almost impossible.

"Oh," Ron replied shadily as he loaded his plate up with toast. The first day back from a break always had the best spread of food, barring any celebratory feasts. Ron refused to touch any of the uncomfortably unfamiliar French and Bulgarian breakfast dishes and stuck to his tried-and-true English breakfast. He liked having a small mountain of bacon while at Hogwarts since at home at The Burrow his older brothers were given priority. "Maybe he's late, or something. It is the first day back."

Hermione frowned at Ron's aloofness at the missing boy. "Didn't you see him at the dorms?" It would be impossible to miss as Harry and Ron had adjacent beds in the dorm rooms.

Ron replied with his mouth full of baked beans, with the gravy dripping down his chin, "Nope. He does his own things these days." Ron noticed that Harry left the dorms before Ron woke up for the morning, and returned as Ron was turning over to sleep in the evenings. Between those two events, Ron seldom saw Harry. When he did, Harry had already taken his seat next to Neville during mealtimes or next to the new Slytherin witch during Potions. It infuriated him that Harry hadn't even spared a glance in his direction all throughout the previous term. It was like Ron didn't even exist in Harry's eyes!

Hermione slid into the chair, her robes crumbling underneath her and snatched the silver cutlery from the boy. Ron's shouts of surprise died at the sight of her furious face. "Ronald Bilius Weasley." He flinched reflexively as Hermione took on the tone of his mum's howler from the previous year. "Don't tell me that you're still not over Harry entering the tournament!"

"Then I won't tell you that," Ron sassed as he swallowed her bite, ignoring the red sauce drying on his chin. "You haven't seen him, 'Mione. He's been parading around the school like Malfoy after beating that dragon. He doesn't speak to anyone but those two new witches in our year. It's like he's a totally different person these days. Too up his own arse to remember for his true friends anymore."

"And what a friend you've been," Hermione scolded icily. "No wonder he had to get help from strangers. He almost died because of you, and you've been sitting here waiting for him to come apologise to you. Are you really that daft to think that Harry would've put his own name into the cup, or are you too jealous to see past your own crooked nose?" She slammed the fork down onto the table, so it was stabbed into the wood and sitting upright. Her anger was all-consuming that she didn't even care if she was making a scene in front of the entire school. She had it up to here with Ronald Weasley and his self-centeredness. It was no wonder that Harry Potter had given up on him as well. She left before Ron could use his simple mind to come up with a half-assed excuse on why he wasn't a bad friend so she could find Harry.

It was Harry Potter that found Hermione first. Hermione had spent a quarter of an hour waiting at the foot of the stairs that led to the Gryffindor wizard's dormitories. She had already counted the number of steps four times ascending, and two times in descending order. She knew that she was allowed to climb them, but she didn't want to make any of the boys uncomfortable by her presence. But Harry had climbed through from the portrait of the Fat Lady, which served as the entrance to the tower, which caught her attention.

"Hermione! Are you feeling better?" Harry asked as he rushed over to her, as Hermione was confused why he hadn't come from his dorms. He had eaten breakfast early this morning to avoid hearing about everyone's winter break. And after had taken the long way from the Great Hall back to common room so he could pick up his books for the day. He gave her a wide grin and shuffled his weight from side to side. Hermione pulled him in wordlessly into a tight hug. "Still lost your voice?"

"No," Hermione stuttered in affection as she ruffled the back of his hair. Her hand came back sticky with gel, as Harry scowled in response. He brushed his fingers through hair until it settled back into his new look. She didn't understand how so many people could dislike or even downright hate the small black-haired boy in front of her, especially his own best friend. His glasses were skewed to the right and she pushed them up his nose, so they sat properly. "I'm better now. I went to breakfast thinking you'd already be there."

"Yeah nah, I was too hungry to wait," Harry answered evasively as he rubbed his stomach. "Have you eaten? The eggy bread was stellar." Harry had drizzled his with honey and dusted them with icing sugar to satisfy his insatiable sweet tooth.

"'Yeah nah'? No, I didn't get a chance to eat yet. Ron told me that you two were still not talking to each other." While there was lingering heat from the exchange that she had with Ron earlier, she wanted to try to mend things between the boys. As much as she knew that Harry appreciated his friendship with her, she knew that there would be always topics that he would shy away from discussing with her. Topics that she knew that he wouldn't feel so shy talking to the youngest male of the Weasley brood.

"Never mind Ron. You should meet Jane and Shruthi, they're absolutely fantastic. They have funny way of talking about things, Hermione." Harry beamed as he continued to gush over the two witches that stuck through the lowest moment of his Hogwarts career so far. Harry had spent the last few months speaking through a wooden door about his two new friends to Hermione, but now she was physically in front of him, he couldn't stop telling her all about them again. "You'll love them," Harry assured her whole-heartedly as he ran out of breath between his sentences.

It was Harry's toothy grin that stopped Hermione from drudging up her question again. She didn't want to spoil his cheerful mood. Hermione thought it could be a good thing for Harry to find companionship outside of herself and Ron. She was apprehensive about meeting the two witches that guided Harry to embrace his unique gift to converse with snakes. Though she had to acknowledge it was an ingenious solution to the first task of the tournament. One that she would've loved to experience in person.

"Okay," Hermione nodded, tugging the edges of her knit hat over her ears securely. She wanted to make the best impression possible to the two girls that Harry had thought of so highly. I wonder what he has told them of me?, Hermione pondered as Harry led them out of the cozy, autumnally coloured common room.

*

Jane Becker had spent the night tossing and turning in her bed. The temperature had felt like it had dipped by forty degrees overnight. She remembered through her fitful sleep that she had tossed her covers to the side as they kept sticking to her overheated body. The usual Christmas-New Years week heatwave felt even more unbearable as she had come from snowy Scotland. She flipped over onto on her stomach and with bleary eyes reached out on the ground her to her bed for discarded blanket.

"Looking for this, Becker?" Pansy Parkinson's high-pitched snigg*r made Jane more alert than her phone alarm ever did in the morning. She looked towards the end of the bed and expected the soft, mechanical whirring of her cheap tri-bladed pedestal fan but instead found the Slytherin witch holding onto her emerald green bedspread. "Eww, what are you wearing?" Jane wore a white tank top that was more holes than fabric at this point, and plain underwear as any other sort of cloth clung to her feverish skin. Ignoring Pansy, she grabbed her glasses on her bedside table and hoped that the aftereffects from spending New Years day at the beach with her family had resulted in Hogwarts hallucinations.

"I asked you a question, Becker." Pansy screeched as she came to the realisation that Jane was ignoring her. She stomped over and threw the heavy quilt over Jane's head before bursting out in laughter. Pretty f*cking sure hallucinations don't feel this real, Jane grimaced. Her glasses allowed her to steady herself, as she counted the mundane objects around the dorm room. Everything was just the same as the first time she entered the room, but nothing made sense. She recalled falling into bed exhausted the previous night after lathering herself in aloe vera for her sunburns. Now she was across the entire world, at the one place where she never wanted to return to. She walked hurriedly towards the door with Pansy Parkinson hurling insults at her.

The Slytherin common room was still as she remembered it, cold and overbearing. The bottoms of her feet stinging with the cold as she traversed the polished marble towards the exit. A few other students had already dressed for the school day, hanging out by the firepit. She ignored their pointed looks, but it cost her a moment of awareness for what was ahead. She crashed into another person one and as she was about to apologize –

"Miss Becker?" Snape questioned in a quizzical tone. He had returned from the Great Hall to the dormitories to wake up any of his Slytherin wards that were still on their holiday schedule. His only friend at the staff table, Minevra McGonagall has departed quickly after the commotion caused by Hermione Granger's outburst. Severus Snape took a simple pleasure in seeing the youngest Weasley boy being put in his place, but Minevra was worried that if she didn't step in at this point, the friendship between the insufferable trio will never mend.

"I don't know what's going on! I don't know why I'm back here!" Jane panicked loud enough to gather attention. Severus Snape reassured the gossipy students around them as he unbuckled his cloak for the girl to wear as he took her to his nearby office. The walk there was silent, but he could feel the fear emanating from her from the way she shivered with each step.

"Sit." He instructed her as he poured her a warm cup of tea laced with a Calming Draught. He made sure that she had a few sips of the drink before. "I didn't expect you back for the term." Or ever, for that fact. Severus didn't know how he was going to explain her sudden reappearance to Dumbledore.

"I didn't come here on purpose," Jane huffed, placing the teacup down with trembling fingers. "I fell asleep last night in my own bed and woke up here."

"You expect me to believe that you unconsciously Apparated internationally into Hogwarts?" Even international Apparition was deemed highly dangerous and required an immense amount of magical prowess and skill. Severus Snape hadn't managed it himself, the only person he knew that may be capable of that was Albus Dumbledore. Apparition and Dis-Apparition into Hogwarts was impossible with the way the wards were structured. He thrummed his long fingers tipped with uncut fingernails against the wood of his desk, "No, I suppose you wouldn’t considering you have no magic. Is Patel here with you?"

"I don't know," Jane swallowed another sip of her chamomile tea. In her rush, she didn't to have time to think if the one other person who would know about her predicament was here with her.

"Come, we should find out," Snape reconciled that his morning was officially ruined. He found a spare set of robes, unclaimed by a Slytherin student. He tended to collect a lot of belongings this way. He found that most of his wards would simply buy whatever they had lost than to come to find the missing belonging. Severus Snape never lost any items as each thing that he owned was something he acquired through hard work, imbuing it with sentiment. He had broomsticks, notebooks, quills, shoes, textbooks, various magical prank items (that were intentionally confiscated – Slytherin house wouldn't demean itself to petty childhood hijinks). Jane hastened to button up the old-fashioned school robes, missing her newer ones that just required slipping into overhead. "You need to inform your parents that you are here," Snape reminded with irritation. He didn't know how zealous the Muggle police would be, but a missing child always garnered some news-worthy attention in his experience. Painful memories of his own case flittered quickly to the forefront of his mind before he wished them away using Occlumency.

It took the far too long to navigate the Hufflepuff dormitories since Severus insisted that he did not need to ask for any help from the students exiting the various rooms. Some looked frightened to see him so early in the morning before they rushed off in a direction opposite to him. Other greeted him unenthusiastically.

"Good morning, Professor," Cedric Diggory greeted as he fastened the strap of his briefcase. "Can I help you with anything?" The natural light that filtered through the windows of the dormitories, reflected off Cedric's polished prefect pin gleefully. It was rare for another head of house to enter the dormitories of another house, though Cedric had witnessed during his time here the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick outside of the entrance in a friendly chat with, the head of Hufflepuff house, Pomona Sprout. Cedric was sure that Snape never ventured outside of the Slytherin hallways unless it was to catch students breaking curfew.

"I'm looking for Shruthi Patel," Snape snapped.

"I don't she's returned back last night. I didn't see her name on the logbook," Cedric informed, ignoring Snape's rude tone. He had years of practice handling the Potions master. Hufflepuff house operated on an honour system whereby students needed to sign off their name as they returned to the common room before curfew (with exceptions for night detentions or quidditch practices). Most dorms tended to sign off together to save time. It saved the prefects time as they didn't have to check dorm rooms to count heads, and they could go about their rounds with a list in hand. The prefects always had an uncanny ability to find the rule breakers, which coined the stereotype that Hufflepuffs were great finders. There was a special one for when students left or returned for breaks in the school year. Cedric had been keeping an eye on the newest addition to Hufflepuff house, and her signature was easily recognisable based on how intelligible her handwriting was.

"I don't care if Patel didn't sign into your stupid book, where does she sleep?"

"I can take you there, sir," Cedric offered kindly as he led the way there. They found her sound asleep, under several layers of blankets with out her nose peeking out from underneath them. Severus looked at Jane sharply to indicate that she should go wake up her sleeping best friend. Cedric considered staying by standby, but a glare sent in his direction sent him scurrying away to attend to his duties somewhere else. Jane roused her gently, her mental acuity affected by her own unexpected awakening.

"Shruthi." She whispered soothingly as she peeled off each blanket from her friend. Shruthi grumbled something unintelligent in turn. "Shruthi, wake up," Jane sharpened, hiding her laughter. Her friend was wearing a garish, floral-patterned nightie which she had tucked her feet into the hem for warmth, and her knees pressed inwards against her torso. It was only after the last blanket, Shruthi opened her eyes – dark and bleary from sleep.

"Whatchu doin' 'ere?" Shruthi yawned as she stretched languidly, stretching the skirt further downwards, it was the stretchiness of the material that saved her from tearing it by her actions. Jane had woken her plenty of times in the past so the last thing on her mind was what she looked like the first thing in the morning. They had bunked together plenty of times during sleepovers or school camps. "I didn't know you got Hogwarts robes for Christmas. I thought those would be the last thing you'd want." Shruthi giggled as she played with the floppy scalloped collar of Jane's Slytherin robes. She flicked one upwards and watched as it settled back down with too much enthusiasm.

"Patel," Snape interrupted to make his presence known to the Hufflepuff. His clipped footsteps caused her to jerk upwards as he came to a stand next to Jane. He watched as her eyes focused on him as she took in her situation. She grabbed the nearest duvet to cover herself up as embarrassment at being caught in her nightwear caught up to her.

"No, no, no," Shruthi chanted underneath her breath. "This can't be happening, not again," she pleaded to Jane, waiting for her to spring that this was joke and the man standing next to her was just a very good impersonator.

On the long-haul flight home, Shruthi had watched her right hand heal expeditiously. By the time she landed, there were just two white puncture marks, barely visible in sunlight. Her parents had greeted her with jubilee, with her Amma ushering her into her house with a prayer and a table full of every food that she missed so much during the semester it made her almost sick. She struggled to answer her parent's endless questions on her studies through a full mouth and an even fuller heart. Questions which turned abrasive and worried when she told them about continuing her 'studies' closer to home. Her Amma was close to tears and her Appa sat back in silence as Shruthi disclosed that she missed living with her parents and wanted to attend an institution closer to home. The flood of disappointment turned ever grain of rice lathered with rich curry sour in her mouth. Shruthi knew it would be a contentious subject considering what she was supposedly 'giving up'. Her parents regaled about their own college experience, with her father exaggerating his time living away in attempt to sway her.

She had tried to present the Daily Prophet that she had smuggled as proof, but all the images were frozen in place which only incensed them further as they thought she was playing a juvenile joke on them. A few brusque days followed her return, with her spending most of her time alone in her bedroom as she heard the shouting conversations from her parents in the living room. She tried to not let the words that they were speaking in anger sting, but it hurt when they took turns to blame each other for raising an indolent daughter. It was only after she started crying during a silent dinner her parents softened and agreed that they had missed her very much and they wished she didn't go so far away for her studies as well.

She had put in a late application for her local universities with parental blessings after reading through the glossy-papered pamphlets and horribly confusing websites. She remembered texting Jane telling her that the application process for university was harder than sitting her final high school exams. All the while, it only made her long for Hogwarts more. She missed the enchanted staircases with neurotic personalities. The overgrown and cramped Herbology greenhouses filled with venomous plants that swatted the students as they walked past. The jovial ghosts that floated through the Great Hall during mealtimes. She didn't know how she could continue studying the sciences when she knew that magic existed, but she squashed down those thoughts when the reality of her being ordinary had struck her painfully in the face. An ordinary, plain, boring Muggle, who would go to university to study ordinary, plain, boring Muggle things and destined to live an ordinary, plain, and boring little life.

She refrained from telling Jane as every time the conversation was hinted at that direction, she shut that down with a pointed remark of the awfulness of the experience. The staircases weren't whimsical, they were designed to kill any student that mis-stepped and fell down the endless void beneath them. Jane's allergies were horrible during ever Herbology class, and the last thing the venomous tentacula appreciated was being sneezed on. The ghosts regularly scared the crap out of her as they would pop up from the floor or through the table when she was trying to eat.

"Get dressed, Patel. Classes start in a quarter of an hour," Snape addressed her as she emotionally reeled uncontrollably.

"No, I'm not going. We're meant to be home," Shruthi fretted as she searched for her own plastic rimmed glasses and mobile phone. She didn't care if she had Charms or History of Magic, she needed to call her parents to get her on the first flight home.

"Clearly something insists on you being here," Snape sneered. "Whatever brought you the first time, has returned you. You can logically assume that you are stuck here until it finishes its business with you, or until you die," Snape shrugged indifferently. It was common for magical agreements to be until something as finite as death. He pushed aside his desire to ponder over the legality of that statement for a wizard or witch who had horcruxes.

Shruthi only paused her searching for a moment, "Stuck? No, that- You have to help us."

"I will do no such thing, Patel. Our agreement has ended, I don't owe you anymore. I'm sure you are more than capable of finding your own way home," Snape informed with sad*stic pleasure. He had no responsibility to keeping these girls safe at Hogwarts more than any other teacher at this school had. He frankly had no use for them. Even Barty would not be able to help with his newly found bleeding heart for the Muggle pair. The Dark Lord had made it explicitly clear that they should not aid them if they wound themselves up into a dangerous situation. Severus knew that it would be only a matter of time before Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel demises were just footnotes in yearly staff meeting. Hogwarts had a long history of students dying prematurely, two more would be nothing in that morbid statistic. Dying was exactly the best outcome for Severus Snape. He would be rid of the owing a pesky life debt to two Muggle girls.

*

"Here they are," Harry exclaimed excitedly tugging on Hermione's sleeve as he watched the bricks fold outwards in front of him. He cleared his throat to regain some of his composure. He hadn't told Hermione about the events days prior to the Yule ball. He wasn't sure how to phrase it to the book-smart witch that the man who tried to kill him as an infant is his father. "Jane, Shruthi," he called out, frowning as Severus Snape stepped through behind them. He expected an instantaneous call for detention, but Snape left the pair quickly ignoring Harry's presence completely.

"Hermione, meet Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel," Harry introduced with a flourish of his hand. Hermione hesitated when the Hufflepuff and Slytherin did not take out her outstretched arm for a handshake. She quickly stuck it down by her side, wondering if there was, she had offended the transfer students.

"Sorry, we need to get to class," Jane excused both, leaving Harry deflated at the interaction. They didn't try speaking to him the first time they had met in detention, but they never ignored him like this before.

"They're not usually like this," Harry explained glumly. He caught Shruthi looking back at him momentarily before Jane pulled her ahead. This was the exact reason he hoped that they would've stay for the winter break at Hogwarts. He spent the days dreaming of all the adventures they would've gotten up to during the weeklong holiday, which peaked when he was sat next to Severus Snape during the Christmas Eve dinner feast. Experience told him that long stretches without seeing Ron or Hermione led to a brief renormalizing period. Hermione just hoped that it wasn't her face that put them off talking to her.

"We should be getting to class too, Harry," Hermione stated. "It was just a bad time. We'll see them again at lunch." Hermione had borrowed Harry's schedule since it would be more useful in her possession that his. This semester they had more classes with the Ravenclaws than the other two remaining houses. A thought that made Hermione glad since the Ravenclaws would be rightly focused on what was on her board than interested in bullying the either of them.

"Yeah," Harry sighed as Hermione led the way to the spiral Charms tower. Harry mulled over what would constitute as a 'good time' to tell Hermione about his parentage. "Hermione, you're close with your parents, right?"

It was rare for Hermione to be forced to contemplate her sentences. She knew the topic of having parents would be a sore one for Harry since he never had the chance to grow up with his. She failed to decipher if there was some underlying subtext within his odd question and decided that Harry would appreciate the truth. "I was closer to them before I came to Hogwarts, Harry," she replied diplomatically. It wasn't an untruth; she did try to keep close with her parents through letters, but it was hard when she lived so far away from London for most of the year. Muggleborn students at Hogwarts suffered the most when it came to communicating with their parents. Most of the student population had grown up with the existing in places where incommunicado was the norm. Sparse letters and firecalls from home satisfied Purebloods and Half-Bloods alike. Hermione had attempts to convince her parents to install a fireplace but there was just no place for it in their Muggle townhouse.

"What would you do if you found out that one of them wasn't your mum or dad?"

"I don't know, Harry. That's really tough to imagine." Her eyes unfocused as they flicked between each painting on the wall passing by them. She always had loved her parents, and she didn't think that anything would come between that. She supposed that she would feel betrayed if she had found out that one of her parents had been unfaithful, but she couldn't picture her strict parents acting in that manner. "I think it wouldn't matter to me. They've raised me… so they're always going to be my mum and dad, no matter if I'm biologically related or not." By her definitions of family, she thought of Ron and Harry as siblings even though they aren't related to her.

Harry thought about Hermione's perspective. He assumed it would be different if his parents weren't dead – well, parent, he corrected. He was afraid of asking the exact timeline of his conception. He didn't want to imagine that his mum was unfaithful to James Potter. Perhaps, there was a period where they were not together, which aligned with his mum meeting Voldemort. She must've been young, Harry pictured. One that would've rattled him when he figured out just how young she was during the war, if not for the fact that his horrible aunt and uncle had almost decade of difference between them. "What if you found your real dad. Erm, I mean biologically related dad?"

"It depends on the circ*mstances, Harry. Did he reach out randomly, or did my parents tell me about him? Why is he reaching out now? Why did he leave my mum in a situation like that? I'd have a lot of questions, but I'd make sure the dad that raised me didn't feel like I didn't appreciate him." Hermione rattled off. Hermione paused, "Do you think you're not a Potter?"

"Maybe?" Harry shrugged. "I think my dad is Voldemort." Harry hadn't spoken the fact loudly, but Hermione still whipped her head around to make sure that everyone else milling about didn't overhear. She pulled Harry near a wall with a mural depicting a flying herd of hippogriffs during a sunset flight. Their wings beat silently, as the sunlight reflected off their multicoloured gleaming coats of feathers.

Harry explained to her everything that he could remember from the night before the Yule ball. He tried to fill in the parts where he was unconscious with what he assumed happened. Hermione listened without interrupting but her worry was discerned by the way her nose pinched. "And he told me that he'd root for me in the tournament."

"Harry," Hermione began softly. She didn't know what it felt like to not have parents and desire that relationship in any adult figure that pays attention to you. However, she didn't know the minute that she wasn't there to oversee his actions, Harry would fall victim in a nefarious scheme that involved the resurrection of one of the most notorious Dark wizards in magical British history. She was deeply disturbed that two of her professors at this school sided with a man like him, and so did the two witches that Harry had spoken of so highly to her. "I think Voldemort lied to you."

Harry flipped out, "No he didn't. It makes sense, why else would I be able to speak to snakes?"

Hermione already knew the answer to this. As soon as Harry's ability was discovered during Lockheart's duelling club and shocked every witch or wizard who had grown up aware of the magical world. It forced Hermione to investigate it at the library. She discovered that parseltongue wasn't the only magical trait that was passed down through bloodlines, however, it was the most well-known one since most pureblood families kept those traits a close secret. The ability to converse with serpentines was famously attached to families that had ancestral ties to Salazar Slytherin, but it was a skill that could be acquired or – "It could be a mutation that randomly occurred. There have been cases in the past. Or maybe you have some long-lost ancestor that was related to Salazar Slytherin."

"I look like Voldemort, it's a more than a coincidence, Hermione," Harry argued.

"Harry, you don't look like a bald cat," Hermione cringed. Harry had down a very dramatic description of what the foetal Dark Lord had looked like.

"I mean, I look like him before he became like that," huffed Harry.

"Harry, three quarters of this school has black hair, which is probably representative of the larger population. You can't believe that any random black-haired wizard is your dad." It frustrated Hermione that any book written about Voldemort had done in a coded way that failed to describe what he looked like in fear. The author would put his appearance as 'monstrous', and most books did not include any photographs as there were none taken of him. "Voldemort isn't your dad, Harry. He lied to you because it served him in some beneficial way. He's been trying to murder you since you were a toddler."

Hermione could see that she wasn't getting through to him. She tried appealing to Harry emotionally. "Okay, Harry, let's say that you are related to Voldemort. That means you're related to a man who wanted to genocide Muggles and Muggleborns. He wanted to torture every single one of us dead or forced into ceaseless servitude to Purebloods. Men, women, children; he and his death eaters didn't care, Harry. They terrorised anyone that wasn't them, to the point that even the papers were horrified to report the details of what happened. And now he's back, what do you think is going to happen to people like me?"

"I won't let that happen again, Hermione. He agreed that he'd listen to my suggestions about how wizards should co-exist with the Muggles. I promise that nothing will happen to you or anyone else," Harry disagreed. He felt like it was his duty to protect Voldemort from further scrutiny. He knew that he did awful things in the past, but Harry knew the importance of second chances, and not being given any. Everyone at Hogwarts had isolated him due to his name being spat out by the wooden cup that sat in the centre of the Great Hall. No one wanted to spare even a moment of their time to hear him out since everyone had already decided who he was. He was painted as a spoiled, attention-seeking boy that ruined things for other people because he couldn't bear not holding the limelight.

Hermione was appalled at Harry. She didn't understand how he wasn't able to see the larger, more worrying picture. He was trapped and nothing she said was going to break hold that this farce had on him. "Have you spoken to Padfoot or Moony about this? They knew both your parents the best. If there were any doubts of your paternity, I'm sure James would've spoken to them about it."

"Padfoot hasn't replied in months," Harry scowled. "I can't believe the first thing out of your mouth is to call me a liar when I tell you as something important as this." He can add another person to his ever-growing list of people who never hated him at this school. He relied on Hermione to be the one to have an unshakeable belief in him. "You always act like you know better than everyone. Nit-picking everything that anyone after you run away to fact-check what they said. Ron's right, you'd be a lot nicer if you just kept your opinions to yourself." Harry walked away very quickly after that.

*

The day had left Hermione exhausted her. Any attempt of mending things with either Ron or Harry yielded her with only a glare and a cold shoulder. She returned to that dark patch of her first year before the boys had befriended her. Days where the only words she would speak to another person came from a teacher asking her to answer. She grew addicted to the only positive interactions she would receive through the red ink marks on the margins of her perfect essays. Harry and Ron had been the ones to foster her book smartness into real-world applications. She traded her knowledge for their friendship and protection. There were times that she felt like Ron and Harry were closer to each other, and they only tolerated her presence for her usefulness. Those thoughts grew fainter as the years passed with reassurance that she was needed by them. But now, she contemplated that maybe she grew too comfortable with her position in the trio. Her opinions had teetered just over the line today, and they realised that they were better off without her.

The only place in Hogwarts that allowed Hermione any solace was the library. She was tempted to find a book on navigating tumultuous friendships and the art of apologising, but the ones she had read in the past offered advice that was far too general for her current situation. Even her Transfiguration essay on the topic of limitations of Switching Spells had not improved her mood. She pushed aside her mountain of schoolwork, and instead summoned some of the brazen courage that Harry had possessed to duck underneath the velvet rope that separated the greater part of the library to the Restricted section. Twice she thought her cover had been blown as she thought she had been spotted by the eagle-eyed Madam Pince.

There were hundreds of thousands of books that were allowed to be read by any Hogwarts student, but only a measly seven hundred that were only to be accessed by those who had the permission to do so. Books that held knowledge that was not taught by the Hogwarts curriculum as they were too dangerous for the common witch or wizard to know. Hermione could have waited until the following year when she would undoubtedly be chosen as the Gryffindor fifth year prefect to have limited access to these tomes. But there was no point waiting when the 'Boy Who Lived' had fallen victim to the temptations offered by the Dark side. She reasoned that whatever had drawn him to Voldemort's side could ultimately be the undone by itself. For every spell, there was always a counterspell if one looked hard enough.

Luckily, no other students had chosen to further their study currently which left Hermione unquestioned at her being in the shadowy corner. Still, she kept to the shelves closest to the entrance in the case if she was spotted, she could use the excuse of having wandered in accidently. Hermione learned by reading the nearest placard that the books here were arranged by the year of publishing rather than by topic, and the newest bookcase housed books dated the decade prior. It was a very small section of the library as many people were too busy concerned with their safety to go and publish books. Most of it was filled with Daily Prophet and other articles from the time, the one on the top of the pile with a frozen image of weary but hopeful face Millicent Bagnold at a podium announcing the death of the Dark Lord.

Hermione skimmed over the books with her index finger trailing over their muted coloured spines. She found one roughly wedged between two thicker tomes, one concerning the topic of the discoveries of factors that influence an individual's endurance of the Cruciatus Curse. It resembled the diaries that many students at Hogwarts carried with them to classes. Black leather-bound books, no thicker than the width of a finger. Some embossed the front with their crests or initials, but most penned their identity on the first inner page. Hermione plucked it from the shelf with some effort. The adjacent books fell towards the gap, as she flicked through diary to find the author's identity missing. Every page was crammed full to the brim with tidy, small letters, some with even the margins with side-ways handwriting. Hermione thumbed to an early page that had the least amount of writing on it.

I should've expected he would invite me to the after-party was more than just him trying to rub it in my face that he had won today. Drink in hand, lounging around on a ratty old couch with a Mudblood chit clinging to his shoulder. If he wants to go around raking himself to filth and sullying his blood, he can do that without an audience! What does he expect me to do, write home about it? 'Dear Mother, Father. I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your dearest son has been in the company of a Mudblood – again.' If he keeps this up, he'll be out of the will before grandfather passes. Who'll buy his third broomstick in two years? His friends – ha! Like they can afford to keep him (and if they try, good riddance). If he's so into philandering these slags, maybe I'll take up hunting them. He'll whor*, and I'll hunt. We could hang them next to the house elves…

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she rechecked the front and back cover of the book to see who would write something so horrible. She found it expected for a Pureblood to slander an entire demographic of the wizarding population and not attach themselves to it. It boiled her blood that she in addition to balancing the emotional immaturity of her friends, she still had to be infinitely generous in enduring a society that was built against her. How could Harry side himself with people like this? Hermione fumed as she stuffed the diary into her burdensome satchel.

"You have come," Victor Krum's gruff voice froze Hermione to her spot as she left the tiled section. Victor had dressed himself in his best furs for the occasion, and his fingernails were lightly crusted in dirt has he pulled out flowers from the abundance of shrubs near the entrance of the school. He presented the yellow buds to her with a blush across his face.

"You should've at least washed those aconites, you'll get the books dirty," Hermione scolded she watched affixed as flecks of dirt drifted from the to the carpeted floor. It had slipped her mind that the world-class seeker had arranged a meeting with her at the library earlier that morning. She knew that if she remembered she would've spent her evening sulking in the Griffyndor tower instead.

"Sorry," Krum apologized as he wandlessly vanished the handmade bouquet. It confused him to find out that she was the type of woman who had firm convictions rather than being blinded by the usual courting gifts. "I vill get you a book next time, Her-mine-knee." He hid his hands behind his back.

"You don't have to do that. I have plenty of my own, and more than I could possibly read here," said Hermione.

"Then ve can read some together," Krum proposed. He hoped that it would allow him to spend some time with her without him struggling to string together sentences. He pointed to the desk nearest to them. It was just large enough for a pair to study together, sitting across from one another. He held out the seat for her to sit in while she struggled to come up with an excuse. With a hefty sigh, Hermione sat down and propped open the diary to keep reading.

… it's where they belong. The Lord is correct, extermination is the only solution to this blight in the community.

"Vat are you reading?" Krum asked with concern. The witch sitting before him had pinched her face together in disgust. It was an ugly expression, and Krum wanted to snatch the book that was offending her away from her hands.

"Nothing," huffed Hermione as she placed the book down, the pages against the hardwood of the desk.

"You are in pain."

"I'm just reading about some wizarding history," Hermione responded vaguely. Which only intrigued Victor Krum further. "Do you know who Voldemort is?"

"Yes, I know him," Krum nodded. He wasn't as knowledgeable about the topic as he wanted since the British Dark Lord never expanded his terror across borders like his predecessor, Gellert Grindelwald. Krum thought it was a stain to his magical institution that a wizard like Grindelwald was an alumnus. His own cohort was split between quietly celebrating the man and continue to hold a torch for his ideals. Victor Krum thought Grindelwald was a weak coward who let the Dark Arts consume his sanity which led to his extreme beliefs. He assumed that Voldemort would be similar as all Dark Lord came in one flavour – insane. He waited for her to continue to know what sort of witch he was speaking to.

"I-I have a friend who is falling down the rabbit hole, and I don't know what to do," Hermione admitted. She didn't know what spurred her to confide something so vulnerable to a practical stranger, especially one from a magical school that taught the Dark Arts in their curriculum. She could be speaking to a Voldemort sympathizer for all she knew.

"Did he not see the hole in the ground?" Krum asked in confusion. He wasn't the most agile on the ground with his unusual gait, but he's never been so clumsy to miss the burrow of a small creature.

Hermione giggled softly, "No, not a literal hole. It's an English turn of phrase for getting deep into something, usually troubling or strange. My friend, he usually hates anything to do with the Dark Arts, but now he's interested in it."

"Is he interested in the Dark Arts or vith Voldemort?" Krum knit his fingers together as he rested in elbows on the desk.

"It’s the same thing," Hermione insisted with a frown, mirror Krum and leaning towards him. Krum hid a smile behind his fingers at her action.

"It is not. One is a branch of magic, the other is…" Krum searched for the correct word, thrumming his fingers in thought. "A dangerous criminal wizard." He knew there was a word for a person who intimidated the population with violence to achieve a political aim – a terrorist. "The Dark magic are not taught here, no?"

"Of course not. The Ministry of Magic has banned the teaching of the Darks Arts for centuries now. We don't even learn about it in our classes, just how to protect ourselves from it," Hermione spewed. The Dark Arts had been removed from the curriculum soon after the original four founders of the school had passed away. There had been pockets of history where the use of the Arts had the Ministry turn a blind eye to its use, such in the case of the Aurors near to the end of Voldemort's terror. But it was always a retaliatory use against a magical threat that needed such an extreme form of magic.

"How will you protect yourself if you have never faced it?" Krum inquired. "There is nothing dangerous about the Arts if you learn to use it correctly. You can hurt and kill people with many spells that are not considered Dark."

"Like what?" Hermione asked sharply.

"The Exploding Charm," Krum replied. "I don't know vat you call it here." He found that the incantations here were something different to the ones he uses but the effects were the same.

"Bombarda," Hermione answered. "And you don't kill people with it." Flitwick had warned them when they first learned the spell to always be cognizant of where they were aiming their wands. His lecture on safety took up three quarters of the lesson before he even began to teach them the incantation and the wand movement. Hermione had committed that lesson to heart as the last thing she ever imagined was to perform it on another person.

"You can." Krum had seen it with his own eyes during his lessons. His classmate's leg being blown cleanly during a duel which was an immediate loss and sentence to the infirmary with shame.

"You don't. It's for doors or inanimate objects, the only people who would use it against another person would be monsters," Hermione hotly debated. Her beanie rose which each punctuated word and she tugged it back down again.

"Her-mine-knee, please listen to vat I am saying. You learn the Exploding Charm which can kill somevon but not the Killing Curse which can also kill."

"Bombarda can be used to do other things than kill, but the Killing Curse is only designed to murder," she hissed with conviction. "You can control what you use it on."

"You can control vat you use the Killing Curse on as vell, like animals," Krum explained calmly.

"I would never kill an animal," Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Do you not eat meat?" Krum inquired. He hadn't met many vegetarian witches and wizards. He couldn't think of any at Durmstrang. Meat was a staple at any meal he had with his classmates.

"I eat meat, but I would never kill it myself," Hermione's voice wavered with a sudden appetite to consume less meat. She knew that animals had to die for her to eat them, but she didn't like to think about that fact. Her parents had spent the first years of life convincing her that chicken, the animal, and chicken, the food, came from separate entities. She reflected that she never outgrew that over the years.

"Vell, it is not alive on the plate," Krum chuckled drily. "Somevon has to kill it. The Killing Curse is the less painful way, no?" Krum accepted it as a fact of life growing up in an abattoir. He had watched his father from a young age comfort a cow before its time, and when his father deemed him old enough, he learned how to do it for himself. He thought he would graduate Durmstrang to return home to take over his long-standing family business before he found out that he had a one-in-a-million natural ability for quidditch. The blood from Hermione's face drained away at the casualness of her conversation partner. She excused herself as her stomach gurgled uncertainly in front of him which only sent Krum chasing after her in worry. "Vait, I'm sorry if I offend you."

Chapter 9: Definitely Foes.

Chapter Text

Both

Their Australian university application emails no where to be found on their phone.

*

Severus Snape stood lonesome in the empty headmaster's office. It was a perfectly circular office that somehow still hung the portraits of all the previous headteachers at Hogwarts straight. The heavy curtain let in the morning light through the slit of an opening. In the summers, there would be a magnificent view of rippling waters of Great Lake, shored by the impenetrable tree line of the Forbidden Forest. From here he could spot the one tree his teenage self-preferred over its neighbours. Large enough to provide him plenty of shade to melt into the shadows for he would be left unbothered. A place he deserted after being hung upside down in front of an audience by those leafy branches. Severus stood with his feet firmly planted on the ground with the knowledge that in a matter of years this office would be his, not the current vice-Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. He would sit behind the brownish-red mahogany desk while a portrait of Albus Dumbledore hung breathing down his neck. He held himself back from taking seat on the leather chair that held everyone who commanded Hogwarts before him, and everyone to come after him. He would bide his time patiently for pleasure of his delayed gratification. He imagined what this room would look like with his touch. He'd firstly remove every trace of Albus Dumbledore from the room, starting with innumerable trinkets. There will be no place for whimsy at the second tallest spire of this castle, only order.

All the portraits were still fast asleep as he strode towards an inconspicuous stone nestled in the corner of the office. His eyes already adjusted to the dark making the faintly glowing runes on the brick stick out like a sore thumb. It was the principal ward stone of the castle. The one he had watched Albus Dumbledore adjust yearly for students at Hogwarts practice for their Apparition licencing exam. His calloused thumb grazed over the letters, which glowed more brightly in response. They leapt from the inscriptions into the air in front of him, expanding into scrolling list of runic phrases. His brows furrowed in concentration as he deciphered each sentence. He was uncertain of how little time he had before Dumbledore returned to his office with a mug of peppermint tea in hand.

The practice of ward making was a branch of magic that was only touched upon by N.E.W.T.s. level students taking Advanced Charms. Severus Snape spent some time after his own graduation teaching himself more than he learned in class. He needed to ward his own home located at Spinner's End as he wasn't in a position then to pay another magician experienced in the fine art to come to his home, nor did he trust anyone else but himself to touch his Muggle house. A younger man had sat cross-legged on a tiled floor with his hair tied back with a leather thong, hunched over with sweat dripped down his bare back due to him trapping the sweltering heat inside with boarded up windows. He countless spent hours concentrated beside an empty glass of water, an open box of a 'Do-It-Yourself Warding Kit', a dirty rag for cleaning the residue from chiselling. He adjusted and tested each rune to make certain that his childhood home would look dilapidated to deter the desperate, thieving Muggles of co*keworth to find their dirty cash elsewhere.

Despite his experience, the further he scrolled up the list, the more he found himself frustrated with his inability to read what was inscribed. Some runes he was sure weren't the ones taught in Ancient Runes which exclusively written in the old Germanic alphabet. He had never encountered runes that shift their appearance as they were read. Taking form and then melting and rearranging themselves in completely new shape like writhing pile of snakes. Was this a way to stop intruders from removing the wards?, Snape grumbled. Abandoning his curiosity, he scrolled to the bottom where the wards that were replaced the most would be located. He easily found the ones that Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, added.

Skipping over the Apparition and Dis-Apparition wards, he discovered the Muggle repellent wards were fully functional. He discovered his own implementation of Muggle repellent wards were rudimentary compared to the ancient ones that kept Hogwarts safe. He would look back on these memories with a quill and parchment in hand so he could add to his when he returned to co*keworth in the summer. Or I can pay someone now. Whatever Jane Becker and Shruthi Patel possessed did not tamper with the wards of this castle. Was there magic existent in the world that even an institution as prestigious as Hogwarts was not able to detect and protect itself from? An idea that crawled up his neck with spidery legs before taking a sharp bite on the tender flesh.

When he heard the soft click of the circular door that opened to the office, and he Banished the hovering neon green script in the still air. He stood with his hands gripping the high back of the supple leather chair, his nails digging half-moons into the skin. As Dumbledore crossed the threshold with the point of his lucky rabbit fur slippers, the curtain parted to let in the light from the sunrise into his room, the spectrum filtered through the frost made stained glass throwing rainbows onto the working diorama of the solar system hanging from the ceiling. Albus Dumbledore had spent many of his first days as Headmaster of the school staring out the window of this room. He found it marvellous that the office rotated to follow the path of the star which meant he rarely needed to light the candles and lanterns. If it had been Severus Snape's, he would never part the curtains until the moon and stars were high in the sky.

"Severus," Albus Dumbledore greeted with a sip of his large old mug with the faded Gryffindor insignia printed to the side – an item he acquired during his own schooling at the school sorted into the red and yellow house. "I wasn't expecting you this morning."

Severus Snape raised a unmanicured brow at Albus' words. He sometimes gave cryptic instructions which Snape had learned to decipher after years of experience. Albus Dumbledore was fond of leaving his conversation partners flummoxed which only served to humour him. He earned quite a reputation of being a mysterious wizard which caused the Ministry of Magic to further deify. "Really? I thought the return of a certain Slytherin and Hufflepuff would be of some interest to you," Snape explained.

Dumbledore set his mug down on the desk after Summoning a coaster from the other side of it with a soft wave of his hand. He had received the coasters from a long-time friend of his, Horace Slughorn, for Yule through the Owl Post when Horace was out of the country visiting one of his old students. Each was painted with a watercolour landscape of Japan. The one sitting beneath his cup now was one of a washed-out metal bridge rusting on the underside as it connected the two reed covered banks with a lily-pad covered river flowing underneath it. If one watched it long enough, they would spot a sly, green-coloured kappa that would peak up from one of the fragrant water lilies awaiting a fresh victim to strangle beneath the murky depths. The unmistakeable fragrant floral smell of which was diffused leisurely through the golden air of the office as the bottom of his mug warmed the picture.

Dumbledore despised those coasters. They reminded him that he never had the chance to take his sabbatical with Gellert Grindelwald after he graduated from the very same institution he was now at the helm of. Instead of smelling those water flowers, standing upon that very bridge hand in hand with his best friend he was haunted by their smell by a poorly painted imitation. While the tall blond he wrestled with his dreams rotted away within a room just as large as his office for the rest of his life. He forced those thoughts away by reminding himself of his dead sister, Arianna Dumbledore. A habit that had a high probability of failure as Dumbledore had one rabbit-fur covered foot stuck in the past. One that should never come to light…

"You've grown quite attached to them, haven't you, Severus?" Dumbledore jested warmly. "I am just as happy as you are that they've returned. I was not sure they enjoyed their first term here." Albus Dumbledore expected both witches to discontinue their education at Hogwarts and return home but they had chosen to stay. He only wished that they would spend their remaining time here focusing on their studies and not fostering a friendship with Harry Potter. He needed the boy focused on his future which entailed a defeat of a counterfeit Grindelwald. It was a good thing that Gellert was in imprisoned at Nurmengard. If Tom had an healthy ego that allowed for asking for mentorship from older Dark Lord, that would be the day that Albus Dumbledore would retire from his headmastership.

"I spoke to you before the break, they intended not to return," Snape reminded, playing into their extended bit with him suspecting that Dumbledore's age had finally caught up to the capable wizard. Snape remembered clearly holding a conversation with wizard awarded with an Order of Merlin (First Class) in the same office with their positions reversed. He even still had the forged letter from St. Catherine's in the lowest drawer of his desk. His face relaxed into a neutral, expressionless look as he took no humour in Dumbledore's words. Albus Dumbledore never forgot a single thing but was prone to reframing events in his mind to suit the narrative he spun for his life. While Severus Snape himself took pleasure in removing memories from consuming his mind and dumping them into the swirling haze of the pensive to clear his.

"It seems that they've changed their minds. It's quite common at their age to be unable to make up their minds about things. Not to worry, I'm sure Hogwarts has accommodated their arrival just as it did before." Albus answered in a way that left Snape unable to argue further. "Is that all you wanted to discuss, Severus?" He took another sip, looking over the cup. He tried to catch the younger man with direct eye contact, but Severus turned away to face the obscured view outside. The orange emblazed the ends of his ebony hair, turning it as an inky as the choppy water of the Great Lake made by the giant squid that lived in its bed. It framed his face just like curtains did on window. Albus Dumbledore had watched Severus Snape grow into every single one of his angular features except his hair he inherited from his mother, Eileen Prince. No matter how many times he had seen Severus gifted clips and ties for it from the other staff, he left it to limply lay flat on his scalp.

Severus Snape ignored the persistent throb of his right forearm, the Dark Mark now visible after his true master's return. "Yes."

*

"Miss Patel. A word," Barty Crouch Jr. addressed her, riddling her with a sense of déjà vu. His classroom of fourth year Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's began packing away their things with an endless stream of conversation. Unlike the times before she was held back after class by her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Shruthi's Hufflepuff classmates did not feel pity for her – frankly, they forgot that she existed. She busied herself purposely with straightening out her collection of notes that she had taken from today's lecture in order to avoid Harry's obvious attempts at communicating with her (which was gut wrenchingly awkward when because he had taken a seat right next to her). She pushed pressed down with her body weight on the scrolls, trying to get them to lay flat. Giving up quickly, she picked one up and rolled it the other way deeming her first method ineffective. Eventually she heard the door of the classroom door closed shut for the last time leaving herself alone with the disguised Death Eater.

"What do you want?" Shruthi whispered with trepidation, pushing together the pages into a neat pile before placing her heavy textbook on top of them. "I need to get to Charms."

"I'll write a note to Flitwick to explain your tardiness," Barty replied as he pressed his hand down on the front cover of her textbook. Underneath his magic seeped into her pages beneath, flattening them with modified Erecto. It was a delicate piece of magic, giving him a rush of accomplishment that he had not felt in a very long time. He wished he had never told her to not meet his eyes as her gaze was fixed upon her shoes making it infinitely harder to speak to her. "You and Jane came back." He spoke as softly as she did.

"Snape said that something brought us back. We didn't want to." When Barty's lecture had grown tiring to listen to, she spent her time thinking about what that something had planned for her and Jane. What could've they had done in their short lives as Muggles that deserved the biblical punishment of being trapped in their own version of hell? Her parents always reminded her of karma and how each one her actions accumulated either a positive or negative amount of it. Every time she saw the brave face of her best friend, she was haunted with picking through every memory she had to weigh each one for their weight in sin. Now every step she took was heavier than the last.

"Not even a little bit?" Barty teased, as he removed his hand from her book. He watched as she packed all her things carefully into her supplied school bag, filing it away in a section for the current weekday. It contrasted him as a student when he would stuff his own notes into his own bag that he mentally considered as a graveyard. Once he had Regulus take it from him and shake his bag upside down in the middle of the Slytherin common room, unearthing a small mountain of crumpled pieces of parchment that would have made his father wilt in shock. He remembered bending down and picking up a particularly squashed one and found the margins scrawled with inappropriate doodles ('Call him a dementor when he gives head, 'cause he sucks the soul out of ya.'). Regulus did not share his amusem*nt when he presented it to him proudly while the other Slytherin boys howled in laughter. The laughter tripled when he flipped up the hood of his school robes to chase around the Black brother around the room with outstretched fingers.

"No," Shruthi stuttered. The longer she stood her, the sweatier her palms became. She wiped them unsubtly on her clothes.

"Liar," Barty smirked, the tear in his lip catching on his canine tooth as it broke apart in a wolfish grin. "You missed us too much." She said nothing to his words which dampened Barty's jovial mood. He quickly moved on before all his confidence shattered. "Do you still have the stone I gave you?"

"Yes," said Shruthi. She found the black opal crystal underneath her pillow when she made her bed in the morning. She carried it with her in one of her inner pockets, attracted to the imprisoned swirling galaxy inside the void. She remembered him stating that the stone would help her feel brave (or was that, Jane's?), but she felt anything but.

"Good," Barty struggled to continue the conversation when she forced him to carry the weight of it.

"Why did you ask me to stay back?" Shruthi asked again, feeling the weight of the stone against her breast. She always felt like an exotically coloured bird trapped within a glass cage when she was speaking with Barty Crouch Jr., a sort of experiment for him to observe without much personal stake. At least with Severus Snape she knew exactly how he felt about her, and he treated her as she expected. She deeply feared that Barty was going to slip off his impish mask one day and strike her dead for not entertaining him well enough. I'm a court jester to a king, Shruthi thought bitterly as she remembered where Barty used to live.

"I just wanted to talk to you," Barty admitted. "I can help you and Jane... if you want me to." He offered with sincerity. He knew that Severus would spend this opportunity finding anyway to terrorise the pair now that he was able to evade any punishment. But Barty Crouch Jr. felt it was his duty to keep them safe as he spent every single day of the winter break thinking of the pair. He found it very hard to imagine what the daily routine of a Muggle would look like so he could only picture them at mealtimes. He knew that Jane would always have a cup of coffee as her breakfast, as Shruthi would pick at her fried eggs with the tip of her fork, before breaking the runny yolk letting it flood the crunchy toast beneath. At Yule he imagined them sitting across the table cracking open bon-bons followed by a fit of girlish giggles.

"Please don’t talk to me anymore," Shruthi spelled out barely above a whisper. "Don't make me stay after class with you alone. I don't want your help and neither does Jane. The more attention you pay to us, the more attention that other people will." Barty's next words were caught in his throat as he watched as she took quick steps to exit his classroom without her promised excuse note. He sat on top of the desk she had just evacuated with a heave, his eyes glued on the closed door as he tried to remember what he forgot to say to her.

"I'm sorry," Barty whispered out loud to himself. The more time he spent with the Muggles, the more confused he became about his own identity. Was this sense of loneliness because he missed their presence? His hands trembled as he patted down his pockets to retrieve his flasks from his hip. Both stared up at him, and he unstoppered both taking a greedy gulp from both. The firewhisky sent shivers down his spine as it settled at the bottom of his stomach, engulfing his torso with an internal flame. It only diminished his previously jubilant mood. He knew he could not find advice or solace with Severus concerning this matter. He was worse than Barty when it came to feelings. Barty Crouch Jr. felt more alone at this moment than he felt during his decade of imprisonment.

For the first time in his life he found himself asking what his father would do if he found himself in his current predicament.

*

Another fortnight lost itself to Hogwarts. Shruthi reached the bowls of the castle with her nose blocked from a cold. She wanted to get to her favourite class of her term early – Potions with the Slytherin's. She sniffled pitifully into a red-stripped-on-white handkerchief as her head throbbed in pain. She felt like her face had swollen up like a balloon with constant fuzziness in her head. Enough so that she barely registered what was happening when she turned the corner of the winding dimly lit hallways to Potions. A crowd had formed a circle, jeering at the spectacle at the centre. Shruthi heard the several shattering of objects made of glass followed by some of the Slytherin girls clapping and cheering. A few muffled thuds followed in quick succession, one even producing a splash, as they joined the mixture on the ground. Shruthi watched with bleary eyes as circle widened to not get their feet wet with the dark liquid reaching its tendrils towards them. Between the bodies in emerald trimmed robes, she saw her best friend looking at the ground with a fed-up expression as she carefully picked up her belongings soaked wet from the shattered inkwells.

"Aw, does Becker have a boo-boo?" sneered a blonde. Shruthi had initially mistaken her for Draco Malfoy but then she realised it was the Daphne Greengrass. Jane looked down and saw that the front of her leg was bleeding as some of the glass had cut her when it smashed against the cobblestone floor.

"Are you going to cry, Becker? Is the mudblood going to go sob to Mummy and Daddy? What are they going to do – use the phelifone and complain to Dumbledore?" Pansy ridiculed before letting out another peel of laughter. Shruthi was ready to step in when she felt someone shove her very hard from behind. She stumbled into where the girls were crowding her friend.

"Look what we have here," Draco announced menacingly as Shruthi tried to get her bearings. There was a mechanical ringing in her ears as she looked over at Jane for help. "It's Becker's little friend." Shruthi felt a crunching beneath her boots as she stepped on the glass. "Come to help?" Shruthi ducked down and tried to help Jane pick up her things. She reached out beside Crabbe's or Goyle's (they both looked the same to her) feet. It was the first time they were caught together, and Draco wanted to savour the moment. Father always taught him to negotiate for the best deal, and what better one is there when he could bully two Muggleborn witches this early in the morning? And they don't even fight back, Draco relished.

"I can't believe you are real witches with you scrounging up things off the floor with your hands like house elves," Draco spat. "Here, let me help." He pushed Shruthi causing her to slip on the floor and fall backwards onto her bottom in shock. Her hands stopped her from falling flat, but she yelped as she felt her palms cut open from shards. The rest of her body protected by her impervious robes. Jane helped her back to her feet by her elbows as tears welled in her eyes. Only then she noticed that Jane wore a large purple bruise on her right cheekbone.

"What is going on here?" Snape asked in a dry voice as he caught the tail end of event. He already had a very good understanding of what had transpired but he had the need to exert his dominance as the head of Slytherin house on his wards.

"Nothing important, Professor Snape. Becker was being very clumsy and dropped all her things on the floor. Her friend had come to help pick them up," Draco explained as the other Slytherins nodded along and agreed with Draco's retelling. Snape stared at Draco communicating that he did not believe a single word that came out of his godson's mouth. If you are going to lie to me, at least be convincing, Snape mentally projected, shattering the infantile attempt at Occlumency from boy. Draco only grinned unabashedly through the sting of pain.

"Miss Becker, how many times do I need to replace your things before you learn to take care of them?" Snape scolded dispassionately as he unlocked the door of his classroom with a wave of his wand. "You are lucky that the Slytherins tolerate your clumsy presence. Take care to not ruin our reputation further." Another wave and the mess on the ground was Scourgify'ed away.

"Five points away from Hufflepuff being incapable of producing simple cleaning spell that even a first year is able to do." The door creaked open, and he held it open with one hand to allow the other Slytherins enter before he addressed the Muggle girls one last time by blocking it with his tall frame. He knew that they would pretend to settle into their seats while they watched him intently, expecting their fill of sad*stic entertainment. He inspected the cuts on her hand and the first thought he had was how this going to affect her productivity when she cleaned his classrooms tonight. He wanted to smack the back of Draco's pretentious head for ruining the two most useful witches that had walked these halls. He couldn't buy labour like that even he poured ever spent every last galleon from his Gringotts' vault. "Pick out those shards and go put some dittany on those cuts, Patel. Five points from Hufflepuff for being so very incompetent." She remained frozen in place, as her mind was still stuck on what happened to Jane's face.

"Any time now, Miss Patel. I have all day for you to stare into the nether brainlessly," Snape snarked sarcastically. "Will five more points from Hufflepuff house inspire you to get on with it?"

"No, Professor Snape." She shook her head her no as she gripped the sleeve of Jane's robe between her fingers, tugging her friend towards the magical first aid kit in the classroom. She sat on the three-legged wooden stool as she picked out the largest chunks of glass wedged in her palms and dropped them into a nearby sink. Blood spurted from the cuts and flowed down her wrist and dripped on the ground as she sank her teeth into the tip of her tongue. Jane helped her with the other hand silently, before pouring an entire vial of Wiggenweld potion on it. Any microscopic bits of glass migrated up to the surface of her dermis before painfully popping free thick stratum corneum. Shruthi whimpered and sniffled each time it happened. Jane quietly shushed her to keep herself from attracting any more attention. She soothed her crying friend by wiping away her tears from her cheeks with the pads of her soft fingers.

"Do you want me to do your leg?" Shruthi finally asked with a hoarse throat.

"Nah, it was very shallow. I'll be fine," Jane clarified, pulling up the hem of her robe. A small trickle of red had stilled somewhere inside of her dragon-hide boots but the cut itself had stopped bleeding. Shruthi ignored Jane's assessment and mashed some fresh dittany between her fingers until the herbs became a paste-like substance and smearing the pungent earthy mixture onto the cut until it resembled a green scab. She still had some more that she wanted to dab on her cheekbone.

"If you two are done, I do have a class to teach," Snape shouted, quelling an opportunity any further conversation. It seemed like the rest of the Hufflepuff house had arrived just before the bell had rung to indicate the start of the period. Jane and Shruthi took their seats right at the front row beside his desk. A place Severus Snape had reserved specially for the 'troublemakers' from the first day of class, much to the disappointment of Draco. It was subsequently the most opportune location for him to pick on them to answer mean-spirited questions designed for failure.

The white chalk scratched against the dark green coloured blackboard as Snape wrote the words 'Unicorn Hair' in his scrawling script. Shruthi blinked slowly as she flipped open her textbook that she placed between herself and Jane to share to the relevant page. "No books today, Miss Patel." Snape told her as if she was already meant to have known that fact. The book snapped close with her fingers only narrowly missing being caught. Her decorated cover second-hand copy of Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger sat tauntingly as Snape addressed the class with his first question of the day.

"Who can tell me the properties of the ingredient we are studying today?" He opened to the class as he rapped the blunt end of his chalk piece draw a neat line underneath his heading. The problem with answering Severus Snape's questions was that only he knew how word it exactly to what he thought expected the answer would to be. He hated anyone who would spew the exact words of the textbook to him, but he also expected the academic phrasing of said text. No matter the answer, he would spend the following painful minutes dissecting why everything that was spouted was the most stupid thing that he had ever heard in his decade of teaching. It deterred almost everyone except Hermione Granger from attempting anything at all (though why she chose to endure his feedback to her was one of Hogwarts' greatest mysteries). Shruthi wondered if he expected everyone to be a mind reader because he was such an adept one. Eventually, everyone learned through experience that it was better to be shouted at collectively for not answering, than to be picked on individually.

"No one? Patel, since you have taken the initiative to read ahead. What is the answer?" Snape smirked with the knowledge that she would have never had the opportunity to with how fast his modified Colloportus spell worked. Even if she tried to peek now, it would be futile with her pages artificially glued together.

"I don't know, sir," Shruthi replied as evenly as possible, awaiting her verbal lashing. Usually, she would take Jane's hand underneath the desk away from his keen view for support, but not today with her hands throbbing in pain. There was nothing she couldn't withstand with Jane Becker by her side. She watched Snape step down from the raised teaching stage and approach the front of her desk. He noted how the wooden grain glowed as he made them sand away any imperfections over the past fortnight.

He glided a long finger across the smooth surface in silent appreciation to another would look like an act of intimidation, "What is your wand made of?"

"I don’t know," Shruthi mouthed her answer, her eyes fixed to black-headed spotted nose of the man in front of her. There was a point in their history where she was brazen enough to make eye contact with the dour man but Severus Snape did not know when she felt beaten down enough to ever attempt that again. How was he meant to drink the fear in her eyes if she never met his?

"What sort of witch does not even know what her wand is made of?" Snape snickered as he held out his hand for her to deposit her wand in his hand. He felt emboldened when he heard a few of her classmates join in with their own laughter. "Definitely not one that needs her wand." He made the come-hither movement with his entire hand. Shruthi ducked down to grab her wand that never moved from the bottom of her schoolbag. She had moved aside her water flask and a few of her textbooks to grab the stick-like object, annoyed when some refused to budge because of how full they were. She could already feel the frustration emanating from him as she wasted his time with her slowness.

As she was passing her useless wand to the man that she loathed with every fibre of her being she sneezed, knocking it from his hand onto the ground causing a few students to gasp from rows behind them. It clattered loudly as it bounced around before coming to a stop as Snape stepped on it. She frisked herself for which pocket she had stuffed her handkerchief in. She pulled out the cotton that was wet in places from previous uses and wiped her the irritated skin of philtrum, now red and itchy. "PICK IT UP, GIRL," Snape shouted, his face now inches from her own. Too close! She could see the bits of food stuck between his teeth as his lips curled in rage as spittle landed on her glasses. "NOW!" She stared at him with a wide-eye expression of confusion as the rest of the classroom had gone pin-drop silent. Only when Jane had elbowed her in the ribs, Shruthi was spurred into action as she slid underneath the bench to retrieve the wand from ground. By the time she had returned to the uncomfortable stool he had stalked back to the blackboard. There was a strange tension in the room that the two girls addressed by sharing passing befuddled look.

"Patel, you failed to answer my question-" His voice was off-kilter as he attempted to centre himself in his cruelty.

"Rejuvenation," Shruthi answered shortly. She reasoned that she was going to lose house points no matter what she did. Her likeability in her house was already rock bottom, she didn't care if she made them last in something as silly as the house cup. From what she understood, house points did not serve any real function. Wining the house cup gave no privileges apart from bragging rights that withered the moment the end of year feast terminated.

Her interruption caused him to pause. If he didn't know that she was a Muggle, he would have accused her of cheating. "What differentiates it from other ingredients we obtain from unicorns?" Shruthi knew that the supply closet currently housed a miniature, sparkly vial of powdered unicorn horn on the top shelf. And from the books she recalled that their silver-coloured blood also had illegal magical properties. It kinda reminds me of mercury, now I think about it.

"The ease of harvesting?" Shruthi clutched blindly at an answer, examining his body language closely to decrypt if she was on the right track with her reasonings. She hated answering questions that she was not hundred percent sure of the answer. Something she may have been comfortable doing in Barty's classroom where she had openly witnessed Barty double-check the textbook before folding it with his own knowledge. She always wondered if he did that to make sure he didn't accidently give away his real-life experience as a Death Eater.

"Are you answering my question with a question?"

"No, that's just my accent…" There was an upwards inflection in the Australian accent at the end of sentences which confused those who were unaccustomed to it. Both Shruthi and Jane had been confronted about it by multiple people at Hogwarts now. "The property of rejuvenation is directly correlated with how morally correct it is to harvest the ingredient."

"Five points from Hufflepuff house for impertinence." Severus Snape faced the blackboard directly to stop the classroom from witnessing the evidence of vasodilation on his forehead. Shruthi hid her face into Jane's shoulder, as Jane slapped her knee to warn her from continuing to provoke him. He wrote her words exactly as she had spoken them in answer and instructed the class to copy it from the board. He seriously worried about the future of the actual wizards and witches sitting in his class because a Muggle could identify that relationship between one of the most used potions' ingredients in Britain when they failed to. The chalk pinched between his fingers snapped in half and he placed each on the shelf underneath the surface of the board with an exasperated sigh. How many more hints do I need to give before one of them understand the true nature of their new classmates?, Snape grumbled.

"I want a foot on the physical and magical properties of unicorn hair by end of class," Snape instructed. Previously, Shruthi would spend most of Potions in silence but when she shared her class with the Slytherins, Severus Snape allowed for some whispered chatter.

"What happened to your face?" Shruthi queried, masking it by the rustling of the scrolls of blank parchment as she passed it to Jane. Shruthi shared her inkpot and a spare quill. She started her essay with fingers stained from the black pigment when she unscrewed the top.

"The wardrobe door malfunctioned and it wacked me real good," explained Jane lethargically. The Slytherins preferred to make their own pranks instead of buying them from Zonko's Joke Shop located at Hogsmeade village which meant they had a wider, but unpredictable arsenal of what they could do to her. Jane should've expected something was afoot as she struggled to pull the door open this morning when she never had problems with it in the past. She was ought to count herself lucky that she wasn't wearing her glasses when the edge of the door smashed into her face.

"Malfunctioned on purpose, right?"

"No, haven't you heard about this new way to wake up in the morning? You smash yourself with the nearest wooden object and hope you don't have a concussion. I think it’s a real winner, it'll replace coffee in no time," Jane quipped.

"Sorry," Shruthi apologised. "I'm heading to the infirmary after class, do you want me to get you something for it?" Shruthi was hoping it was a case of an injury looking worse than it felt. The discoloured swelling stuck out uglily against Jane's pale face.

"No, I'm good. I'm hoping it will at least give me a few days off from them doing worse than the usual." Jane quietly continued writing, flipping back and forth on a page of their Potions textbook. She was stuck on what else she could write and filled the rest of the page with an anatomical illustration of a unicorn hair that she copied directly, taking care to label the layers correctly. She never understood these assignments given to them. Most of the professors at Hogwarts expected essays which were just loosely rephrased from the textbook they assigned with some extra waffle to meet the minimum length. Jane suspected that this was just to confirm that they did the required reading for the class, but she would much prefer a short quiz every week than to sit underneath the waning candlelight in the drafty Hogwarts library each night writing paragraphs until her hand cramped.

It came to no one's surprise when Snape asked Shruthi to remain behind before the bell rung to dismiss them. She let Jane pack the stationery they shared into her now dry school bag. The bottom of which had turned from pecan to black. Jane was the last leave, and Shruthi saw her out of the door to make sure that none of the other Slytherins were lingering in the hallway. "Close the door." Shruthi shut the iron grate without a struggle. She was on a step stool just yesterday oiling the hinges to avoid any ominous sounding creaks that would suit the dungeons. "Lock it." She did as she was told, and a hazy film of magic coated the bars connecting to obscure the hallway outside in a vignette. Any nosy onlookers would only see and hear an empty classroom.

The crack of slap rebounded around the classroom as Snape struck her firmly across the face. His hand still raised for another as he hissed, "You dare try to humiliate me in my own classroom, girl?" Shruthi flinched retroactively after pain bloomed on her left cheek.

Shock coloured her reply, "I just answered your question."

"You really expect me to believe that you didn't challenge me to a magical duel in the middle of class? You're lucky I didn't accept and strike you dead then and there." His nostrils flared when he was angry, but Shruthi was more worried about the probable event that she would be hit again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shruthi sniffled as she held out her hands in front of her head for protection.

"You threw your wand at my feet," Snape knocked her hands away from their current position, taking a firm grip on the collar of her robes to force her to look at him. "Don't hide your face from me." He pushed her back against the bars forcibly.

"I didn't do it on purpose. I'd don’t- never want to duel you." She closed her eyes shut as her vision swum. She felt her body wedge into the gaps between the bars, the worst of it being her head as it squeezed itself with the small spacing. Her headache only worsened and felt the beginnings of a sneeze sitting in the back of her nose.

"It seems you have a little bit of sense or at least some pathetic self-preservation, Patel." Snape grasped her hands painfully, flipping them palm-side up as he surveyed the damage she sustained. He pressed into the healing cuts and noted every sound of pain she emitted. He deemed the injury to be mostly healed and by the time he would see her again after dinner she should have no difficulties in performing her punishment. Shruthi couldn't stop herself and sneezed directly into his chest. "You're sick," stated Snape plainly, not concerned about the front of his robes.

Shruthi tried to suck up the snot that came out since her hands were trapped. It wasn't the first time he had seen her sick. No matter the ailment, Snape still expected his students to come to class. There was nothing that Madam Pomfrey or he couldn't address with the appropriate magical interventions. He let go of her hands and the pressed the back his hand against her forehead to measure her temperature. Her skin felt ice cold to the touch which chased out the worries of her running a fever. Snape surveyed her memories to find her recent trips to the infirmary resulting a few remedies that all failed to work. The school mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, after growing fed up with her reoccurring visitor simply prescribed her rest, stating her illness may be of Muggle origin. "Are you usually this cold?"

Shruthi only nodded in reply. Her body was shocked from coming from a fourty degree weather back in Australia to what she guessed must have been in the negatives. Her two layers consisting of her simple slip and her school robes did nothing to help her chattering teeth and blue-toned fingers. She purposely picked the closest seat to the fireplace in other classrooms, but she couldn't indulge herself in Potions or Herbology. While the a few of the greenhouses were insulated for more temperate plants, the Potions classroom funnelled in any draft that carried itself from the cracks in the old castle. "Why don't you dress yourself more appropriately then?"

"You told me that I'm not allowed to wear scarfs or gloves in the classroom." Snape did remember reprimanding her for those yellow-and-black coloured accessories last week. The best brewers adapted to the conditions that best suited the arts of potions making. Severus Snape, like any good Potions Master, had simply been born suited for the cold, sterile environment of a brewing room. He barely even broke a sweat even when twenty or, so cauldrons were bubbling for hours in the enclosed space. He knew many of the students at Hogwarts complained but it allowed him to filter the ones that were resilient enough to continue learning the dangerous science during their upper years of study. His diamonds.

"So, you allowed yourself to get sick?" Snape snapped. "Are you trying to inconvenience me on purpose, or is this some half-baked ploy to get yourself out of detention? You'll get no pity from me for acting like an imbecile. If I tell you to jump off the Astronomy tower, will you do that?" Tears welled up along her bottom waterline, only held back momentarily by her bottom lashes before spilling down her inflamed cheeks. Shruthi hiccoughed and shook her head no to everything that he just accused her of. She trembled as she failed to understand what she needed to do to appease him as she felt like anything she did only fanned his anger.

"God help me. Now you're crying," Snape chastised. "Stop it. I said stop it," he growled as Shruthi futilely tried to still her leaking tear ducts. Trapped in facing her humiliation which deformed to deep shame when his words echoed her own mother's. I'm sorry, I can't, I'm trying.

"Why don't you help Jane? They're hurting her." Shruthi blubbered, desperate to change the topic at hand.

"And pray tell, why would I do that?" Snape raised one his eyebrows in bored curiosity.

"Because they could kill her," Shruthi's voice cracked in emotion. This is all my fault.

"I don't see how this is my problem. Students die all the time at Hogwarts. If Miss Becker found herself pushed in front of the Hogwarts Express in a few months, I would hope it would not delay the journey back to London." He stated indifferently as if he was making small talk about the weather. He patiently waited for Shruthi's outburst at his words with a sick smile plastered to his grim features. Slytherin house had an unfortunate habit of designating a witch or wizard as the black sheep of the house. Before Jane Becker's arrival, Graham Montague, a Slytherin wizard who played on the house quidditch team in the position of chaser. Graham was the only Slytherin who was happy to see Jane in their common room.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" Shruthi asked which only irritated Severus Snape further.

"Of course not, you have nothing that is worth my while in offer," scoffed Snape in offence. He did not need money. Her company was only tolerated while she was cleaning. He had the books as reference. Severus Snape came up blank for what she could do to change his mind.

"If I find something?" She wiped her face clean with the back of her hand.

"If you find something, I will consider it," Snape brushed off her hope, unlocking the door swiftly.

'Merlin, Becker, did you not get the hint the first time? No one wants you here.' Jane read the note with tired eyes before she crumpled it up and threw it in the nearest fireplace. There was no point in finding out which Slytherin had wrote it when everyone in the house was projecting the same sentiment. She kicked a loose brick in her bedroom wall before taking off her dragonhide boots with a throbbing toe.

I'm stuck here until I die, Jane clenched her teeth as her right boot was caught on her heel. She exhaled to let out some frustration before she hooked her fingers in the lip of the boot to take it off her. She flopped down backwards onto her bed and stared at the emerald canopy. The room was illuminated with the mystical light filtering through the porthole window of the Great Lake. Right now, all she wished that she could unscrew the bolts and drown herself with a view of the underwater kingdom. It would be only a matter of time before one of the Slytherins found out that she couldn't use magic.

*

It took Shruthi Patel an entire week to determine what she could use to bargain for her best friend's safety. When she had thought of it, she almost wanted to fling herself off the Astronomy tower for being so slow to think of it in the first place. She stood in front of the guarded entrance of the Gryffindor tower with her shaky fists balled inside of her pockets. The Fat Lady was a lovely portrait of a large woman dressed in a pink bell-shaped dress. The shoulders were puffed out like piped frosting that fitted close to her wrist. Pearls were dotted where the folds adjoined and were currently crushed as she dozed off with one hand resting on her cheek. Shruthi waited patiently, leaning against the opposite wall until a Gryffindor exited from their common room.

The portrait swung open on its hinges, and out tumbled the mischievous duo of Fred and George, their red hair practically crackling with energy. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Fred chimed; a grin plastered on his face as he eyed the witch standing opposite the wide corridor.

"You're the lucky lady who graced Potter with a dance at Yule, aren't you?" George added with a wink, barely containing his laughter.

Shruthi couldn't help but play along, her smile widening. "Oh, you caught me! Guilty as charged," she teased, injecting a bit of theatrical flair into her voice. "I seem to have left my shawl at Harry's. Mum's been hounding me to fetch it for her party."

"Well, we can't have you facing the wrath of a howler," Fred said, exchanging a knowing look with George. "Shall we get Harry for you?"

"Nah, no need to trouble him. I'll just pop in and grab it myself," Shruthi insisted.

George raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? He's probably off stuffing his face with breakfast. You might catch him if you wait a bit."

Shruthi chuckled. "Trust me, I've procrastinated long enough. If I don't get that shawl soon, Mum's gonna kill me."

Fred grinned mischievously. "Well, we can't have that now, can we? Off you go then, but mind your step. The Gryffindor's can be a bit... lively."

Shruthi nodded, grateful for their help. "Thanks. I'll be quick, promise." And with that, she dashed off towards Gryffindor Tower, leaving the Weasley twins to their own devices, undoubtedly plotting their next prank.

Unlike navigating the twisty Hufflepuff dormitories, the Gryffindor ones were neatly sorted into each level of the tower. The ground floor dedicated to a cosy common room that Shruthi did not have the time to stop and admire. She climbed the left most stairs which had a sign pointing her to the wizard's quarters (signified by a wizard's hat, which was almost identical to its counterpart but was less pointed). She hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until she reached the fourth floor that held the circular dorm room that Harry Potter slept in. Shruthi stepped through and found a room quite like her own at Hufflepuff. Posters stuck up on the wall of both magical and Muggle nature – quidditch players flying right next to still photographs of football players. She skirted around the various piles of clothes dumped onto the floor, holding her breath in when she encountered a noxious odour originating from someone's dirt covered boots.

That must be Neville's, Shruthi assumed looking at the bedside table that held a small terrarium sitting on a book with the spine titled, Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties. The others were harder to identify since they lacked anything that could distinguish themselves from each other. I don't have time for this, Shruthi reasoned as she began throwing open wardrobe doors to figure out which one was Harry's. The first one she opened had two sets of formal wizard's robes - one a rotten coloured brown and fuchsia combination with white frilling down the center which hung beside a plain bottle-green set. It was the second one she swung open that had Harry's Yule ball set hanging haphazardly on the hangers, with one of its shoulders teetering on the edge. It was the bed that had its covers half-drawn and was located closest to the window that belonged to the boy. She found a half-written Charms essay splayed out on the straightened out golden and red duvet with his name printed near the top.

All three of his drawers were filled with socks, some with holes near the ankle or the toes. None contained the specific photobook that she was desperately hunting for. "C'mon Harry, where the f*ck is it?" She swore in frustration as she dropped to her hands and knees to look underneath his bed. She only found a few dust bunnies collecting next to his Firebolt. She stuck her hand, patting the ground trying to feel for a loose floorboard or latch. She shoved the handle of the fastest broomstick on the market in frustration further in the space when she found nothing, listening it clatter as it rolled to the other side.

She dusted off her knees and the front of her robes, letting out a sharp exhale. "Think, if you were a stupid teenage boy, where would hide something?" She kicked up the corner of the central rug thinking he'd hide it in an obvious place or by another's belongings. Her lips pinched together with every minute she wasted chasing dead ends. An idea popped into her own head. She checked the place she herself used to hide items from her parents. She lifted the heavy Fwooper feather-stuffed mattress and found a roughly rectangular object wrapped in a white drawstring bag. She struggled to hold the mattress with one hand as her other darted out to grab what she needed. The mattress flopped with a thud back onto the frame, the Charms essay thrown upwards and floated side to side , settling to the floor beside his broom.

She held the bag to her chest as she fled the room, throwing herself down the stairs with recklessness. She tripped down the last dozen stairs, catching herself with the lion headed box newel post at the end of the stairs. "Shruthi?" Harry called out to her. He couldn't believe his ears when Fred and George had approached him at breakfast this morning, congratulating him for something with a roguish wink and fit of combined laughter. He barely heard them say her name before he came running to the Gryffindor tower. He hadn't spoken to her since he saw outside of the Hufflepuff common room at the beginning of the semester.

She had a wild look on her face, half surprised but her eyes focused on exit behind him with fiery determination. She barrelled past him without a word, taking off in a sprint catching a few Gryffindor students off guard. No one more than Harry when he realised what she held within her arms. Shruthi heard the thudding footsteps of the boy she was desperate to avoid. He continued to call out to her, pleading for her to stop but she ignored each one.

"LET ME IN!" She banged with urgency on Severus Snape's residence next to the Slytherin dormitories. The entrance itself was hidden behind a tapestry of a basilisk, and her side of her palm pummelled the smooth stone behind it. Her nerves were frayed and her voice ragged as she struggled to breathe. She swallowed the rising bile, curling her palm into the tapestry for support. "IT'S ME, SHRUTHI."

The tapestry wound up into a neat roll near the ceiling as Snape emerged wearing a stained night shirt, smelling a foul odour of stale sweat and alcohol. For a moment, the only noise in there was Shruthi's pounding heart and laboured breaths. She thrust the bag roughly into his arms, "My of-offer f-for Jane." Snape rubbed the sleep out of his permanently sleep-deprived eyes. His eyes hollower than usual when he unwrapped whatever the pest standing before him had delivered this early in the weekend.

He flipped open to the first page and his hands lost their strength as he saw the smiling face of Lily Evans. She was just as lovely as he remembered her in his dreams. Her scarlet curls bouncing as she waved to him enthusiastically, hidden underneath a black cap as autumn leaves fell all around her. Her smile was wide enough to redden her apple cheeks. He greedily turned each page, savouring each photo that she appeared in.

The final page being the largest magical photograph of her at an intimate wedding that he was never invited to. She stood with only the side of her face visible to the photograph who stood in the aisle. Her simple white robes draped down the three stairs to the altar. She stood with the hand furthest from the camera pressed against the arch glowing with an ancient inscription of a promise of love. The other was lace covered and pressed against the chest of the man she was marrying. Her hair was pinned back with an emerald studded comb on one-side, with the other swept over her shoulder flowing to her breast. Her perfect, heart shaped lips parted in a heart-wrenching smile as her long eyelashes fanned upwards as she stared into the eyes- Of the wrong man, Snape seethed as he watched James Potter lean in to capture those lips in a chaste kiss. He slammed the book shut and realised that she was still standing in front of him with a look of expectation. "What?"

"What about Jane?" Shruthi clarified.

"She will be safe; you have my word."

"What's that worth to me?" Shruthi went to grab the book back. Snape only took a step backwards, his fingers curling over the edges protectively.

"It's worth more than you ever will be." He snarled as tapestry fell all in one go, almost on her, the silver and green tassels brushing the floor. The basilisk woven into it stared at her with the same cold expression that Snape left her with a moment ago.

Fury was obscured behind Harry's circular metal-framed eyeglasses. There were too many questions he had for her, but the none more importantly than, "Why did you do that?" Those were the only memories he had of his dead parents, and now they were in the hands of a man who was obsessed with terrorising him because he resembled his father.

"You wouldn't understand," Shruthi lamented.

"Didn't you say I'm a lot cleverer than I realise? Try me," Harry threw the words Shruthi had complimented him with. He crossed his hands at his chest, and then let them drop to his sides.

"Jane is being bullied by the other Slytherins. Snape said he wouldn't do anything about unless I found something to his mind." That cleared up nothing for Harry and he continued to stare at her blankly. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand."

"I want them back," Harry shouted. "They weren't yours to give away. They are the only pictures I have of my mum." He stormed up to her when he realised, she was trying to slip away. "I'll tell McGonagall that you stole them from me if you don't."

Shruthi ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. She didn't want to involve another teacher into this. An investigation and probing would lead into questions that she couldn't answer with compromising her safety. "Look, I did it to protect Jane. You would've done the same thing if you knew how much it meant to him." If she just a had a little more time, she would’ve been able been able to hold back from handing over a few photographs as leverage and keep a few for herself as a contingency if he didn't hold his end. Now she was in a position worse than if she had done nothing.

"Why do photos of my parents mean anything to Snape?" Shruthi opened her mouth to say something in reply and snapped it close. Harry only narrowed his gaze in suspicion. "How did you know about the scrapbook in the first place?"

"Uh, lots of students keep photos of their family," Shruthi reasoned on her feet.

"If Snape wants pictures of families, why couldn't you have given him your own?" He closed the gap between them, trapping her in a recess in the corridor. It was small semi-circular divot, perfect for undisturbed reading. Shruthi had no physical photographs of her family, they only existed within folders organised in her phone gallery. "Why does he want pictures of my mum and James?"

"He's replacing them," Shruthi pulled from thin air. "Voldemort wanted you to have photographs of him in there instead."

"Really?" Harry rebutted, believing none of her words. "Something's not adding up about you and Jane." They came to Hogwarts and almost instantly Severus Snape was interested in the pair. Then Harry discovered that they were secretly involved with the Dark Lord's plot for his revival. Since then, they have not spoken a word to him when he expected the three of them to strengthen their bonds over their disturbing secret. Even weirder, Snape had switched back to treating them like any other student at Hogwarts – with a deep loathing to make their lives miserable.

"I'm telling you everything I know; you can ask go ask him."

"Why are you lying to me, Shruthi?" Harry asked bluntly. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," insisted Shruthi. "I should've asked you for your scrapbook instead of stealing it. I'm sorry about lying to you, Harry. I was just afraid that you wouldn't have given it to me if I had asked." Something still niggled at the back of Harry's mind about her words. There was something off about her demeanour.

"No, there's something else you're hiding from me," Harry insisted, he picked at his dry lips in thought. There was something he was missing between the relationship between Snape and the two Australian witches. Severus Snape was the type of man to privilege his Slytherins unfairly. Harry understood that Jane Becker wasn't a typical Slytherin, but he would never let the others intentionally bully her. Especially when they were both were working together just last term. "Why doesn't Snape like you and Jane anymore?"

"He's never liked us," Shruthi disagreed reflexively.

"Then why would he have trusted you with helping him with the stuff last term?" Harry took her silence as him approaching the truth. The longer that Shruthi failed to say anything, the more imposing Harry felt. He had pinned both physically and mentally in this conversation, and he watched as Shruthi squirmed.

"I can't tell you."

"I think you can," Harry maintained, his hand wrapping around his phoenix-feather cored wand in his pocket. He didn't want it to come to using it, but he didn't see any other choice if she kept refusing to answer his questions. Shruthi's breathing quickened as she realised the worst nightmare since returning was coming alive in front of her eyes.

"Please you don't understand, I can't tell you." She pleaded desperately, taking a hold of his wrist to deter him from pointing it at him. This wasn't a thirty-something-year old man that she could convince to play charades with her and Jane when she didn't know any better. This was reckless teenage wizard who she'd successfully conned into believing he is the spawn of the Dark Lord.

"I don't want to hurt you; I just want you to answer my question. Why did Snape trust you?" Harry promised as his eyebrows knit together in worry at her abject fright. She had been in more horrifying situations compared to him simply retrieving his wand.

"You'll kill me if you find out."

"I'll kill you if you don't tell me," Harry prompted before he could register the threat. He felt a settling of disgust in his pores as he watched her flinch and curl into herself. Bollocks, now she's never going to tell me anything, Harry beat himself up mentally. He stepped away from her to give her room to breathe, dislodging her grip on his wrist. His stomach hurt as he felt the acid burn his insides as he wrestled with what he thought sounded like Tom Riddle's sanguine voice in his head urging him to continue threatening her until she folded. Use what Moody taught you, it advised cooly. He looked around, there was no one here. No portraits, no ghosts, no students, no witnesses. "If you don't tell me, I'll force it out of you." Not here… go somewhere more private. There was only one place at Hogwarts he knew he would be undisturbed so accosted her by the wrist and pulled her to follow his swift pace.

*

"I thought you forgot about me." The high-pitched girlish voice of the teenaged ghost that haunted the third-floor witch's bathroom accused Harry Potter.

"Hi, Myrtle," greeted Harry before moving towards the central sinks. Each porcelain sink occupied the heptagonal face but only one had the faint outline of a snake imprinted on the metal of the tap. Harry carefully inspected each one before identifying the one that led down to the infamous Chamber of Secrets.

"Who's she?" Mrytle floated over to Shruthi who stood woodenly by Harry's side. All the fight had deserted her as she figured out where he was taking her. Even if she had knocked him out now, he would only return with a vengeance. "Is she your girlfriend?" Mrytle pressed her face right up to Shruthi's. "I'll tell the headmaster that you're bringing girls to the bathroom with you."

"Go away, Mrytle," Harry answered. Mrytle pulled a face and harrumphed before disappearing into the nearby plumbing with a splash. He hissed in parseltongue with more confidence than he did the first time two years ago. He watched as washbasin disappeared into the ground being replaced by a set of unlit spiralling stairs. Harry told Shruthi to descend before him to ensure that he wouldn't have to chase after her if she attempted to escape him. He was offended that Mrytle would think he'd bring anyone to the Chamber of Secrets, much less a girlfriend to a place so unromantic. His hands grazed the rough stone as continue to descend with only the light produced by his wand to guide him. Once he had to catch himself from falling as the stairs were wet from the dripping ceiling. Another he had to catch Shruthi by the back of her robe.

He expected his progress to be halted by the blockage of the tunnel that had stopped Ron from following him, but it was nowhere to be found. Shruthi arrived at the true entrance to the Chamber before him, and he saw stick the tip of her tongue between her incisors and blow. A weedy hiss was produced, and Harry understood as it as parseltongue spoken by a person with a sizable lisp. The large metal vault-like door reacted to it by having the metal snakes retract inwards with a horrible grinding sound. Shruthi covered her ears with her hands as she watched the earth around it tremble, unleashing a storm of dust onto the ground as it rolled into an inner cavity of the wall.

The Chamber of Secrets was a gargantuan open space constructed with white limestone with the sides supported by Grecian pillars that streamlined the water from the roof to the sunken sides of the floor through their fluted shafts. The sides were biased towards the opposite end of where the pair were standing, allowing the water to pool underneath the stony face of Salazar Slytherin. He was crudely captured into the stone with only hollows for eyes as the sculptor focalized on intimidation. He was reflected in the still, knee-high water below to complete the symmetry of the space. The perfectly preserved corpse of a the fully grown basilisk that was rumoured to be the founders disturbed the false tranquillity. "You can speak parseltongue?"

"No, I just copied what you did." Harry helped Shruthi over the jagged ledge separating the Chamber from the rocky trek to arrive there by holding out a hand for her to take. Shruthi held it looking to her left to estimate how long it would take for the door to take its place once more. Too long for her to trap Harry here was her conclusion. Inside she felt claustrophobic no matter how tall the curved roof loomed above her.

Harry fiddled with his wand for a passing moment, "Imperio." He watched as her sharp brown eyes turned dazed immediately. He waited for her to resist as Professor Moody had demanded of them during his class on the Unforgivables but she remained docile. She reminded him of vintage doll that Petunia had kept in the living room that always unsettled him when he would sneak out for a glass of water at night. A cold shiver descended the length of his spine as he commanded her to speak. And speak she did.

Chapter 10: The Second Task

Chapter Text

Barty Crouch Jr. suggested that we push Voldemort's resurrection forward from the original date of the end of the third task of the Tri-Wizard tournament. Severus Snape worked diligently to concoct a better version of the resurrection potion as described in the books. While Barty used his own series to guide in him retrieving Voldemort's horcruxes before you could canonically destroy them.

Oh, what are horcruxes?They're pieces of Voldemort's soul that he stuffed into different objects that he had a sentimental connection to. You've already destroyed one without knowing – Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets, but you need to destroy them all in order for him to truly die. You're one, you know? He accidentally made you a horcrux when he tried to kill you as a baby.

How do I know that?It's all there in the books, Harry. We know all about your past, your present and your future. Well, now Snape and Barty also know it because me and Jane told them.

As I was saying, the night of the Yule ball, I was supposed to whisk you away from the dancefloor after the victor's dance for some privacy outside of the ball. There, Severus Snape who was tasked with monitoring for rule breakers loitering the courtyard would spot us and accuse us of wrongdoing. As punishment, we were to follow him to Hogsmeade to help him retrieve barrels of freshly brewed butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks. Jane and Barty Crouch Jr. disguised as Professor Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody would join us for the excursion.

As we approach the outskirts of the village, either Jane or I would ask Severus if we could call our parents since we are close to the Muggle village we use to send our daily communications. We expect you to follow us trustingly to where the magical wards grow weak outside of Hogsmeade enough to allow the two Death Eaters toApparateto Voldemort's location using their mark. Accosting the three us, we would arrive at Little Hangleton. There, Severus Snape, and Barty Crouch Jr. would reveal themselves as agents of the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

Jane and I would take your side and attempt to help you against the two wizards, until we are ultimately disarmed and bound. There, Severus would decree that the two of us will be used as a sacrifice to resurrect the Dark Lord… unless you, Harry Potter, will willingly donate a vial of your blood to be used instead. We anticipate that you immediately volunteer to spare our lives due to our false friendship or your saviour complex. It doesn't matter to us what reason, as long as the resurrection is completed successfully.

After which, we all return to Hogwarts with no one suspecting your extended absence due to the nature of the festivities. Even if you do run straight to Dumbledore to tell him what has transpired, a simple check of your bloodwork will reveal a high alcohol level as when Snape drew your blood, he replaced it. Your testimony will be discarded before you even would have a chance to process it.

Annoyingly, we abandoned the plan due to an unforeseen interruption. But we never expected you to believe that you were Voldemort's son (James Potter is probably rolling in his grave right now). Our luck continued with your self-imposed isolation from everyone else in the castle, and the fact you were missing the night before the ball was never questioned.

Every chilling word that came out of Shruthi's bewitched mouth fuelled Harry's simmering anger, whatever she missed was understood through their connected minds. It grew, and it morphed, and it transformed, until its disfigured vice-like grip tightened around Harry's heart and unleashed itself as he lost control of theImperiuscurse. TheAvada Kedeveragreen of his irises were consumed wholly by his dilated pupils, as he watched her gasp and gulp for oxygen as if she had just been drowning for the last couple of minutes. His rage coiled around his lungs, squeezing it as his breathes were just as shallow as hers. They came out as puffs of condensation in the chill of the Chamber. Everything in his periphery was lost as it narrowed to her betrayal. The anguish was worse than Ron's and Hermione's combined. "You traitor," Harry swore with barred teeth. He wanted nothing more than to kill her to inflict the same amount of pain he was in right now. Shruthi tore her gaze from his as if the intensity had scalded her.

Don't kill her,the voice in his head urged him for caution.But she deceived me, she pretended to care about me and be my friend, Harry's reply rang like a child begging their mother for comfort after an accident. "Did you say anything that wasn't a lie?"

Shruthi remained silence in fear of anything she could say could be misconstrued. Snape had drugged him like he did Hermione Granger. Every detention they had with the mercurial professor, he put out a jug of refreshing water at the front to help themselves. Jane and Shruthi received instructions not to drink from it as it was laced withConfoundingpotion. She finally settled on supplicating him with niceties, "You did the best you could with what you had known at the time." Harry did not let her take any steps towards the entrance of the Chamber, forcing her backwards and deeper.

"You're talking like you weren't the one who controlled what information I had," Harry complained, prowling towards her with his wand in hand. "You knew everything about me, and you didn't think to tell me any of it? You and Jane both went running to Snape instead!" Shruthi's next backstep placed her weight-supporting leg half on the limestone floor and half in the air. She lost her balance and toppled over into the basin. Her elbow catching her fall, banging into the smooth stone causing pain to erupt from the site of collision all the way up her arm like Lichtenberg figures.

Harry loomed over her as he stepped down with a splash into the stagnant reservoir, soaking the hem of his robes dark. She scurried backwards on her behind until her right-hand lost grip. The pierced black diary inscribed with the golden letters bearing 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' shot out between them. Shruthi grabbed it with both of her hands before Harry could even think to do the same.

"Give it to me," Harry demanded with a cadence that eerily echoed Severus Snape.

Shruthi looked at the drenched diary and then back at Harry before answering, "Why do you want it? It's dead." The ooze that bubbled from the puncture had fossilised long before she had gotten her hands on it. Harry couldn't explain the kinship he felt with the book. Shruthi dug her fingers in more tightly, Barty Crouch Jr. wanted it as well, if she was able to get out the Chamber alive, she'd be able to influence him to hold Snape accountable.

Harry missed the change of Shruthi's demeanour, but he didn't miss her attempt to make a dash past him. Grabbing her by the back of her robes he spun them both off-balance, only caught when the hand clutching is wand smacked against the stonework of Salazar Slytherin. The earth shook as his mouth parted downwards, revealing a damp tunnel, more than large enough to accommodate the basilisk. His knuckles were bruised as waited for the reverberations in the water to come to a still. "Lumos,"Harry cast, directing a beam of blue light in front of him. Even with the spell, he could not see what laid at the other end of it. Three steps emerged from the water to allow the pair to enter if they dared.

Harry excruciated between Shruthi and the overwhelming urge to explore the new subterranean passage. Tearing the book from her arms, he decided to drag her with him into the passage. "I don't want to go in there!" begged Shruthi.

"You're coming whether you want to or not," Harry threatened, blinding her temporarily as his wand pointed at her face. She didn't need to be told twice, stumbling up the stairs in front of him. There was an arched door on the other side, like the one to the entrance of the Chamber, decorated with metal snakes. This time in the shape of a wreath –or an ouroboros, Shruthi thought. It was nestled within crumbling stone arches with twisting snakes as the pillars, the bottom third of which were moss covered.

Harry butted her out of the way, clutching at his lightening scar on his forehead. He moaned in pain as he was forced to relive memories of the young Voldemort when he first encountered the room. His grip on Shruthi tightened subconsciously, but it was only on the cloth of her robes. While he was distracted, Shruthi frantically pulled her arms through the sleeves. Harry gritted his teeth as the young Tom Riddle did as he found himself frustrated with the secret of how to open it. Tom spent days carefully running his fingers over each aspect of the design to understand what he needed to do, rushing down here when he had finished his classes.

Shruthi ducked out of the cloth, and crawled out of the wet fabric until she was completely in the clear of Harry. It had taken Tom Riddle almost an entire school year to finally find how to appease Salazar Slytherin's puzzle. "Crucio," Harry cast with the same vigour that Tom Riddle had on a classmate that he had kidnapped. The scarlet curse rushed onto and collided with Shruthi square in the back. She fell to her knees, her mouth agape as her screams intertwined with another in Harry's mind.

The pain that Shruthi experienced was indescribable while she was under its influence. There was an unbearable agony that was experienced by every nerve in her body simultaneously. She was unable to register anything but pain, all the world lost to her as she spasmed on the dirty floor. She was unable to breathe, only screaming and crying horrible guttural sounds. The curse only grew worse with time as Harry unleashed more of his rage into it. His dominant hand trembled to the point he needed to hold it with his left to keep it stable. The veins of his eyes burst, as everything narrowed to just her punishment.Stop, that is enough, the voice boomed inside of Harry while he was only seeing red.

THAT IS ENOUGH, when Harry refused to let the spell end. The connection severed tossing them into pitch blackness once again. Their combined ragged breaths were the only evidence of the other existing in the space. A wave of nauseousness washed over Harry in the background of the faint mechanicalhissthat sounded from the door behind them. A ghostly blue inched as the door swung open and came to a stop as it spilled over Shruthi's body. Harry stood at the centre of it, casting a long shadow over her face. He stepped aside and watched her wracked sobs while he felt unconnected to his own body. Her fingers uncurled and curled against the stone as she cried in despair, curling into a foetal position. He slumped against the frame, closing his eyes to stop the throbbing behind them.

What have I done?,Harry shuddered. All the righteous wrath he felt only moments ago extinguished as swiftly as they burned. He let go of her robe in his hand, feeling it spill like wasted ink and wrapping around his shoes. It anchored him like gravity, while he carried the leaden weight of his guilt on his shoulders. His knees buckled, "Shruthi?" He asked in a timid voice.

He wasn't sure if she had heard him as she continued to sob. He crawled towards her very slowly so he wouldn't frighten her any further. "Shruthi?" He asked again in a hoarse voice when he was beside her, her back facing him. Harry's fingers lingered just above her shoulders, but they did not touch her skin. He laid out her robe over like a blanket. He swallowed the bile at the bottom of his throat, "Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone, Potter," Shruthi cried, curling herself into her body further. Her hands tugging up the robe to cover her face. She had never felt more miserable in her entire life than right now. Despite her not experiencing the mind-shattering pain currently, the after-effects were just as cruel. There was a part of Harry that raged with betrayal, but another that was drowning in regret. Unable to process other, he found his footing and left the Muggle alone to recover in solitude.

*

Barty Crouch Jr. struggled to crouch down to come eye-level with his special trunk that he kept in his office. He pressed two hidden tabs that pricked the pads of his thumbs to identify him by his blood. They allowed him to flick them upwards after glowing gold in recognition. The lid opened and inside were smaller and smaller trunks slotted neatly within the outer one until the very centre which held the trembling body of the real Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody. As Barty swung over a leg which shrunk down to allow him to join the man he held hostage. He designed the inside of the trunk to resemble the dingy jail cell of the infamous magical prison, Azkaban, located on a remote island in the middle of the North Sea.

Alastor recognised his visitor with weary eyes, his back firmly pressed against the crude wall of his prison. "Running low on hair, are we?" He asked gruffly, while already massive chunks of the ones were fully visible, refusing to regrow as an act of rebellion. Barty took more each time he came as the efficacy of the Polyjuice potion diminished with each passing day. Soon, the real Moody would be bald.

"Not yet," answered Barty, setting down a plate of freshly baked blueberry muffins that he had taken from the kitchens. Alastor eyed the plate suspiciously. "Eat." From early on in his imprisonment, Alastor had refused to eat or drink anything offered by Barty Crouch Jr., only indulging in those needs when it became absolutely necessary to do so. His Auror training was to master control of his body, mind, and magic. The temptation was strong when for the first time Barty had placed something appetising rather than serving the gruel given to him in Azkaban.

Alastor ignored it, supressing his appetite through sheer willpower as he stared at himself. He watched himself reach forward and take a steaming muffin from the plate and unpeel the liner, raining down crumbs. The blueberries burst in Barty's mouth, overwhelming his tastebuds with their tartness that complimented the sweet batter. He had specifically asked Winky, his old house elf, now a member of the Hogwarts staff, to unknowingly make these for her old master. Alastor's only eye narrowed, "Why are you here?"

Barty continued to savour the muffin in calculated bites, with his mouth full he explained, "Can't I just spend some time with you with you assuming I'm up to no good?" Ever since Barty Crouch Jr. had read about the Marauders, he felt a sense of loss that he was never invited to join them while they overlapped at Hogwarts. He knew once he retired as Moody, one of the first bucket list items he wanted to accomplish is to become an Animagus, a wizard or witch who can transform into an animal. He let out a bark of laughter, splattering the food in his mouth at Moody's open scepticism.

"Okay, I did come here to ask you one thing," Barty chirped. "Did you ever interact with Muggles whilst you were an Auror?" Barty had asked many questions to properly impersonate Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody, to the extent that even Moody was quietly impressed by Barty Crouch Jr.'s profiling skills. This question, however, had never been asked.

"I did. Very rarely, the Muggle equivalent of the Aurors would require assistance from the force. It was all organised through their Prime Minister's office. The opposite also occurred, with Black's escape being of recent memory." Alastor learned to answer faithfully lest he face some unsavoury spells from Barty.

"What did you think of them?" Barty leaned forward, scrunching up the liner and tossing it next to the plate. He let out a belch before excusing himself.

"Their procedures were near identical, and most of them were good sports in sharing jurisdiction. Learned a few clever tricks from them on evidence collection – very meticulous lot. Had a pint together before going our separate ways."

"Did you keep in touch with any of them?"

"No, they had their memories wiped straight away, but we were careful not to let them see any magic." The Muggle police needed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's help with tracking a serial killer. The Minister's Office was hesitant and only allowed the transaction due to tracking based spells and charms being difficult to detect by Muggle technology.

"If that wasn't so, would you have wanted to?" Barty asked, almost breathlessly.

"There was one…" Moody recalled from deep within his memories, closing his eye in thought as he reminisced. "Fresh to their team, she was, but hungry to make her mark on that case. A junior, just like I was back then, but she didn't hesitate to back us up when the rest of them doubted our chops. We were brought on as consultants, said we were specialising in violent crime. She had nerves of Goblin steel when dug up that grave in Saddleworth Moor. After the case wrapped up, she told me to keep in touch…" He added after a pause, "Harper - that was her name. Justine Harper."

Moody rested the back of his head against the wall waiting for Barty to speak but it never came. He cracked his eye open to see the boy halfway returned to his own body with his hands woven through his blond straw hair, head downwards in thought. Moody had very few opportunities to speak to anyone about the Muggle policewoman he worked briefly with in the sixties. No one in the Auror office spoke of it as when they returned, they were instructed to go back to business as usual. Albus Dumbledore was the only man he thought he had told over a glass of firewhisky on a cold night, but his memory had been sluggish since his imprisonment.

"If you're on the hunt for Muggles to target, you're out of luck with her. Died a few years back, they called it a car accident," Moody informed gruffly. During his forced retirement, he had both the magical and Muggle newspapers delivered to his door. The boy sitting in front of him had taken everything away from him now, Moody had nothing more to lose. Dignity and pride were privileges of the other Ministerial departments, not for ex-Aurors at the mercy of Death Eaters.

"I haven’t met them all, but the ones I have seem decent enough. Not so different from us, really." Moody was waiting for Barty to disagree and spout on about magical supremacy, but he only silently stared. And then it began, Barty Crouch Jr. began speaking in rushed sentences, struggling to take breaths in between as he spilled to Moody everything that has occurred since he's stepped onto Hogwarts' grounds.

Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody was torn between trying to understand what sort of new torture method that his colleague's son was inflicting upon him and thinking that St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was missing a patient on fourth floor. Perhaps it was mixture of both, Moody thought, as the boy's story detailed the rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort once again. Once Barty had fallen silent again, he wore an expression of wanting approval or reassurance. Moody wasn't sure by what he wanted him to say. "Understood."

"Is that all you really have to say to me after all that?" spluttered Barty.

"You expect me to believe that a pair of Muggle children snuck into Hogwarts and helped bring back your Dark Lord?" His conversation partner only nodded. "I'm surprised they're not dead already, Barty. Or is the Cruciatus the only trick you've got?"

"I don't want to hurt them," Barty admitted in a small voice. "I really, honestly don't. They're different. They're so clever and curious. They crack me up so much that they think you've got a sense of humour now. And they are very cunning. I- I believe they would've made fantastic witches." His eyes were downturned at the last statement.

"And you’re just figuring this out now? Weren’t there Muggleborns at Hogwarts when you were there?" Moody shot back; his words sharp as a whip.

"Muggles are different, or at least Jane and Shruthi are. They way they look and navigate the world is so different to you and me. All the little things they must consider and do like tying up their shoelaces and setting up meeting points with one another. They've given me a new perspective on being a wizard," Barty explained passionately. One that made him almost reassess his loyalty to the Dark Lord's goal of extermination, subjugation, and enslavement of the Muggle and Muggleborn population. I wouldn't last a day in their shoes.

"Bit late for that realization now, lad. I suppose hindsight isn't the strongest suit for your lot." Moody was sitting on the Ministry benches during Barty Crouch Jr.'s joint trial with the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother, Rabastan Lestrange. It had come to a great shock to everyone in the Ministry of Magic, that stern Barty Crouch Sr.'s own son had been corrupted. Only made worse when he sentenced the teenage boy to Azkaban himself after denouncing their familial connection him publicly. Heartless, grew synonymous with the Crouch family.

"I know that," Barty exclaimed. "Don't you see that I just want to help them." His Dark Mark throbbed threateningly at his treasonous thoughts. He didn't know how he was to balance the gratitude he had for the Dark Lord and the gratitude he had for the two Muggle girls.

"Why? They've made it clear they want to be left alone. Meddling could lead to your death—or theirs."

"I would've wound up dead anyway," Barty swallowed, remembering what the books had fated for him. "Can't you just tell me what I should do?"

"For a boy who snagged twelve O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, you sure struggle to think for yourself. Is going against your father the only thing you're good at? Is that why you ran off to Voldemort, looking for someone else to tell you what to do?" Moody had no patience for Dark wizards and witches. Any consequences they were dealt, they were fully deserving of, especially ones that subscribed to their principles because they wanted to be a contrarian. It surprised him when Barty Crouch Jr. took the insult to his character on his chin.

"My father demanded obedience. I craved freedom. Each of use gambled on who was going to shape the world the way that they wanted, and yet we both lost. Those girls gave me a second chance at winning that bet, I don't plan to lose to him again. What would you do if you were me?" Moody looked at the boy sitting in front of him, one leg pressed against his chest, the other half-legged against the ground. He looked as if he hadn't aged a day since Hogwarts, he still possessed the boyish glow of youth. The one that was plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet while he grovelled on the floor, screaming his innocence to his father's deaf ears. Underneath that veneer, Moody saw a deep desire to prove himself – a burning inferno that will threaten to consume anything in his way. It was if he trapped Fiendfyre behind his silver eyes.

"If you truly want them to believe you've changed for the better, start by showing it to those around them."

Barty pushed the plate towards Moody once again, "I'll start with you then. Eat."

*

Severus Snape screamed in rage as he threw a half drunken glass of firewhisky at the wall of his private quarters. The Goblin made glass simply bounced off the wallpaper unscathed with a ping, raining down its contents through its flight. The amber coloured liquid splattered all over the already messy floor, soaking into the piles of parchment, nightshirts, and ruined furniture. Snape glared at the offending glassware rolling back towards him as he sat in the centre of the chaos of his room. He had spent the entire weekend trapped within these four walls, even declining the knocks originating at his door. They can do without me for a few days, Snape thought bitterly as he wanted only time for himself rather than solving teenage skirmishes in Slytherin house.

The Dark Lord, Voldemort, could summon him right this minute and he would reject the call. He wanted to wallow in pity with the scrapbook laying open innocuously in his lap. Time was meaningless, and so was the throb of hunger in his belly. The only thing that mattered to him was memorising every detail that had become fuzzy with time of the woman he loved. The more he drank, he could transport himself into those photographs. Something that was backfiring horribly on him as he now couldn't control the hallucinations of his worst school bully, James Potter.

As he closed his eyes, the delicate lace of her gloves stroked against his face as he ran his hands greedily along the silk of her matrimonial robes. He traced her sweetheart neckline, tsking at her jutting out collarbones. Does he not keep you fed, Lils? Our table would always have been abundant with anything you wanted. The sleeves of her robes were puffed at the shoulder and ruched along her upper arm. His fingers skimmed where the fabric had come inwards at her waist before flaring outwards into a ballgown. It was a lovely set of robes, something he would've picked out for her, but it became bitter when he thought of James Potter choosing something so pleasing to him. I couldn't have afforded these then… Emeralds the size of his thumbnails was fashioned into a leafy clip dotted with pearls to look like mistletoe berries that held her hair, so it draped over her left shoulder in soft waves. A matching choker lined her lovely neck.

She was simply angelic, and no words would be able to capture her loveliness had she exuded on her wedding day. This should have been mine, he screeched, ripping himself from her gentle hands. He refused to meet her eyes, as every time he had they muddled with the identical piercing ones of her son, before distorting to the eyes drowned in hurt that she had possessed when he had called her a mudblood all those regrettable years ago.

The smug James Potter replaced him as he was pushed down a step. He watched helplessly as James fingered her hair, fixing it so it sat properly as she placed her hand upon the breast of his best dress robes. He watched James' throat bob as he swallowed nervously before leaning down to capture the lips of his wife chastely, with a promise of passion later. Lily twisted her head to the side, nipping back demanding that passion now as James pulled away with smirk, leaving her with a faint head. The cheers and applause were but a distant buzz to all three of them.

Severus Snape awoke with a gasp, grabbing the glass in his hands slamming it back until the alcohol burned the back of his throat. His current nightshirt again drenched in a cold sweat that clung to him as he peeled it from him, tossing to the aside to join all the other ones that were ruined over these countless hours. It happened again, he could never finish that dream with him marrying her, he always was replaced by James either by him stepping away or by James pushing him aside. Even his own imagination didn't let him corrupt the wonderful Lily Evans.

Somewhere in the pages of his childhood notebooks, not the textbook that he shared with Lily, he had a page where he written the words, 'Severus Evans', in the smallest font he could produce. The entire page filled with the tiny prayer to God he hoped was listening to his wish to wipe his father's name from his miserable existence. Some days, he still thought of himself as it to keep her legacy alive after James Potter had ruined everything that made his Lily Evans special. Her intelligence, her wit, her loyalty, her fierce just nature.

You would've lived if you were still mine, Lils. We could have lived by that little cottage by the seaside that you dreamed of, away from the smokestacks of co*keworth. With a little garden by the back, with the mottled green stones that led to the ocean. We'd keep the cat you always wanted as practice for when we had a child. Henry for a boy, Rose for a girl (as Lily admitted to him during a particularly boring Transfiguration lesson). Hopefully one of each, that we'd spoil rotten before they head off to Hogwarts with us. You'd teach Charms and I'd teach Potions – both under Professor Evans.

A sad smile sprouted on his lips at that lost dream. There was nothing Severus Snape wouldn't do to carve a little slice of heaven for Lily Evans. Even if Voldemort had succeeded in enslaving the Muggles and Muggleborns, his Lily would be untouchable. Now, Severus Snape sat in his drawers, flushed from the buzz of firewhisky in his veins that he was slowly sweating out, with an uncertain number of life debts hanging over his throbbing head.

*

Harry drummed his wand against his thigh as he patiently waited for everyone to leave the snow-capped greenhouse. At the beginning of the lesson, Professor Sprout had Banished the snow away, and the class had watched as it slid off the sides of the onion domed roof, plopping on the ground in a puddle that immediately froze over. After the two hours they suffered here, all of them felt a lot like the Shrivelfigs they were tending to for the past couple of months. While Harry was tempted to rush off with the others back to the warmth of the castle, he needed to wait patiently for Neville Longbottom. The small, cherub-like blond always stayed back at the end of class to help Professor Sprout put away any equipment and to tidy up the long timber benches that the class worked on today. Neville shot Harry a grateful smile when he helped dusting the dirt that had spilled from the Shrivelfig pots from the ground into the dustpan. He stared at the purple fruits that firstly had been plump but as the weather became colder had withered into vascular husks. Professor Sprout had mentioned that Professor Snape was quite fond of these, and Harry wondered if it was because they reminded him of a certain part of his body (his heart, of course). They would be ready for harvest next week, just in time for the third years to brew their Shrinking solutions, and the sixth years for their Elixir to Induce Euphoria.

Not heeding Cedric's advice, Harry had unlocked the golden egg that he had won months ago in the first round of the Tri-Wizard tournament. A horrible, pitchy scream erupted from it shocked him momentarily before he fumbled to relock the petals in place again. It had given everyone in his dorm room a fright, but no one had the courage to shout at him for waking them up in the middle of night. Though Harry swore that Ron grumbled something foul underneath his breath directed at Harry before closing the curtains of his four-poster bed with a harsh tug.

They both cleaned up at the copper basins running with ice cold water through its plumbing. The cold did not bother Neville as he splashed his face with it and took care to scrub with a small bristle brush underneath his dirt encrusted fingernails. Harry was not so immune to the cold, jerking his fingers back before they succumbed to frostbite. He'd go wash up properly at one of the bathrooms inside before heading to the Great Hall for lunch. Neville was methodical about his post-Herbology ritual. He was whispering under his breath the properties of the Abyssinian plant as if it would go missing from his head if didn't. Harry had to turn the handle of the tap shut as Neville became lost in his thoughts and he was just wasting the water. Only then did Neville jolt up in recognition, "Thanks for helping today, Harry. It went a lot faster than usual," Neville thanked meekly.

"No worries," Harry returned, handing his absentminded dorm mate a beige handtowel that hung below the basin. Neville quickly dried his face and his hands before folding it into thirds and rehanging it on its rack. He followed Harry to grab their schoolbags that they had stowed away at the beginning of lesson underneath their benches. Neville's half unzipped, which almost resulted in him dropping a few of his stuffed belongings onto the floor below. He hurried after Harry who was already making the trench back, missing the way the other boy stepped over the ground just outside of the door of their outdoor classroom.

Neville's dragonhide boot lost grip on the ice and he started slipping backwards until a firm hand grabbed his outstretched one. "Gotcha," Harry declared as his hand squeezed and pulled forwards. He wouldn't let go until Neville regained his balance.

Neville's face flushed red as he let out a nervous laughter. "Thanks, Harry," stammered Neville. Every trip to the school infirmary meant a letter sent back to his strong-willed grandmother that raised him since he could remember. Followed by a terse reply by owl disciplining him for his clumsiness coupled with a reminder that his father would have not done the same at age. He'd always live in the long shadow cast by the infallible Frank Longbottom.

"No worries, Nev," Harry grinned, his hand lingering on the other boy's. It was at this moment that Harry realised how much he missed Hermione Granger's physical affection. Neville did not seem to notice that Harry had not let go while they began walking again. His head was still stuck on those Shrivelfigs and their development. He wondered if he could accelerate their growth by using aquaponics as they were hearty plants with aggressive roots that could withstand any environment. Would the excess water available keep them stuck in their maturation phase, or would the chill quicken their senescence?, Neville debated, wishing he could propose his question to the cheerful Herbology Professor.

"Nev," Harry said as he brushed his shoulder against the other to catch his attention again.

"Oh, yes, Harry," Neville piped as he broke out his thoughts, checking his surroundings to see if he had missed another hazard.

"You're pretty good at Herbology, you know," Harry complimented. He learned from Shruthi's memories of what the second task of the tournament conscripted Harry to do. He was glad he learned it now, and not during the event itself. How embarrassing would it have been for him if he was stood on the edge of the Great Lake in front of the entire school with no way to copy the other champions as they raced to retrieve the 'special people' from the underwater kingdom. Either Neville or Dobby was supposed to inform him of a way to breath underwater for a period long enough for him to win. Though, Harry was already aware of the answer, for curiosities sake he wanted to see if he would get the same answer now.

Neville blushed deeper, "I don't know about that… I think I'm about as good as everyone else."

"I think you're underselling yourself, Nev. You're like a genius at Herbology, a real green thumb." Harry wished he had Neville's natural gift; it would make his summers tending Petunia's garden much easier.

"It's the only thing I'm good at," Neville whispered with a frown. His grandmother wished it had been Defence Against the Dark Arts or Charms. He spent many nights, pouring over both subjects with his father's wand in hand to remedy his shortcomings but he didn't have his father's natural aptitude towards the practical magics. He inherited the skill of his ancestors, the one that would aid in the family business that his grandmother was trying to divest from.

Harry knew better than Neville. He just needed the right encouragement and teaching for him to become a skilled duellist. Harry would have to wait before he could pay back Neville for his unwavering faith in him as he wasn't knowledgeable enough to form Dumbledore's Army quite yet. "You were a pretty good dancer at the ball," Harry recalled as he remembered the Neville had taken Ginny Weasley. I wonder how Ron took that. He hoped that the weather will be warmer by then for his swim.

"Oh, well, I-" Neville stammered, feeling shy that he had caught the attention of Harry Potter with his dance moves. Somehow that had not transferred to his daily life, as he tripped with his next step.

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, Nev. It's for the next round of the tournament. I need some way to breathing underwater for at least an hour, and I don't think I could do a Bubble-Head charm." Harry pushed forward.

"You wouldn't believe it, Harry. There's a plant just like that in a book that Professor Moody gave to me earlier this year, Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties. It's called Gillyweed, it's an invasive species supposed to only grow in warm, salty water but I swore I saw some by the edge of the lake. I was actually going to pull it up and replant it before it died," Neville prattled on joyfully as his thoughts wondered to how it could've managed to find itself at Hogwarts.

"No, don't do that. I need it for the tournament," Harry sputtered, thanking his overabundant luck that he caught Neville just in time before he ruined his plans.

"I guess I can give you a leaf, but the poor thing needs to be mostly intact if its going to survive repotting." Neville thought of repurposing one of the metal cans that some of the Honeyduke's sweet came in as a temporary home for it. He'd need to ask his grandmother if they could take a trip down to the sea during the summer.

"Is that enough for an hour or so?"

"The amount you eat doesn't affect it's working length, only the freshness," Neville recalled. "The author did recommend eating a smaller amount as its not supposed to taste that good. I supposed it wouldn't work at all if you ended up chucking it all up anyway." Harry let go of Neville's warm and calloused hand as they reached the door to the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. He looked away guilty as he realised that he had dirtied Neville's hand with the residue still left on his.

"Noted. I grab some off you when the task starts," Harry nodded as he parted ways with Neville with a sure confidence that he could win the second round of the tournament. Neville gave him a wave before lumbering off towards the Great Hall.

*

"Harry, you wouldn't believe how the Gillyweed was planted. There was some sort of spatial portal for its roots to grow into. When I pulled it out of the bank, the roots tasted salty. Whoever planted it-" Neville gushed as he held a silver tin with a stylised sticker with the words, 'Honeydukes No-Melt Mystery-Flavoured Ice Cream', stuck to the front of it with the top left corner peeling off due to water damage. After discovering that fact, Neville had spent the entire day in the library investigating how to replicate that in the tin.

"Nev, I really appreciate you getting it for me, but this is a bad time," Harry cut him off with a reassuring pat on the head as he stripped off his robes to reveal his scarlet and golden wetsuit underneath. Goosebumps broke out immediately on his skin as he was exposed to the bitter cold of the morning breeze rolling over the Black Lake onto the shoreline where everyone was gathered. Like the quidditch seating, they sat on metal benches with each row placed higher than the last. The closest one to the waterline was designated for the four champions and the judges. Harry looked left and right, Cedric Diggory dressed in an identical wetsuit in the Hufflepuff colours, the outline of his wand clear in the hidden pocket on the side of his left thigh. Harry thought he looked like a very tense bumblebee as he stuffed his own wand in case he needed it. He also had a small silver scalpel from his potion's kit, currently capped in a dragonhide scabbard that he hid underneath his sleeve.

The other side was occupied by the foreign teams. Fleur Delacour was still in her baby blue robes and judging by her outwards discomfort, Harry almost thought she'd go swimming in them. It was Victor Krum that he couldn't tear his gaze off, the Bulgarian victor was only wearing swimming shorts doing a series of warm up stretches. As he twisted left and right, everyone was affixed to the muscles of his torso rippling in the morning sun. Krum hadn't noticed it as he looked to be in an intense conversation with his school headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, as they were discussing their strategy for this event after coming last in the previous task. Harry's mouth became dry as his eyes roamed over the fine dusting of hair over Krum's well-defined pectorals.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Cedric asked as he disapproved of the younger boy's unabashed staring, though he did quietly agree that the global quidditch superstar was a strange-looking Adonis. If I took off my top off would I get the same attention?, Cedric's jealousy reared itself ugly head. Harry turned red at being caught and floundered for an excuse and settled on admitting his nerves. "Did you end up taking that bath?"

"Yeah, I did. Thanks for that." Harry had spent last night enjoying the luxury of the Prefect's bathroom with his golden egg for company. He found the song very enchanting to listen to, despite already knowing what he needed to accomplish. The multicolour bubbles left his self still drenched in woody perfumes, mostly his unruly hair drinking in the pine scent. He understood why he panicked originally with the threat of,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took.

But past an hour - the prospect's black

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

Clearly, he misunderstood Albus Dumbledore's hyperbole. He scanned to area that the Gryffindor had seated themselves, finding it funny that the school naturally divided itself into its houses when it was clear it was open seating. The youngest male sibling of the Weasley family was missing, and none of his family had noticed yet.

"Do you have any idea what they've taken from us?" Cedric asked in a hushed whispered. He spent the morning ransacking his room, trying to find out what was not there. His broomstick, a Comet 260, or his school trunk was stowed safely underneath his bed were missing from his possession. He struggled to think of something else he would 'sorely miss', considering his wand was safely on him (though he checked every five minutes to make sure it wasn't replaced with a convincing imposter).

Yeah, your bloody girlfriend, Ced, Harry chided internally. "No idea, I thought it would've been my Firebolt. I'd be pissed if they chucked that underwater." A broom equal to more than the total Hogwarts' tuition for all seven years ruined for a tournament he didn't even sign up willingly would have turned him murderous.

"I'd be too," Cedric agreed, his forehead creasing in horror at the thought of a broom that valuable being rendered unusable. If the rumours were true, there were only about a hundred in global circulation due to the angsty Goblin workers that produced the patented ironwork. Cedric had been on the waiting list since its release two years and the conservative delivery date he was given by Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley was a decade. "I guess we'll find out what it is when we get down there."

"Yep."

Barty Crouch Jr. sat down at the very end of the staff area, his prosthetic leg banging against the leg of the temporary seating causing a rumble to be sent down the length. "Sorry," he grumbled as he drew his brown overcoat close in the middle. His face was wrought into a permanent glare as the reflected sun was beating right into his eyes. He patted the numerous pockets, some hidden, before drawing a pair of Muggle sunglasses to wear.

"Alastor," Barty Crouch Sr. had taken a seat next to his disguised son when his designated seat was next to the Ludovic Bagman, his co-organizer for this international event. His arrival caught Barty Crouch Jr. guard as he almost snapped one of the arms off the spectacles in surprise.

"Morning, Bartemius," Barty Crouch Jr. replied after wrangling his runaway heart. He slipped on the glasses to hide his Polyjuice potion dilated pupils which were sensitive to light. He did his best to hide a grin from the absurd situation he was in, knowing his father would never share his humour. Barty Crouch Sr. was dressed as he always was, a neatly ironed pinstriped robe embodied with the Ministry of Magic emblem over his breast and a black bowler hat hiding his short grey hair with a ruler-neat parting. It had gone prematurely grey after the death of his wife, and the years of concentration he held to maintain the Imperius curse to keep his son imprisoned. "I'm eager to see what you've got lined up for us today. Should I be taking notes for my classes?"

"You should come home, Alastor," Barty Crouch Sr. murmured.

"I'd fancy a cup of tea and a chat, Barty, but I've still got a few things to sort out first." Namely, he still needed to finish his business teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was quickly becoming something he looked forward to when he woke up in the morning. He enjoyed the adoration and respect he garnered from his students as he designed his theatrical lessons. Some even acknowledging he was the best D.A.D.A. teacher they've had. After that, he wasn't sure what his Lord would have planned for him. He knew that he would never let himself be under his father's thumb again. A decade was enough to serve as penitence for his acts as a Death Eater.

"I heard that you were struggling to live by yourself. I have plenty of space at my place, you can have an entire wing to yourself," Barty Crouch Sr. proportioned again. He had an entire castle to himself, and the last visitors he welcomed were the Longbottom's. At least with his son scurrying around, he did not feel alone.

"I'm not helpless, Bartemius. Whatever tripe the Prophet's printing these days is just that—tripe," Barty Crouch Jr. grumbled hotly on the behalf of the actual Alastor Moody. The man he encountered was not senile, quite the opposite as he took a few hits before properly disarming and Stupefy'ing the older man in his home. Under different circ*mstances, he wished he could've learned a few tips from the ex-Auror.

"Surely you have already achieved your objective," Barty Crouch Sr. inquired, peering imperiously down the bridge of his pronounced nose. A sharp blast of a whistle interrupted their terse conversation, drawing their attention to the four champions diving into the ice-cold water as their countdown begun.

"Retirement never sat well with me. My job is endless (and frankly, thankless), it's not something I can simply walk away from," Barty Crouch Jr. carefully worded. "It gives me a sense of purpose."

"I could've given you a sense of purpose, boy," Barty Crouch Sr. whispered heatedly.

"Watch yourself, Bartemius. You're not my Head of the Department anymore." There was something to be said about the nature of their work when Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody was a few years younger than his father, but they looked the opposite. His father cleared his throat curtly, continuing to glare at him. "Have you ever considered how we started on the force together but wound up in such different places?"

"Don’t compare yourself to me. You were young and reckless, not putting any thought into what you stood to lose," growled Barty Crouch Sr., wanting to flick off tinted glasses obscuring the face of his son. "Look at what has become of you."

"No, I do not care for your career ambitions, Bartemius. You valued them over everything else in your life, including your wife and child. Does your greed still blind you, or do you just enjoy spitting on their graves that much?"

"How dare you!" Bartemius Crouch Sr. exclaimed forgoing his curated properness. His hands were balled at his thighs, and he considered the consequences of unmasking his son then and there.

"I hate to interrupt this reunion," Snape drawled, slotting himself by the side of Barty Crouch Jr. to look down at the Crouch men. He wore the unamused expression when he needed to separate two bickering children. "One of the champions have returned." Fleur Delacour's Bubble-Head charm had failed around the quarter of an hour mark, and she was forced to resurface herself as she was unable to reapply it while underwater. As per the rules, all champions only had one attempt at any task, and this one ended if they had resurfaced with or without retrieving their lost person. Bartemius Crouch Sr. got up to his feet, leveling his son with a look indicating that this conversation had not ended here before briskly walking towards the judging podium.

Could you not have a row with your father so publicly?, Snape scowled. He sat down on the segment of the corrugated metal that Barty Crouch Sr. had been sitting.

He's the one who started it, Barty replied, trying to dim the childish tone it carried in his mind. He was bound to figure out it was me at some point or another. No one else has, even you didn't realise.

No one else has because no reasonable person expects a dead man to impersonate 'Mad Eye' Moody! The Dark Lord was truly desperate to pick such an imbecile as spy for himself. Do you think that being undercover is playing dress up, Barty? Is this all some joke to you – mucking about with our lives on the line? Maybe the Lord should be questioning where your allegiances lie instead of mine.

"It's been ten years, Severus, and you haven't changed one bit."

*

Harry let out the breath he was holding in as he dragged his ex-best mate onto the sand. The gills on the sides of his neck and webbing in between his toes and fingers retracted as his body adjusted to breathing on land once again. It was overwhelming to be rushed by so many people at once as someone hauled him to his feet while he was still blind with his waterlogged glasses. He heard the groggy moan from Ron Weasley as he was wrapped up in a warm towel by the school Mediwitch, while Dumbledore had started congratulating him for winning yet another round of the tournament. Harry took off his glasses to see if that would help him see but everything was still as blurry as before. His nose crunched as Ron's right hook connected square in his face causing his vision to swim in spots.

"Episkey," Dumbledore healed as with a tired note in his voice. He paired Ron Weasley to Harry in hopes that this would enable them to mend their friendship, but he failed to realise the depths of the scars that had torn them away from each other in the first place. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"I could be better," Harry's teeth chattered as the warmth from the heated towel leeched away due to the dreary February weather as he rubbed it all over himself. The wet sand was stuck to his legs, and he understood now why Dudley Dursley hated the beach. He spared the dry left corner to clean off his wiry frames before pushing them onto his nose again with a wince. "I think I might head back to the dorms," yawned Harry, as waves of nausea crashed over him. Neville failed to warn him that keeping the ingested Gillyweed down was hard part, not the taste, for the entire event his stomach was bubbling like a hot cauldron.

"Yes, that would be wise. I'll ask Poppy to pay you a visit," Dumbledore agreed as he watched Rita Skeeter in his periphery detailing the commotion with her Quick-Quotes Quill scratching against the notepad at breakneck speed. He considered asking the nosy journalist not to publish her story, but it would eventually leak to the rest of the wizarding community as students wrote home. Perhaps, I should write a letter to Molly, so it does not come as a surprise tomorrow morning… McGonagall was already there to escort the Boy Who Lived before Dumbledore had even needed to ask, and Dumbledore watched with flat eyes as they disappeared into the audience.

"Everyone back in your seats," Dumbledore commanded sourly as they still needed to wait for the remaining two champions to return. He hoped that they would not take too long as he's reached his threshold for excitement for the day. The beautiful set of wizard's robes printed with painted serenading sirens, sitting atop of rocks, did not lift his mood.