Dealing with Danger
Chapter 45: The Auxiliary Task (Year 4)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 45: The Auxiliary Task
"This is ridiculous," Harry muttered to Ron out the side of his mouth as they walked up to the castle. "I keep wanting to shake."
"Probably not a good idea to do that here, mate."
"I know. But I still want to."
"I know how you feel. I keep wanting to preen." Ron shivered a bit and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "And my shoulder hurts where Percy hauled me out. I have to get some flying time in soon or I’ll stiffen up."
"Maybe tomorrow we can go out for an Animagus run. Take Ginny with us, let her try out her form."
"That sounds like fun. We might even be able to pry Hermione away from her books for an hour or so." Ron slicked his wet hair back from his face. "Harry... thanks."
"For what? Oh, that. Never mind. I was just lucky I knew that spell. And we both owe Luna."
"Luna?"
"For telling me about those fish, and how to chase them off."
"But you did it. That was all you. You and that Gryffindor jewel." Ron thumped a hand against Harry’s chest. "That was one hell of a response you got from it. What did you ask for?"
"Just enough light to chase the fish away. I didn’t think it’d go up like it did."
"You’re not kidding. Looked like a firework on Skele-Gro."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"Gladly." Harry shook his head, sending drops of water flying everywhere. "I want to get dry, and get out of these clothes, and then go back to bed."
"Don’t you even want to know how you scored?"
"Not that much. You’re alive, and so’s Hermione, and so am I. That’s all I care about."
Ron smirked. "So you don’t care about Cho Chang?"
"Shut up."
"The marks will be given in the Great Hall at half past eleven," Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice announced as the crowd reached the outside steps leading up to the main doors of Hogwarts. "Refreshments will be served beginning immediately. Champions will please report to the High Table by eleven twenty-five."
"Which means we have at least forty-five minutes to clean up," Harry said, rubbing the side of his neck where his gills had been. "Merlin, I’m freezing."
"Me too. Budge up there, champion coming through!" Ron shouted at the crowd ahead of them. "Make some room for Harry Potter!"
People drew back, whispering. Harry felt his face heat. "Thanks a lot," he muttered as he ran up the aisle thus created. "Now I’m freezing and embarrassed."
"It got us inside faster, what more do you want?" Ron started for the marble staircase.
"Not there," Harry said. "This way." He hurried through the door leading to the kitchens.
"Why?" Ron followed him.
"Because this way we don’t have to climb seven flights of stairs. We can just go to the Den."
"Good point. Took you long enough," Ron added over his shoulder as Draco, Luna, and Hermione came jogging down the corridor to join them at the picture of the fruit bowl.
"Some of us don’t have legs as long as yours, Ronald Weasley," Hermione said grumpily.
"What’s eating you?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Here." She handed Ron his pendants.
"Whenever you say nothing in that tone, it’s always something," Harry said as the portrait swung open. "Hey, Neville, Meghan — Ginny, what happened?"
"I fell in," Ginny said, peeling a sodden towel away from her shoulders.
"Right beside Dudley Dursley," said Neville. "Who also fell in, after he’d had his wand in the water."
Harry handed his damp blanket to a house-elf. "You didn’t see what he was doing?" he asked Ginny.
"No, but it can’t have been anything good." Ginny added her towel to the house-elf’s load. "I knocked him in, transformed where he couldn’t see me, and scratched his buttocks so he wouldn’t have any chance of finishing whatever he started."
"So you’ve transformed already?" Ron sounded disappointed. "I wanted to see it."
"You can see it again, it’s not like I can’t do it anymore. Let’s get to the Den and clean up. I feel disgusting."
xXxXx
The judges were embroiled in a high-energy whispering session when the Pride got back to the Great Hall at twenty minutes after eleven. "Where were you?" Seamus asked them. "We cleared out the showers for you, but you never showed up."
"We found a different bathroom," Harry said. "Had the house-elves bring our stuff down. Thanks, though."
"You’re welcome."
Moony waved at them from farther up the table. "Disappearing too often isn’t a good idea, Harry," he said as the Pride found seats around him and Danger. "People will start wondering where you’re going, and it’s only a matter of time before someone finds it out."
Harry groaned for form’s sake, but he knew his Pack-father had a point. "All right, we’ll be more careful. Where’s Padfoot and Letha?"
"Letha’s up at the High Table with the judges and Pomona Sprout, and Padfoot’s over with the students from Beauxbatons." Danger chuckled. "The way they’re acting, you’d think they’d never met an Englishman who could speak French before."
"Dadfoot speaks French?" Meghan said.
"Oh, yes," said Moony. "Not perfectly, but passably. It was one of those things they made him study when he was young, and he’s never entirely forgotten it. He says it’s good for cursing at people when you don’t want them to understand you."
"I think the girls especially like him," said Draco. Harry turned to see. Sure enough, Padfoot had little Gabrielle Delacour on his lap, Fleur beside him, and another Beauxbatons girl on his other side, with the rest of the female Beauxbatons students sitting nearby, all chattering to him at once. The boys of the Pride snickered.
"Mrs. Letha doesn’t look too happy," Luna said. "Neither does Professor Sprout. I wonder what they’re fighting about."
Harry turned the other way, regarding the High Table. "They don’t look like they’re fighting," he said. "Not fighting, fighting. More like they both really want something, but they’re opposite things."
"And the judges look kind of interested," said Neville. "I guess they like whatever she’s saying."
"What is she saying?" Meghan asked.
"Well, if it was just Letha and Pomona, I’d know," said Danger. "Letha broached an idea to Pomona back in the fall, and I’d think they were hashing out details. But with them up at the table and talking to the judges, it looks like this, whatever it is, has something to do with the Tournament."
"Did Mrs. Letha’s idea have to do with the Tournament?" Ginny asked.
"Not exactly," Danger hedged, "but she thought it would go along with the Tournament very well. Creating community and fostering cooperation. You lot gave her the idea, really, with your performances for the birthdays."
Ron frowned. "Community, cooperation, performances," he muttered. "Wait a minute — no way..."
"Champions to the High Table, please!" Ludo Bagman’s voice echoed over the crowd noise. "The judges have come to a decision!"
Harry swung his legs over the bench. Ron punched his shoulder lightly. Down the table, Krum excused himself to Hermione and started up as well. Cedric disentangled himself from Cho, and Fleur kissed Padfoot on the cheek, making him smile vacantly. Harry shuddered. That’s just wrong.
"Due to unforeseen events, it has been decided to halve the original amount of fifty points to be given in this task," Bagman declared when the champions were lined up in front of the High Table. "Points for this task are therefore out of twenty-five. Miss Fleur Delacour, although she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows and failed to reach her hostage. Her score is ten points."
"I should have scored zero," Fleur said under cover of the polite applause.
"Cedric Diggory, also using the Bubble-Head Charm, returned first with his hostage, one minute outside the time limit of an hour. He receives twenty-two points."
The Hufflepuffs cheered wildly. Harry threw Cedric a thumbs-up, though his heart was sinking. If he was overtime, how badly over was I?
"Viktor Krum, using an incomplete but effective form of Transfiguration, returned second. He receives eighteen points."
Harry noticed Hermione clapping quite hard.
"And finally, Harry Potter. Mr. Potter used gillyweed to begin with, and finished the task with a Bubble-Head Charm when the plant’s effects wore off. He also saved the life of his hostage, Mr. Ron Weasley, when a person or persons unknown attempted to sabotage the task by awakening Mr. Weasley under the lake. Although Mr. Potter was the last to return with his hostage, Merchieftainess Murcus has informed Professor Dumbledore that this was not due to a late arrival but to Mr. Potter’s determination to return all the hostages to safety. For his moral fiber and quick thinking, we award Mr. Potter twenty points out of twenty-five."
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. Harry slumped in relief. "I didn’t muck it up," he said under his breath. "I’m not out yet. I still have a shot..."
"A shot, hell, you could win!" Cedric shouted over the applause. "We’re tied for first, Harry! You and me!"
Harry quickly added up in his head and realized Cedric was right. "Hogwarts victory," he mouthed as the applause died down. Cedric grinned and nodded.
"Champions may be seated," announced Professor Dumbledore, standing up. "I have an important announcement to make, and you may as well be comfortable while I prattle on."
Laughter rippled through the hall as Harry returned to his seat next to Moony. "Do you know?" he asked quietly.
"I have an idea, but I’m probably wrong. Let’s just listen."
"The reduction of points in this task," Dumbledore said. "would seem to call for an auxiliary task, to allow the champions to make up the points they were not awarded here. However, it would be difficult to create another magical task at this point in the year — therefore, my fellow judges and I have decided that the auxiliary task will be a test of courage and skills, but not of magic."
"Not magic?" said Draco in surprise as similar murmurs broke out all over the Hall. "What’re they going to test, then?"
Dumbledore waited out the noise. "Our guests have been exposed to many of the facets of our life here in Britain," he said. "Our food, our language, our customs. But we of Hogwarts have made no significant attempt to share our culture with our friends. I am pleased to announce a remedy for that lack. At the beginning of May, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will present a musical comedy — a Muggle composition, true, but quite relevant to us as well. Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."
"Oh no," Harry muttered. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."
"Oh yes," Moony said in the same tone. "You will do just fine, Harry. If you try out."
"What d’you mean, if? Next thing he’s probably going to say is..."
"Triwizard champions will receive fifteen points for participating," Dumbledore went on. "The participation can be in any capacity, there is no requirement to appear on stage. However, the remaining ten points which would have been awarded in this task will be allotted to each champion based on performance in the champion’s chosen role."
"But you can’t do a musical with just four people," Fred called from the end of the table.
"Who else gets to be in it?" George added.
"Why, whoever else cares to be in it," said Dumbledore, smiling broadly. "Auditions are open to all students. Professor Pomona Sprout of Hufflepuff, who has graciously volunteered to direct the production, and her assistant director, Mrs. Aletha Freeman-Black, will conduct the auditions in as fair as a manner as possible."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" shouted a Slytherin.
"Professor Sprout and Mrs. Freeman-Black will use a particular spell to blind themselves to the identities, but not the skills, of the auditioners," Dumbledore said. "In this way, they can choose the best people for the roles without fear of being thought biased."
Harry felt a poke in his back and turned. Seven pairs of expectant eyes were all fixed on him.
"Well?" Ron said.
"Well what?"
"Are you going for it?" Hermione asked.
"No, I’m going to fart away twenty-five points. Yes, I’m going for it."
"But are you going for a part?" Draco said. "Or are you going to take the easy way out and be stage crew?"
Harry growled a little. "There’s nothing wrong with being stage crew."
"There is when you can sing," said Ginny. "And when you know the judges will be more impressed if you take an actual role."
"I’m not that good."
"You are so," said Neville. "You’re as good as any of us."
"You can sing like a rock star," said Luna. "Draco said so."
Draco reddened. "Luna, I thought we said we weren’t going to tell anyone about that conversation," he said.
"Oh, I’m sorry. But you do, you know," Luna added to Harry. "Your voice is very nice."
"And you can dance," Meghan added. "At least you don’t fall over your own feet."
"Thanks for the votes of confidence." Harry rubbed his forehead and looked at Moony and Danger.
"You would be good, Harry," said Danger. "I think you should at least try."
"I think you’d enjoy it," said Moony. "Once you got over being embarrassed about it."
"That’s the problem." Harry turned back to the Pride. "I’ll do it on one condition," he said. "You all try out too."
Heads nodded up and down the table. "I was going to anyway," said Draco.
"Me too," Ginny said.
"Might as well," said Ron. "I mean, what’re the odds we’ll all actually get parts?"
"We could be in the band if we’re not on stage," said Luna. "I’d like to play the piano."
"Uh-uh," Harry said. "Everyone tries out for a stage part or no deal."
"That’s fine," said Luna, unconcernedly. "But we’re more likely to get a part if we put down that we play instruments too."
"Good point." Neville stood up. "I’d better go get some practice in."
"I’ll come with you," said Meghan. "Bags we the music room."
"Nuts," Draco said.
"We’ll find somewhere else," said Luna.
"Not with a piano. You two can carry your instruments, let us have it, won’t you? You can use somewhere else down there."
"Fair enough," said Neville. "Yellow bedroom, Meghan?"
"Fine with me. Let’s go."
"I can set up on the Quidditch pitch," said Ron. "Ginny, give me a hand?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely."
"Please?"
"That’s better. Yes, I’ll help you."
"And I’ll go and see if the library has a copy of the score," Hermione said. "It’s had most things we’ve looked for so far. Harry?"
"Huh?" Harry looked up. "Oh. Right. I think I’d rather not do anything just now. I need to ask Moony something."
"Oh, you do," said Moony.
"Yes. Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I’ll see you all later, then, everyone." Moony hugged Hermione and Draco and tugged on one of Meghan’s braids. "And I’m sure Sirius will want to tell you what a good job you did, and Aletha as well, as soon as they’re free," he said to Harry as the rest of the Pride worked their way through the crowd to the door.
"Here comes Sirius now, actually," said Danger.
Harry let Padfoot ruffle his damp hair for a moment before latching onto his godfather’s hand and twisting his wrist.
"Ow!" Padfoot pulled free. "Getting quite a grip there, Harry. Good work — you saved Ron and Gabrielle, and you’re still tied for first!"
"I know." Harry looked up the hall at the little knot of people around the High Table. "Letha’s probably going to be busy for a little while, isn’t she?"
"More like a long while," said Danger. "At least she’s not directing it herself. She’ll have enough to do with both assisting and finishing up her training."
"I suppose she just didn’t feel she had enough to do," said Padfoot. "Why do you ask, Harry?"
"I need to tell you about what happened in the lake," Harry said, looking around at them. "It was more than it looked like. Different."
"I was going to ask," said Moony. "What spell did you do that caused that red light we saw?"
"It wasn’t a spell. And that’s what I need to tell you about."
"Privately?" Danger asked.
"We can stay here. There isn’t anyone spying on us or anything." Harry leaned his elbows on the table as Padfoot sat down on the other side of him from Moony. "We were being swarmed by these little furry fish. Luna told me about them before the task last night, she called them Lupisces, I think."
"Wolf-fish," said Moony. "I’ve heard of them, but the same way I’ve heard of most of the things Luna likes to talk about."
"These are real. And nasty. She said that blood in the water would make them attack, and showing them their reflection in a knife blade or shining bright light at them would drive them away. So when they showed up, Ron took out my dagger — he had it to cut Gabrielle free while I kept the merpeople off—"
"Yeah, where were the merpeople?" Padfoot asked. "I thought they were supposed to guard you on your way up."
"They went off to fight the giant squid. Anyway, Ron cut himself on the dagger by accident, and I summoned the blood, but I wasn’t quick enough. The Lupisces smelled it, and they started getting excited. Then I saw Ginny’s carving glowing on my pendants, and that made me think of the jewels." Harry displayed his pendants. "Part of the Gryffindor gift is the carvings shining. And both times someone’s used a red jewel, it’s showed up with light. So I thought maybe I could trade a jewel for enough light to chase the fish away. I got a little more than I expected."
"How much is a little more than you expected?" Danger asked.
"Well, when Ron used the jewel back in second year to find Ginny, it was just bright enough to see. This was more like setting off a box of fireworks. And it didn’t just flash once — it was three or four times."
"Yes, we saw it," said Moony. "And it looked very bright even to us. We were worried."
"Sorry," Harry said. "But I don’t know what else I could have done."
"Would you stop apologizing?" Padfoot demanded. "You saved all your lives — what are you apologizing for?"
Harry grinned. "What do you want me to apologize for?"
Padfoot muttered something in French.
"So Ron’s used a red jewel, and so have I," said Moony. "And now so have you. But your reaction was more potent than ours, stronger, brighter."
"Yeah."
"I think this might be a good time to tell everyone what we found out last spring," said Moony. "When you were telling me about the safe place you went to, remember?"
Harry thought back. He’d showed Moony the map, whispered the password for the Hogwarts Den to it, called it a traitor when it had revealed how long they’d been using the Den, and then Moony had asked how the Map knew...
"Yeah, I remember." I don’t see what it has to do with anything, but I remember.
"When was this?" Padfoot asked.
"We were investigating the Marauder’s Map together. Apparently we enchanted it better than we knew, Sirius. It knows things about the school we didn’t know."
"Really? How’s that?"
"The Map claims that one of its creators is, or was, a blood Heir of one of the Founders, so that it’s tied directly to the castle."
"That makes sense," said Danger. "We know that either Sirius or Aletha has to be an Heir of Ravenclaw. If it’s you, mangy mutt, that’s the mystery solved."
Padfoot tipped his head to one side. "Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind."
"You were my first thought, Sirius," Moony said. "But then I thought again. It didn’t say that more than one of you couldn’t have been—"
"More than one of you?" Padfoot inquired. "Since when are you not one of us?"
"Fine, it didn’t say that more than one of us couldn’t have been. And we have proof that Meghan is an Heir, so it could well be you. But think about James. Think about the way he acted, the way he lived. Doesn’t he make an awfully good candidate for Heir of Gryffindor?"
"Huh." Padfoot looked at Harry. "And that would make you one, titch."
"I’m not a titch." Harry aimed a punch at Padfoot’s nose, let his godfather block it, then sneaked one under his guard onto his chest.
"Oof. I let you do that."
"Stop it," Danger said indulgently. Padfoot ignored her, so Harry did as well, but he kept listening as they scuffled. "So you think James might have been the Heir of Gryffindor, Remus. I admit, it makes sense. Especially with what Godric told us about his family’s power in this generation — that it was bound by the current Heir’s father, who is now dead."
Harry twisted out of Padfoot’s grasp. "You really think my dad was an Heir of Gryffindor?" he said.
"Why don’t you try putting that a different way?" Danger suggested. "Do we really think you might be the living Heir of Gryffindor? Yes, we do. It’s certainly possible, considering all the trouble you manage to get into, and the way you get yourself out again."
"But I can’t... you know." Harry twiddled a finger in the air. "Like you can."
"We were gifted with this, Harry." Moony opened his hand, revealing a flame dancing on his palm. "It’s not the same as having it in your blood. I don’t recommend you trying it, though. If your powers are bound, you’d get burned the same as anyone else would."
Harry stared at the flame. Could I really be an Heir of Gryffindor? Could I call fire, make it do what I want?
"I can put out fires," he said, still watching the flame dance. "Wandlessly. After the thing with the Goblet, when I was mad at Ron, every fire in Gryffindor Tower went out." He blew gently on the flame, and it vanished.
"That sounds promising," said Padfoot. "And strange. Is it just me, or are our cubs developing weird powers faster than any of us can keep up with?"
Harry grinned at his godfather. "Getting old?"
"Older every day." Padfoot made a face. "Ooh, my aching back. And knees. And sides. And everything else."
"That’s just because you don’t stretch properly before you try to prove that you can still run the obstacle courses at the Auror Office in the same time as the apprentices," said Letha, coming up behind him. "If you ask nicely, I might give you a massage tonight. Hello, Harry, very good job. Do that well on the third task and you’ll have this Tournament won. What do you think of my crazy idea?"
"I think it’s great," Harry said. "When will the auditions be?"
"Next Wednesday and Thursday, I think. What part are you trying out for?"
"Do we have to try for specific parts? I was just going to come."
"That’s fine too. But I thought, since you know the show so well, you might like to try for a specific part."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don’t remind me." Joseph was one of Draco’s favorite CDs, which meant he played it quite often. Harry was sure he could sing any of the songs from memory, though he’d need some help remembering the exact words. "Is that why you picked it?"
"No, as a matter of fact, it’s not. I just thought it would make a good show to do here at Hogwarts, since it’s silly and bright and colorful, and has lots of good parts for different people. Joseph is the biggest role, of course, but most of the other roles are about the same size."
"One song apiece."
"That’s right. So, do you want to be Joseph, or would you rather let someone else be in the spotlight?"
"Someone else," said Harry decidedly. "I don’t have the voice for the part anyway. But I know who does."
"Yes, and so do I, but I can’t just pick him for obvious reasons. At least with blind auditions no one will be able to claim nepotism, even if you lot do end up with all the biggest roles, as you well might. Anyway, Pomona makes the final decisions, and she’s got no reason to favor you."
"Other than the fact that you’re good," said Padfoot. "And you are good. But Harry, if you don’t want to be on stage, there’s no shame in doing something else."
"No, I want to." Harry crossed his toes on his right foot — by the time the show was going on, it would probably be true. "Besides, if I try out for a stage part, I can blackmail everyone else into trying for one too."
"Everyone?" said Letha dryly. "Lord help us when we go to cast you all."
xXxXx
"So you’re going forward with it anyway," said Sirius as the Pack-adults strolled towards the kitchens, from there to Floo home. "I thought you were going to beg off."
"Pomona talked me into it. Mainly by saying that if I wasn’t involved, there wouldn’t be any show."
"Just don’t get overbooked," Danger said, resting a hand on Aletha’s shoulder for a second. "If you feel you have too much to do, tell us, we’ll do what we can for you."
"I don’t think you can take my tests for me, Danger."
"Why not? Some quick cramming, a little Polyjuice Potion..."
Aletha turned to look at Remus. "Did you know she was insane when you decided to marry her?"
"When I decided to marry her, she had just run into a house with a full-grown werewolf and grabbed its paw because she saw herself doing it in a dream."
"So that would be a yes, then."
"Yes, that would be a yes."
"And you say I’m reckless," said Sirius. "Speaking of which. Harry Potter, Heir of Gryffindor?"
"What’s this?" Aletha turned in surprise. "Harry an Heir?"
The others filled her in. She listened quietly, nodding. "Do you think we should try to find out if he is or not?" she asked when they were finished.
"It might be a good idea to have it settled," said Danger. "That way we’re not in for any big surprises. Do you have any ideas for finding out?"
"Not offhand. But I know who might. Follow me."
xXxXx
"Come in," Dumbledore called as Remus lifted his hand to knock.
"I hate it when he does that," Aletha murmured.
"Mad-Eye," said Sirius, tossing a salute to the grizzled Auror, who was standing near Dumbledore’s desk. "How are you? Haven’t seen you since... well, haven’t seen you."
"Go on, boy, say it," Moody growled. "Since Lupin put the pieces together and sussed out I was too old to defend myself."
"I doubt any of us would have done much better under those circumstances," said Danger. "Early morning, two on one, and a surprise attack."
"It’s not your job to do well. It is mine."
"It was yours, Alastor, as I have told you repeatedly," said Dumbledore with just a hint of impatience in his tone. "It is no longer, and you were wise enough to know that, which was why you retired."
"Shouldn’t’ve," Moody grumbled, resuming his seat. "Especially not with Rufus Scrimgeour taking over. Heard you’ve clashed with him a few times, Black. Good on you."
"Just doing what I was taught, sir," said Sirius, taking a sherbet lemon from the dish Dumbledore offered him. "Defending truth, justice, and Chocolate Frogs."
Moody snorted. "Glad you’re here, actually," he said. "We’ve been going over the residue Dumbledore picked up at the lake. Come see what you can make of it."
Six heads bent over the parchment. Three lines of ink crossed it, each starting straight at one edge, then becoming wildly jagged in the middle before dying off near the other side.
"This burst means a spell, right?" Danger asked, pointing to the top pattern, which was closest to the left edge of the page (the middle pattern was closest to the right, with the bottom pattern falling directly in the center).
"Yes, and the different shapes are from different spells," said Aletha. "I don’t recognize any of these, but I wouldn’t — the only ones I’m familiar with are healing spells and basic injury-causing curses. In case we have to look for residue to see what someone was injured with," she added impatiently at Sirius’ questioning look.
"I doubt any of you would be familiar with these spells," said Dumbledore. "But I will ask, without prejudicing you, if any of the three spells on this parchment seem similar to one another?"
"These two," said Remus surely, tapping the two lower bursts of ink. "Look, they’re almost identical."
"But the middle one isn’t as clear, or as big," said Sirius. "The corners aren’t sharp, look. They’re sort of curved."
"I believe this spell was cast by an amateur," said Dumbledore. "A half-trained witch or wizard, at best. But you agree that it appears very similar to the spell here at the bottom of the page?"
"Yes, of course," said Danger. "Look, they both go way up first, then way down, then up and a little jag down, then down even farther than at first... does that mean they’re the same spell?"
"In essence," said Dumbledore. "And I do recognize this spell, and am rather glad that you do not. It is quite Dark, a fusion of the Imperius Curse and the Summoning Charm. Instead of drawing an object towards its caster, this spell compels some living creature to come nearer to either its caster or to an object designated by the caster."
"But that’s not a Dark spell," Danger objected. "Remus knows it, he taught it to the cubs."
"Yes, but that’s non-compulsory, love," Remus reminded her. "It’s the difference between ‘please come here’ and ‘come here now or you’ll be sorry.’"
"Oh. Never mind." Danger frowned at the spell traces. "So two different people summoned things. Towards themselves?"
"That I cannot tell, but I know that both creatures, or groups of creatures, were summoned either towards the casters or towards the same designated object. Otherwise the spells would not be so similar."
"Potter say anything about trouble with creatures on his way up?" Moody asked.
"Actually, yes," Remus said. "And two different types, although one never got there..."
Dumbledore nodded grimly when he had heard the story out. "The squid was probably summoned by the less talented wizard," he said. "That would account for its unwillingness or inability to break through the merpeople’s guard. But it distracted them long enough for the Lupisces to become a serious threat." He sighed. "I am more and more worried about allowing the Tournament to continue."
Moody grunted. "Don’t have a choice, do you? No more than you did in October. Somebody’s forcing your cast, Dumbledore. Only thing you can do now is pick your spell wisely."
"As you say, old friend." Dumbledore nudged his glasses up his nose. "Now, this spell at the top is the counter to my spell of sleep. And if I overlay times on this chart..."
"It was cast exactly at ten-thirty," said Sirius. "Someone wanted to make sure it looked like you’d set it to wear off then."
"But that makes no sense," Aletha objected. "You’d never do that, Albus, everyone knows you wouldn’t. Well, Harry didn’t know, but he was scared, you can’t blame him for what he said."
"Never fear, Aletha, I do not." Dumbledore smiled tiredly. "Though I can find it in my heart to wish he had not accused me of endangering Mr. Weasley’s life in quite so public a manner."
"You’re missing the point," Moody growled. "Everyone was checking watches at ten-thirty, looking for the champions to get back. Whoever cast that spell must’ve been seen, there’s no place to hide on those platforms. Let ’em know you’re looking for a spell cast at that time and see who comes forward."
"That doesn’t make any sense either," Danger said. "Nobody would have cast a spell towards the champions where people could see them. They would have gone off somewhere alone."
"Then ask about people going off alone too." Moody rolled his normal eye. "Do I have to think of everything?"
"But you’re so good at it," said Sirius.
Remus gave Sirius a look. "Albus, is there anything else we should know about these?" he asked. "We do have something else we need to tell you, and ask you."
"No, I think these spell patterns have told us all they can... but wait, there is one more factor. The timing on them is so synchronous — you see, how close they are? — I doubt they could have been cast by the same person. The top and middle spells, perhaps, could have been, but the spell styles are wildly different. Unless the caster was far more proficient with the first spell than the second, I doubt that any of them came from the same wand."
"Or the same person," said Remus. "That’s what you’re not saying. These spells were cast by three different people."
"But that means three different people wanted to hurt Harry somehow," Danger said.
"One of them may have been more interested in Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, "but in general, yes."
"Three people at Hogwarts hate Harry enough to sabotage a Triwizard task?" Sirius shook his head. "Silly me, thinking just because we’d found Voldemort’s plant we wouldn’t have any more problems."
"Plots within plots, Black," Moody said. "Wheels within wheels. Always."
"And you can’t tell who cast the spells by the residue," said Aletha.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Unfortunately, they had already faded too far. As well, I believe the more proficient of these casters may have taken steps to hide their identity. And spell residue, like any other kind of track, is dependent on its environment. A spell cast through water is harder to track than one cast through air."
"Weird," said Danger.
"Indeed. But we shall continue to be vigilant." Dumbledore rolled up the scroll and set it aside. "Now, what is it you need to ask, friends?"
xXxXx
Harry debated telling the Pride what Moony had suggested and finally decided against it. It was only a possibility, after all, and they’d tease him something awful if they knew about it and it turned out not to be true.
You can always tell people things. You can’t untell them.
At least not without Memory Charms.
And the Pride had plenty to think about anyway. Details of the auditions had gone up on the noticeboards, and it seemed like half of Gryffindor was planning to try out. Enthusiasm in the other houses was mixed, but some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs (especially the girls) seemed very interested, and even a few Slytherins were seen reading the notices on the public boards.
AUDITIONS FOR JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT
2-3 March, 8:00 pm, Great Hall
No previous experience necessary. However, please bring a song to sing, or be prepared to learn one, and wear loose clothes for the dance audition. Be ready to indicate part desired, or if you will accept any part in which you are cast.
A list of the parts followed, detailing the necessities of each. The role of Joseph was described as "very demanding." Harry thought this might be an understatement. He also wondered how many of the purebloods were puzzled by the notation next to the role of Pharaoh.
Cedric Diggory hailed Harry at breakfast on Monday. "Are you trying for any particular part?" he asked. "One of the brothers, or the Egyptian, what’s-his-face?"
"Potiphar. No, I’m just going. How about you?"
"The butler or the baker," Cedric said. "It said those were small roles, a few lines each. I think that’s about all I could handle. And no dancing. I don’t want to dance."
"You danced fine at the Yule Ball."
"Different kind of dancing."
"The same rules apply. Stay on your feet and off the other person’s."
Cedric laughed. "True enough. But I still don’t want to dance. See you there."
"See you." Harry felt the familiar rush of heat into his chest as Cedric turned away to greet a laughing Cho. It’s my own fault, he told himself sternly. My own fault, I did it to myself, I shouldn’t have waited so long...
"Harry, good luck at auditions," Cho said.
Harry’s brain disengaged for a crucial second, and his mouth went on automatic. "Thanks," he heard himself say. "But you shouldn’t say good luck. It’s bad luck."
"What?"
"It’s theatre tradition. Saying good luck makes the luck spirits angry, and they bring bad luck. So you say, ‘break a leg,’ and then the luck spirits think you want the person you’re talking to to have bad luck, so they give that person good luck."
"Oh. Well, break a leg, in that case. I’ll be there to watch."
"That’ll be great," Harry said tersely, regaining control of his speech. "Great."
He gritted his teeth as Cho and Cedric walked away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why do I start babbling every time she comes near?
xXxXx
Ginny lay on her stomach on one of the benches in the Great Hall, filling in blanks and ticking boxes on her audition form. Her form was number fourteen, since the Pride had been among the first people into the Hall. Most of the crowd was composed of younger students, though, and they would probably only want chorus roles, standing in the background and singing...
Wishful thinking, girl.
But she couldn’t help hoping that she had a shot at the part she really wanted — one of the Narrator roles. Although this was only one part in the original show, Professor Sprout had decided that it was too much singing for one person their age and split the part in half. They were the best female roles in the show, and Ginny wanted one.
Well, the best if they don’t cross-cast anything. Some casting of girls in male roles seemed inevitable, given the split in the Hall of about three girls to every boy. But Ginny still couldn’t think of any role she wanted more than the Narrator.
It’s so neat, to be in the story, yet out of it. Telling it to the audience, able to see everything at once, almost like a little taste of being a goddess... She craned her neck to look up at the ceiling and put her hand to her chest. Do you ever feel that way, watching our stories grow?
There is a difference, little sister, murmured a woman’s great voice — or maybe she was imagining it. You know that when all is done, no one has truly died, no one is really hurt. The story was only a story. We must watch real suffering, real pain, real deaths, and do nothing. You would not want what we have.
Ginny shrugged. Maybe not. But I do want this. She ticked off two boxes, wrote "Narrator" on the part preferred line, and went to hand in her form.
"Number fourteen, thank you," said Mrs. Letha, looking past Ginny’s shoulder. The spell on the two directors to make sure they didn’t play favorites with the students was a bit creepy, but Ginny understood why it was necessary. She’d heard some of her fellow Gryffindors singing in the shower, or trying to sing. Most of them had the musical ability of her father’s car without its horn.
But that might just be because they’ve never been trained.
To her surprise, there were Slytherins in the crowd of students — even Theodore Nott was handing in a form, though Ginny could see that he’d marked orchestra as his only availability.
I wonder if he’s doing this because he wants to, or because his father wants him to?
"All right, we have enough to start!" Professor Sprout called, her voice cutting over the chattering students effortlessly. "Numbers eleven, twelve, fourteen, thirty-two, and forty-six! Please come forward and get your music!"
Ginny stepped up to the table and accepted the music Mrs. Letha handed her. She looked down and felt her heart do a little leap of gladness — it was marked for the Narrator.
Down, girl. It’s just an audition, you’re not cast yet. You have to prove you can do it first.
But her spirits would not be dampened. She had spent enough time at the Den, with Draco’s CDs going, that she knew most of the songs in the show, and the piece in her hand was "Go Go Joseph." Not exactly the hardest music around. I might just do this...
"Number fourteen?" said a familiar voice.
Ginny looked up and grinned. "Hello, Hermione. What are you, eleven or twelve?"
"I’m eleven. He’s twelve." Hermione flicked her fingers through Draco’s hair.
"Would you stop that. Look at this, I’m Joseph."
"In auditions," said Hermione repressively. "Don’t count your Ashwinders before they’ve hatched."
"But I don’t want my Ashwinders to hatch."
Ginny batted her eyelashes. "Why, Draco, I never knew you cared."
Draco clutched his head in both hands, crumpling his music.
"Oh, so I’m not allowed to mess with your hair, but you are," said Hermione. "That makes so much sense."
"First group, come with me!" called Professor Sprout, as Mrs. Letha began calling more numbers to come up for music. Ginny followed her, and found herself beside Cedric Diggory.
"Hello," he said, smiling at her. "You’re Ginny Weasley, aren’t you?"
"Y-yes..."
"Surprised he knows you?" asked Cho Chang from Cedric’s other side.
"A little," Ginny admitted.
"I decided I should get to know the competition," said Cedric, smiling. "Even though we don’t have Quidditch this year."
"You’re still competition, I suppose," said Cho. "In a different sense. Not that you’re competing for anything, but Harry Potter is, and you’re part of his crowd."
Ginny nodded coolly. She didn’t quite like how Cho seemed to see the Pride. We’re not just together because of Harry. We’re together because of all of us. Because we’re all friends.
And you were more right than you know when you said I was competition, Cho Chang...
Ginny let her eyes rest on the older girl for a moment or two. I will beat you, she vowed silently. Not because I don’t like you... I don’t, but that doesn’t matter... but because I am totally convinced that I will be better for Harry than you will.
I only hope I’m right!
"Auditioners in here," said Professor Sprout, opening the door to a small side chamber. "We will run through the music three times, then stage the scene, then perform. Take a seat and listen to the playback."
xXxXx
Sirius looked up from his typewriter. The Floo had just chimed downstairs.
Probably Letha — at least I hope it is...
"Oh, Sirius!" called Danger. "Someone here who needs you!"
Yep, she’s back. Sirius took the stairs two at a time and jumped down to the ground floor from the fifth one. "Coming!"
"An unnecessary comment if there ever was one," said Remus as Sirius entered the kitchen.
"I’d hex you, but I’m in a hurry." Sirius strode down the hall into the music room, passing Danger on her way out, and gathered Aletha into a hug. "Tired?" he asked solicitously.
"Exhausted." Aletha leaned into him. "That spell is harder to handle than I thought. I kept fighting it without meaning to."
"Not surprising — it is compulsion, after all."
"But after I agreed to it, and even did it myself..."
"It’s still compulsion. And you’ve never been good at doing what you’re told." Sirius caught Aletha’s wrist as she made a half-hearted slap at his ear. "Ah, ah. You come and sit down, and have some nice soup, and tell us all about it."
"Well, we got the list done," Aletha began as she dropped onto the couch. Sirius sat down at the other end, and Aletha promptly put her feet in his lap. "It took quite a while, but we finally agreed on the best people for the parts. And then we took the charm off and looked, and we had a good laugh."
"Lots of cubs?" Danger asked, coming back into the room with a mug of soup.
"Oh, indeed. I don’t think I could have cast it any better if I wasn’t charmed. And the best part is, they deserve those parts, because they can sing, and dance, and act."
"None of which they would probably have been able to do if they hadn’t been taught by someone," said Sirius, rubbing Aletha’s ankles.
"Oh, I don’t know." Danger sat down on the floor beside the couch. "Our cubs are pretty good actors all by themselves. Just because they never fool us is no reason they can’t fool other people."
"Yes, they aren’t very good at convincing us they had nothing to do with it, whatever it was." Aletha blew on the soup.
"Probably because we know," said Remus, coming in, "that if they didn’t have anything to do with it, it was only for lack of opportunity."
Sirius chuckled. "And sometimes even then, they manage to sneak in anyway."
xXxXx
"This isn’t fair," said Meghan, staring at the board in the entrance hall on Friday morning. "I know they have the casting done, why don’t they just tell us? Why wait until this afternoon?"
"Because they want to torture us," Graham said seriously. "They can’t stand the thought of us being happy."
Natalie giggled. "That sounds like teachers," she said. "Your mum was a teacher here, wasn’t she, Meghan?"
"For a year. The Defense job is jinxed, you know, nobody can stay more than a year. And she didn’t really want to stay, not after my Dadfoot got Petrified."
"I can see why not," said Graham.
"So what parts did you try out for?" Meghan asked. "Anything special?"
Natalie shook her head. "I don’t think I should even have gone," she said. "I know I won’t get in."
"Why not?" Graham asked. "I know you can dance, because you told us about taking lessons. Can’t you sing?"
"No, I can sing. But I was afraid. I didn’t sing the first time, they had to take my group again just for me. They won’t want someone there who freezes up on stage."
"But was that because you were afraid?" Graham asked. "Or because you didn’t know the music?"
"Well... maybe some of both."
"Being on stage is exciting," Meghan said. "But getting ready for a show can be boring. You do the same thing over and over until you hate it, and then you do it more. By the time you’re done, you know it so well you could do it even if hundreds of people were staring at you."
"Which is what happens when you’re on stage," Graham pointed out. "And a show at Hogwarts will be very well attended, I’m sure."
"Besides, you only wanted a chorus part, right?" Meghan asked.
Natalie nodded.
"Then nobody will notice if you freeze a little. The chorus is supposed to be quiet and still when they’re not singing, so they don’t take the attention away from the actors."
"Okay." Natalie scuffed her foot along the floor, staring at it. "I really do want a part," she said quietly. "I think if I got used to it, I might like being on stage. But I’m afraid at the same time. I don’t want to do the wrong thing and look stupid in front of everyone."
"That’s what rehearsals are for," Meghan said positively. "You do it so much that there’s no way you can do it wrong."
"And even if you do it wrong," said Graham, "your friends don’t stop being your friends — or if they do, they weren’t your real friends anyway. I’ll make you a deal." He put a hand under her chin and lifted it gently. "If you do something wrong on stage, I’ll do it with you."
"Really?"
Graham nodded. "Really. People will think we’re a miniature chorus of our own."
"The Opposite Chorus!" Meghan laughed. "Always doing the reverse of what the director says!"
"We wouldn’t last long in that case," Graham said. "But I do mean it, Natalie. If you make a mistake on stage, I’ll do my best to match it right away."
Natalie beamed and hugged him. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, thank you so much."
Graham stiffened within the hug, but slowly relaxed, and even managed to get his arms up around Natalie in return.
Meghan turned away so she wouldn’t seem to be laughing at her friends.
xXxXx
Harry stood on the moving staircase, frowning to himself. The cast list goes up in ten minutes. Why does Dumbledore need to see me now? I haven’t done anything... recently...
"Come in!"
Harry opened the door wide and gulped slightly. All four of the Pack-parents were sitting beside the fireplace, looking at him. "Whatever it is, I didn’t do it," he said.
"It is not what you have done, Harry." Dumbledore was standing in front of his desk, beaming at Harry. "It is what I believe you are about to do. Would you be so kind?" He held out the Sorting Hat to Harry.
More puzzled than ever, Harry accepted the Hat. "Should I put it on?" he asked.
"No, no, no need. Just hold it — oh, and put your right hand into it, if you don’t mind."
Harry changed the Hat to his left hand and slid his right inside the cone-shaped top. "Do I have to get a rabbit out of it?"
"Perhaps." Dumbledore had turned away, he was fiddling with something on his desk. "Perhaps. If you think a rabbit would help you."
"Help me with what?"
"Help you with — oh, dear." In turning back to face Harry, Dumbledore had knocked a small glass vial off his desk. The vial shattered on the stone floor with an incongruous roaring sound — smoke billowed up from the point of impact —
And a chimaera lunged forward at Harry, dragon’s tail whipping across Dumbledore’s desk, goat’s hooves clattering on the floor, lion’s mouth opened wide in a roar of rage —
Harry flung the Hat aside, meaning to go for his wand, but his hand was already clutched around something, and the weight and sheen of metal told him it might well be a weapon — red and silver flashed as he slashed at the monster with what he now held —
Dumbledore waved his wand, and the chimaera vanished. "Well," he said, sounding a bit breathless but very pleased. "I think that answers our questions."
Harry stared at the silver sword in his hand, shifting his hold on the ruby-studded grip to get a better look at it. "It looks like my dagger," he said. "Only bigger."
"Like your dagger." Dumbledore was still smiling. "Indeed. I have no doubt that this weapon, like your dagger, was goblin-wrought."
Harry sneaked a look at the Pack-parents. Letha had a faint smile on her face, while Danger looked impressed and Padfoot dumbfounded. Moony seemed to be thinking hard about something.
No help there. Harry turned back to the Headmaster. "Sir, is this part of the Tournament?"
"No, Harry, not exactly. I do apologize for frightening you, but it was the only way to discover the truth."
"The truth, sir?" What, that I can pull swords out of hats? Handy, but I don’t think it was really worth getting scared half to death for.
"Look closely at that sword, Harry, and tell me what you see."
Harry turned the sword in his hand, looking it over. And then he saw it.
Engraved just below the hilt, along the flat of the blade, was a name.
"Godric Gryffindor," he whispered.
"This makes it official," Padfoot muttered. "Our cubs have just broken all records for strangeness."
Harry glared at his godfather. "Fat lot of help you are, sitting there," he said. "That thing could have eaten me."
"Albus told us not to interfere," said Letha. "If we’d fought it off, you wouldn’t have that lovely little piece of work in your hand right now."
"And we wouldn’t have the question settled," Danger added. "I believe we can safely assume Harry is the Heir of Gryffindor?"
"I would do so, if I were you," Dumbledore said.
Moony looked up. "Do you assume it?" he asked.
There was a long pause.
"I do," Dumbledore said slowly, his eyes fixed on the far wall. "I find that I must."
Harry felt his arm start to shake, and began to lower the point of the sword to the ground.
"No, no, up here," said Dumbledore hastily, waving his wand and clearing his desk. "Here, by all means."
Harry laid the sword on the desk, his mind buzzing. I’m the Heir of Gryffindor. Me. I can use the magic of the castle, I can do things nobody else can —
Or can I?
He looked back at the Pack-parents. "My magic’s bound, isn’t it?" he said. "My dad bound it when I was a baby."
"So we’ve been told, Greeneyes." Moony stood up and crossed to Dumbledore’s desk, staring at the sword. "Lovely work on this, really beautiful. May I?"
"Of course," Harry said, realizing Moony wanted his permission to pick the sword up.
My permission. When does he ever ask my permission to do things?
"It’s a good thing your father did bind your magic," said Danger, joining them and casting a tolerant glance at Moony, who was carving patterns into an imaginary foe. "If he hadn’t, you probably would have burnt things every time you cried."
"You might have been able to fry Voldemort before he ever cursed you," Padfoot put in.
"No, I’m sure he could counter the fire magic," said Letha. "Or why did James die?"
Padfoot winced. "Ouch. Point. But it could still be a Snitch in the sleeve for Harry, if he can do it and the Dork Lord doesn’t know about it..."
"The problem is, it takes a blood relative to undo a binding like that," said Moony, setting the sword down. "And all yours are dead, Harry. Except your aunt and your cousin, and besides being the sort of people I wouldn’t ask for the time of day, they’re on the wrong side of the family. You’re the last Potter."
Harry stared down at the sword. "But you have the fire magic," he said. "Can’t you just unbind mine?"
Moony shook his head regretfully. "I’m fairly sure that I can’t," he said. "That sort of magic almost always needs a blood relative. I’d be willing to try, but not now. Not while you’re in the middle of the Tournament. The last thing you need is a sudden, unexpected surge in power that you don’t know how to control."
Harry looked up. "But after the Tournament, you’ll try."
"Yes. After the Tournament, I’ll try."
"And in the meantime, I shall search for ways that a blood binding may be undone without a blood relative present," said Dumbledore. "Welcome home, Harry Potter, lion’s son."
He held out his hand, and Harry shook it, feeling the familiar rising of mingled fear and excitement in his chest.
Harry Potter, Heir of Gryffindor.
It doesn’t sound half bad.
Okay, so I got tired of waiting. Please don’t hate me for this, either now or in the future. And please don’t hate me because I didn’t give you the cast list this time. Come to think of it, please don’t hate me at all. Or if you do, please just go away rather than flaming. I like that so much better. Not that I’ve had any problems recently, but it never hurts to be sure. So if you have something nice to say, please say it, and if you don’t... well, don’t. Thank you!