Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Four.
Or, "Autistic Potter and the Goblet of Fire."
Notes: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made. Not by me, anyway.
Started putting dates on here because it makes writing easier for me. Dates come from the old version of the Harry Potter Lexicon site's timeline pages. (The new ones suck.)
There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though, but there's a lot more in this one than usual because it was unavoidable. Still, lots of details are changed, so don't skip by familiar parts or you might miss something.
Just as a reminder, so I don't have to shoehorn in descriptions in the text of the story as a reminder, but in this fanfic Harry and Hermione, apart from having Asperger's Syndrome, are both black as well. Oh, and Luna has Asperger's as well, but as far as I'm concerned, that's just a part of canon, as Rowling heavily implied it. For this story, Luna is undiagnosed, as her father thinks she's part faery creature, a changeling child (but considers that a good thing for reasons).
'Italicized text between single quotes is almost always Parseltongue.'
Chapter 18: “What's Bugging Me”
February 26th, 1995
A couple days after the Second Task, when Harry sat down to breakfast, Luna and Danzia came over to the Griffindor table to sit next to him. There was a special edition of The Quibbler out, which detailed the events of the Second Task; Luna had just sold a copy to Danzia, and handed Harry his copy when she sat down. The two of them thanked her and read the article about the Second Task.
It was, as Harry expected, a very accurate and balanced description of the Second Task and what all the participants did during it. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were all called Champions while Harry was called a “participant,” all four of them got equal coverage and focus, and there were quotes from all four of them. Harry's quotes included sections from his pre-Task statement insisting he be given only one point for each task, his refusal of the title of Champion, and the reasons why, which filled only a couple short paragraphs before moving on to the Champions. The article finished with the total scores so far, and indicated that this determined the order the participants would be entering the final Task.
Harry was annoyed that Xeno had included the fact he'd spoken Parseltongue, but enough people had seen it happen that he doubted the secret would have stayed secret for long, and Xeno did also have a sentence after that which said, “Of course, while Christian beliefs have poisoned European ideas about Parseltongue over the centuries, the magical gift of Parseltongue – hailing originally from India – has a long history there of being a gift for good, a gift used primarily by Healers the world over. For every one dark lord or lady with the Parseltongue gift in the world, there are roughly 10 good and kind people with the gift.”
“Well, Harry,” Danzia said as she put down The Quibbler, “now the whole school probably thinks you were the Heir of Slytherin all along and that you didn't really kill the Basilisk, even though you have a shield made of part of its skin. Pretty sure by this time tomorrow, the whole school will be convinced your fanged servant is just waiting for you to call it into action again.”
“The whole school? Probably more like the whole country,” Harry said.
“Nah, Dumbledore somehow managed to keep that whole Chamber of Secrets thing out of the papers. Not sure how he managed that, must have had Ministry help. It would have been a huge blow to Fudge if that had gotten out, after all.”
“Yes. Honestly, it's a little terrifying. If the Muggle version of any one of the bad things that happened in my first four years here had happened in a Muggle school, it would be national news, and the headmaster would be fired. With even half the things that happened, he'd be lucky to not get run out of the country.”
“I'm just worried what Rita Skeeter is gonna write, mate,” Ron said.
“You and me both, Ron,” Harry said.
~
March 5th, 1995
Knott, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson’s gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn’t see and sniggering heartily. Pansy’s pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle’s broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached.
“There they are, there they are!” she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands — Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.
“You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!” Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today’s potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:
Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache
A boy like no other, perhaps — yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter likely thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.
Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has apparently been toying with both boys’ affections. Krum, who invited Miss Granger to the Yule Ball and is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl.”
However, it might not be Miss Granger’s doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys’ interest.
“She’s really ugly,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but she’d be well up to making a Love Potion, she’s quite brainy. I think that’s how she’s doing it.”
Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims.
As if it wasn't enough to be manipulated by one ambitious girl, Harry Potter seems to now be the target of another girl with nothing to recommend her but cunning and ambition. Luna Lovegood – a girl who is in the year below Harry, and is the daughter of quack 'reporter' Xenophilius Lovegood of The Quibbler infamy – now appears to have her hooks in young Harry as well. The girl, whose peculiar and suspicious friendship with the Boy Who Lived began from her first day in Hogwarts, is said to have managed to con Harry Potter into inviting her to the Yule Ball when Miss Granger turned him down, now appears to have her claws dug into him even more than before.
If you are confused, dear reader, then I will explain: Part of the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament involved rescuing hostages who were chosen via a form of Divination that divines the present rather than the future, in order to determine who each Champion would miss the most. No doubt due to some sort of trickery or potion, Miss Lovegood was chosen as the hostage for Harry Potter when Viktor Krum got Miss Granger.
“I always assumed it was a pity friendship,” said Slytherin student Pansy Parkinson. “You know – he felt sorry for her, so he hung around her to make her feel better. But now that she's tricked him into being his date to the Yule Ball, and then a hostage for the Second Task, I dunno... she's pretty weird, but she is a Ravenclaw, so she might be up to brewing a love potion too, especially if Granger decided to trade in Potter for a world-famous athlete.”
It is truly saddening to see such a kind-hearted, heroic boy as Harry Potter being manipulated by so many girls who only care about his fame. No doubt the headmaster of Hogwarts will be investigating the activities of these girls for wrong-doing, and punish them accordingly. In the meantime, Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.
“I told you!” Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. “I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She’s made you out to be some sort of — of scarlet woman!”
Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. “Scarlet woman?” she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.
“It’s what my mum calls them,” Ron muttered, his ears going red.
“If that’s the best Rita can do to me, she’s losing her touch,” said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. “What a pile of old rubbish. I just wish she'd left Luna out of it.”
Harry was silently fuming. It was bad enough Skeeter was messing with his life, now she was casting aspersions against Hagrid, Hermione, and Luna! Harry made a mental note to talk with Sirius and Ms. Pennyroyal about what could be done about Skeeter. If he had to move heaven and earth to dig up enough dirt on that woman to ruin her career, he would!
“Rubbish it might be, Hermione,” Neville said, “but Witch Weekly is a national periodical.”
“Yes, in the wizarding world. I'm Muggle-born. Who do I know who would listen to that rubbish?”
“Lavender and Parvati?” Ron said.
“Point. I guess what I meant was 'who do I know and whose opinions I care about that would listen to that rubbish?'”
“I dunno, Mum reads Witch Weekly. Mostly for the recipes, but still... I think she reads the rest of it in the loo.”
“Yes, but your mum knows Rita Skeeter is full of rubbish,” Hermione countered.
She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion.
“There’s something funny, though,” said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. “How could Rita Skeeter have known … ?”
“Known what?” said Ron quickly. “You haven’t been mixing up Love Potions, have you?”
“Don’t be stupid, love potions are rape and should be illegal,” Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. “No, it’s just … how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?”
Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron’s eyes.
“What?” said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.
“He asked me not long after that argument we had about how he didn't know me well enough to pick me from a crowd of look-alikes fawning over him. He said we barely knew each other, but he wanted to get to know me better, because he likes that I'm smart and that I don't care about his fame. So... he said, if I wasn’t doing anything over the summer, would I like to —”
“And what did you say?” said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione.
“And he did say he’d never felt the same way about anyone else,” Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her, “but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn’t there … or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task. …”
“And what did you say?” Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.
“Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to —”
“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger,” said an icy voice right behind them, and all four of them jumped, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.”
Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them; Knott took the opportunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry.
“Ah … reading magazines under the table as well?” Snape added, reaching for the copy of Witch Weekly. “A further ten points from Gryffindor.”
In a panic and angry on Luna's behalf, Harry whipped out his wand and used Evanesco on the magazine, Vanishing it. Snape – who had been about to grab it – bared his teeth at Harry.
“Potter! In my class, wands are only to be used as required by the potion we're making at the time. Using it for anything else is potentially very dangerous, especially Vanishing! What if you'd Vanished the table leg instead? You'd have spilled unfinished potion all over yourself and your friends! Detention with me tonight! Stay after class for the details. And if I see your wand again in this class without me telling you to do so, it will be a week's worth of detentions! Do you understand, Potter?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said in a small voice.
“Good. And 20 points from Griffindor for your carelessness, Potter.”
With that, Snape walked away dangerously and started to stalk around the room, keeping a close eye on Harry and his friends.
“Totally worth it,” Harry whispered just loud enough for his friends to hear. “Knowing him, he'd have read the article to the class.”
“You got detention and lost us points for that?” Hermione said, cross with him.
“Luna puts up with enough crap from people as it is,” he said.
Hermione's face softened at this, and she nodded. Not wanting to risk being caught talking again, the four of them didn't talk for the rest of the class. Though it was really tempting to do otherwise, since Snape was seen talking with the Slytherins soon after.
There was a knock on the dungeon door.
“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice.
The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.
“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. Harry kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.
“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.
“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You can wait outside for me after the lesson, then. I have something to do with Potter at that time, and then I will be going to dinner. You can talk to me after Potter leaves.”
Karkaroff, still looking suspicious, nodded and left the room.
After class, when everyone else had left the room, Snape came up to Harry and said, “All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head, Potter. You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you, but I don’t care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.”
Harry said nothing in response. Anything he said would just make things worse.
“So I give you fair warning, Potter,” Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice, “pint-sized celebrity or not — if I catch you breaking into my office one more time —”
“I haven’t been anywhere near your office!” said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness.
“Don’t lie to me,” Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry’s. “Boomslang skin. Bicorn horn. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.”
Harry was confused for a moment. Why was Snape bringing this up now, years after the fact?
“Don't play dumb with me, Potter! You and your little friends are playing around with Polyjuice Potion for the second time since you came here, and this time you won't get away with it!”
Now Harry glared at Snape. He was just so tired of hostility from other people, it made him tired. But he'd also had enough of people accusing him and his friends of things they hadn't done, and that was canceling out the tiredness with anger. Angrily he blurted out, “If you're going to berate me for something you think I've done, you might want to pick something more recent than my second year here. Sir.”
Since he wasn't very good at occlumency yet, and Snape – who was a very good occlumens and legilimens – was looking right in his eyes at the time (Harry was angry enough to not care how that made him feel), Snape pulled back in surprise at these words. But this surprise was short-lived.
“So you admit you stole potions ingredients from my personal stores?”
“Well yes. Obviously.”
Snape blinked in surprise at the admission.
“Then, Potter--”
“Whatever you're going to say, Sir, I should remind you that Professor Dumbledore already knows we brewed Polyjuice Potion in our second year to try to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin was. He and Professor McGonagall were there when I told them the whole story, after I came out of the Chamber of Secrets. It was a one-time thing, a stupid plan in hindsight, and we haven't stolen anything from you since then. And I can't for the life of me figure out what you think we'd be doing with it this time. Whoever stole from you this last time, it wasn't me or any of my friends.”
Snape didn't look like he knew what to say to this. Harry continued, “And as to your attitude about me, Sir, I am aware my father was a bully to you. On his behalf, I apologize for that, for whatever that's worth. But I am not a bully myself, Sir. I was bullied for years while living with the Dursleys. I had no friends in school until Hogwarts, and Dudley – my cousin – and his goons bullied me constantly at home and at school. I was abused by my aunt and uncle as well, Sir. They never told me I was a wizard, they never told me I was famous. They told me my parents died in a car crash! So I had no idea I was famous until my first year at Hogwarts, I hate being famous, and having been bullied and abused growing up, I wouldn't do that to other people. I can't express to you how angry it makes me when you accuse me of being like that, not without resorting to screaming.
“And so, Professor, I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop mistaking me for my father. He's dead, I'm nothing like him except in appearance, and your refusal to recognize that I am not my father makes you look childish in the extreme.” – here, Snape bared his teeth at Harry, but Harry kept going – “If you give me more detention or take more points from Griffindor for saying that, Sir, then I'm fine with that, because it needed to be said, and I'm not sorry I said it.”
Harry stopped talking, because he was out of things to say. He braced himself for impact, however that might come, but after several long moments of nothing, he looked up. Snape's face went back, slowly, to being impassive as usual. Harry waited, uncomfortably, for him to say something.
When Snape finally spoke, it was a lot calmer and less dangerous than he'd feared, but still with an angry snap to it. “I expect you in my office tonight immediately after dinner, Potter. That will be all.”
Harry blinked. “Sir?” he asked, confused.
“I have dismissed you, Potter. Please leave before I take even more points from Griffindor.”
Not needing any further encouragement, Harry grabbed his things and left as quickly as he could, relieved his sudden attack of temper hadn't gotten him in worse trouble... yet.
As Harry left, Snape watched him go in thoughtful silence.
Lily, he thought, that was truly a rant worthy of you. Is it possible I misjudged him? Is it possible he has more of you in him than just his eyes?
It seemed he needed to have a long-overdue talk with Albus about the boy. But not tonight. He'd give it a few days, first. And he had to talk with Karkaroff as well.
Harry made very sure to be seen leaving Snape's classroom, and carefully watched Karkaroff go inside, sneaking up to the door when the man's back was turned.
“What’s so urgent?” he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.
“This,” said Karkaroff, and Harry, peering around the corner of the classroom door, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.
“Well?” said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never since —”
“Put it away!” snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom.
“But you must have noticed —” Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.
“We can talk later, Karkaroff!” spat Snape. “Potter! What are you doing?”
“I think I forgot my--”
“Begone, Potter! Before I lose my temper with you!”
Harry rushed away, not wanting to push his luck any farther.
Nosy, too, just like his mother. Snape thought. It'll be the death of him someday, I fear.
~
March 6th, 1995
Harry's detention for Vanishing an object in Potions class had been, strangely, his least objectionable one yet from Snape. He'd been forced to sort rotting beetles from the fresh ones for several hours while Snape silently graded papers.
That had been yesterday. Now it was Saturday, and there was another Hogsmeade visit today. Harry was of course going with Luna. Hermione had come along as well, and once more they could see Krum ahead of them. But what was really surprising was something Ron said.
Harry and Luna had been discussing what they were going to do, and Hermione had mentioned that she was meeting Krum later, explaining that despite him inviting her to his home over the summer, she had made it very clear to him that they were just friends for now, and she trusted him to honor that.
“Viktor and I are meeting at The Three Broomsticks, Ron. You should come with, you can talk with him too, he's really nice.”
“Er, maybe. I mean, I'll have to ask Tracey what she thinks of Krum, first. I wouldn't want to ruin your date if she turns out to be a fangirl,” he said in a barely-audible voice.
Everyone stopped walking except for Ron, who ran into Harry.
“Ow! Watch it! Er... what'd you lot stop for?”
“You're going to Hogsmeade with Tracey? As in Tracey Davis?” Hermione asked. “The girl you took to the Yule Ball and then she had a horrible time because of your jealousy?”
“Er, yeah. But just as friends!” Ron protested.
“So you apologized? And it went that well?”
Ron was looking at his hands. “Er, yeah. I explained what had been going through my head, and some of what Harry said, and then I told her I shouldn't have let it get to me and I shouldn't have ruined the only school dance we've ever had, that wasn't fair to her or to you, 'mione. Then we kept talking, and it was really tense at first, because she was still kinda angry about it, but...” - he paused, hunting for words - “we kept running into each other, and we kept talking, and finally we decided to try to be friends with each other. And she didn't have a date for this trip, so I asked her if she wanted to go with me, so we could spend more time getting to know each other. Cuz we don't really see much of each other but classes and studying, and usually there's other Slytherins around making trouble...” He shrugged.
“Good for you, Ron,” Luna said. “I hope it goes well.”
He shrugged again. “Thanks, Luna.”
“You're welcome.”
“One word of advice, Ron,” Harry said. “Unless she's told you to call her by her first name, you should call her 'Davis.' I know she's not a pureblood, but she's still one of those people using that system of etiquette.”
“Thanks, mate. I'll remember that.” He looked thoughtful a moment before adding, “I'm gonna have to ask her about that, though. I don't remember if she mentioned it or not.”
As they continued walking, Harry hung back with Ron for a bit.
“Sorry to ask,” Harry whispered, “but you aren't doing this to try to make Hermione jealous or something, are you?”
“What? No! If I was doing that, there's a lot of girls far easier to... I mean, it'd be a lot easier to ask, like, Lavender or someone like that. Honestly, me trying to date a Slytherin to get Hermione jealous? Might as well ask me if I dropped out of Divination and joined Arithmancy instead, Harry!”
“Sorry I mentioned it,” Harry said. “I just... I didn't know what to make of this Tracey Davis thing. Guess I should've taken you at your word. Sorry, Ron.”
“No problem, mate.”
Harry went back up to Luna and took her by the arm.
“You could have just asked me if he was telling the truth, Harry. Though I'm not sure why you needed to ask at all. He's not a very good liar, after all.”
Harry shrugged. “Sometimes I get ideas in my head, and I can't get them out any other way.”
The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all four of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. Ron went off to meet with Tracey, Hermione went to The Three Broomsticks, and Harry and Luna went to an herbology store Luna knew about to look at all the different kinds of magical flowers, which Harry had to admit were pretty interesting. Then, inspired by all the different magical flowers, they went to a florist where Harry bought Luna a magical snapdragon, which really did snap at people's fingers and breathe little spurts of flame at them. Luna put a fireproofing charm on her hair and ears and tucked the snapdragon into her ear.
After that, they went to Honeydukes for a while and bought enough candy to last them a month at least. From there, they went to Zonko's and suffered through a few minutes of the noise there because the place had good stuff, then spent a couple hours at the book store, and finished off the day by trying on weird hats at McHavelock's Wizarding Headgear before heading back to the school after a long afternoon of leisure, shopping bags in hand, meeting Ron and Hermione again on the way up.
“Well that could've gone better,” Ron said. “It could've gone a lot worse, too, but could've gone better.”
“Oh? What happened?” Harry asked.
“Right. So Tracey and I met at The Three Broomsticks, on the other side of the room from Krum and Hermione. Draco and Daphne came over and joined us, which I didn't mind because hey, it's not like it was a date or anything. And I thought it was going okay. They were just talking, the three of them, really calmly. I mean, Draco and Daphne kept butting into the conversation between me and Tracey whenever there was a lull in it, and Tracey would say something back all polite. I didn't even realize anything was wrong until she stood up in a huff and told me we were going to Honeyduke's instead.”
“What was wrong?”
“I asked her that when we were on our way to Honeyduke's, and she explained it had been the pureblood version of a row. Draco and Daphne both think she's barmy for giving a git like me a second chance. Even after she explained it was just a friend thing, they still wouldn't let up, apparently. But it was all so calm and veiled in these polite little euphemisms and junk that I'd never've known if she hadn't told me about it. But of course, she was really upset by it. Worked out in my favor a little though, cuz she was defending her choice to give me a second chance, which is kinda like defending me, I guess.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “Point is, it was weird. Purebloods are weird.”
“Ron, you're a pureblood,” Hermione pointed out.
“Yeah, if you wanna get technical about it, I guess. But we're not like, snooty about it, is what I mean.”
“I think that's probably more a case of the culture of wealth and nobility versus the culture of the common people,” Luna said.
“You mean poor people, right?” Ron asked sullenly.
“Yes, but that's not a bad thing. Daddy and I aren't wealthy either, Ron. Money attracts grobflons, you know.” she shuddered.
“Grobflons?” Ron asked.
“Yes, grobflons. They're like the hidebehinds of North America, but smaller, and exposure to their aura makes people fearful, jealous, possessive, greedy, and mean-spirited. The only way to be wealthy without attracting grobflons is to give regularly to the needy just because they're needy, and not because it'll make you look good or grant you favors with the right people.”
“Glad I don't have to worry about those,” Ron said.
“What about me, Luna? I'm wealthy, but I don't give it away to needy people.”
“Yes, well, that's because you're younger and you only have limited access to that wealth. When you get older and come into your full inheritance, you'll have to start working rather hard to avoid the grobflons.”
“Ah. Well forewarned is forearmed,” he said.
“I doubt forewarning you would cause you to sprout an extra pair of arms, Harry.”
Harry chuckled. “You know what I mean, though, right?”
“Yes, Harry, of course I do. That was a joke, silly!”
“Ah, good one. You got me,” he said, grinning.
“Anyway, Harry, we should wear our new hats to dinner tonight,” Luna said. “It'll give people something to talk about that's fun.”
“You got new hats?” Hermione asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, opening a hat box and taking out what looked like exactly half of a plain black pointed wizard's hat, like the kind they wore for their uniform. Only when he put it on his head, it fit there like a whole hat. Luna had the matching other half.
Ron, curious, grabbed at where the missing half of the hat should be and grabbed at it, mistakenly grabbing Harry's hair.
“Woah! I thought it was just half invisible, but it really is half a hat!”
“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “The woman at the shop said they're magically paired to hold each other up as though they were one complete hat. But that means if one gets destroyed, the other stops working and becomes a mundane, cut-in-half hat.”
“Awesome! I want a pair of them!” Ron said.
~
Later that night, Harry got on the two-way mirror with Sirius to tell him about his talk with Snape the other day. He'd thought to do it because he'd realized that someone had been in Snape's office stealing things. He didn't know for sure, but he thought it had sounded like the recent burglar had stolen the same things: ingredients for Polyjuice Potion, which was worrying.
“Yes, that is worrying. Polyjuce Potion... that expands the list of people who might have put your name into the goblet quite a bit. With Polyjuice Potion, it could be anyone.”
“I doubt it's any of my friends. I know them pretty well.”
“Still, it wouldn't hurt to check. Ask your friends questions only they would know. Don't accept delayed answers. Whoever's trying to kill you is probably getting really worried now, you've survived the first two tasks already. They might be tempted to try a more direct route.”
“Sirius, Polyjuice Potion takes a month to brew.”
“Yes, but they could already have a supply brought in from outside.”
“I guess. But if they have a way of getting it from the outside, why not just leave the castle for the supplies? Breaking into Snape's personal store cupboard is risky.”
“Hmmm... you have a good point there, pup. I don't know.”
“Anyway... if they have Polyjuice Potion already, they must be the most incompetent assassins ever. All it would take is stun a Gryffindor student, hide them away somewhere, and come into my room when I'm alone and... I dunno, kill me there?”
“And have the entire school coming down on their heads when they did? I'm fairly certain the Hogwarts wards would go crazy if they AK'd you or mortally injured you inside the school. No, I think you're safe in the Gryffindor dorms. Just don't go anywhere private with anyone. And yes, that means your friend Luna, too. She could be Imperioused or impersonated.”
“I think I'm fine with Luna. Did you see how I picked her out of the crowd at the Second Task? She's pretty much impossible to accurately impersonate.”
“Yes, that was impressive. I don't know, you might be right. But then again, who knows how good an actor this person is?”
“I'll be careful, Sirius. I won't go anywhere alone with anyone. Though... that probably means I shouldn't visit Hagrid anymore.”
“Oh, I reckon you'd be fine with Hagrid. He's not entirely human, and Polyjuice is only meant for human transformations. Given what giants are like, I reckon the potion either wouldn't work with his hair at all, would only work for half the usual time, or would get them stuck in some in-between state, between human and giant. So as long as you don't visit him past dark, I think you should be fine with Hagrid.”
“Right. Well I'll be careful. Oh hey, while I have you here, I forgot to mention that back in January, Bagman told me the goblins were looking for Crouch, and that nobody knew where he was because he hadn't been coming to work. Apparently he's been sending instructions in my owl. He told me Rita Skeeter thinks there's something sinister going on there.”
“By owl, you say? Not two-way mirror? Not Floo? Not House—oh right, he sacked his House Elf.”
“No, just owl. You know, letters.”
“Hmm... Rita might have a point. Normally if someone's too ill to go to work, they either don't send instructions at all, or they do it by Floo or by House Elf or something. Crouch is wealthy enough he could buy a replacement elf if he needed to. Yes, that is rather suspicious. Owls can be intercepted, or handwriting forged. Or he could be Imperioused.”
“What for, though? Why kidnap Crouch unless you're going to replace him?”
“Why kidnap Crouch at all, pup? He was an important man once, but now he's just an interpreter. No, there's nothing to be gained by replacing him, I'm sure. But maybe he knows something. Maybe he saw something he shouldn't have, and got kidnapped or killed to shut him up.”
“Yeah, and to make it less suspicious until they're done with whatever it is, they make it seem like he's sick. Maybe they Imperioused him to send in instructions. Though what instructions an interpreter would need to send in, I don't know.”
“Oh, I've done some digging, and he's actually head of the Foreign Languages Interpretation sub-department. So that part makes sense.”
“Maybe I should write Percy and ask him about Mr. Crouch,” Harry said.
Sirius's face in the mirror frowned curiously. “Why would you do that?”
“He's Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, according to Bagman.”
Sirius shook his head. “No he isn't. He's Ms. Selby's assistant. He has nothing to do with Crouch.”
“Huh. You sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure. Spoke with him just the other day, in fact.”
“Weird. Do you think Bagman's losing his marbles?”
“Probably just got confused. He's been dodging people who owe him for months now, I think the stress is getting to him. Probably forgot that Crouch isn't head of International Magical Cooperation anymore, but remembered Percy was assistant to that position. Very odd, though. You should probably avoid Bagman too, just to be safe.”
“That'll be kind of difficult. He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament.”
“He does?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that's not right. But given the scuttlebutt around the Ministry, I'd say he's betting on you to win, to pay off his gambling debts.”
“Really?”
“As far as I know.”
“Huh. Well, that would explain why he looked like he was going to be ill, when I refused points for the Second Task, and again when I ended up in last place.”
“HA! Yes, that would do it alright.”
There was silence for a few moments, because Harry was thinking. Then he said, “Sirius, I think we should go back to discussing Crouch. I mean... we've been assuming he's gotten in trouble for seeing something he shouldn't have, but what if he's pretending to be sick? I mean, he was there when that Dark Mark was conjured. He seemed a bit too keen to pass the blame for it to his elf.”
“Oh, I don't think Crouch is a Death Eater. Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t you know?”
“He did? What happened?”
“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side … well, you wouldn’t understand … you’re too young.”
“I hate it when people say that. Try me, why don't you?”
A grin flashed across Sirius’s face.
“All right, I’ll try you.” He paused a few moments, then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing … the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere … panic … confusion … that’s how it used to be.
“Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning — I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. …” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who’d managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.”
“Crouch’s son was caught?”
“Yep. Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while … gotten to know his own son.”
“Was his son a Death Eater?” asked Harry.
“No idea,” said Sirius. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I’d bet my life were Death Eaters — but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf.”
“Did Crouch try and get his son off?”
“Crouch let his son off? Of course not! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again — doesn’t that tell you what he’s like? Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy … then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”
“He gave his own son to the dementors?” asked Harry quietly.
“That’s right,” said Sirius, and he didn’t look remotely amused now. “I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though … they all went quiet in the end … except when they shrieked in their sleep.”
For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius’s eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.
“So he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry said.
“No,” said Sirius dully. “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.”
“He died?”
“He wasn’t the only one,” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.
“So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made. One moment a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic … next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I’ve heard since I got exonerated, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”
There was a long silence. Harry was thinking of the way Crouch’s eyes had bulged as he’d looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry.
“Oh,” he said at last. “Well... maybe if he's so much against dark wizards... and with his latest demotion after you were exonerated, maybe Crouch is trying to catch dark wizards at the school? Maybe this whole fiasco with my name coming out of the Goblet of Fire made him come back up here to try to catch the culprit?”
“Not a bad idea, Harry. He always was obsessed with catching dark wizards. Could be he thinks he'll get his old popularity back if he catches another one. Could be he was the one breaking into Snape's office looking for evidence, and took some Polyjuice ingredients while he was at it.”
“So you think Snape could be up to something, then?” asked Harry.
“Could be. I know Dumbledore trusts him, but he's never told any of us why. Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was. Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters.”
Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.
“Rosier and Wilkes — they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges — they’re a married couple — they’re in Azkaban. Avery — from what I’ve heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d been acting under the Imperius Curse — he’s still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater — not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape’s certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble.”
“That reminds me, last Friday in Potions, Karkaroff showed up. Wanted to talk with Snape. They talked after the lesson, after I left. But I sneaked up to the door to watch and listen. Karkaroff showed Snape something on his arm. It was getting clearer, and that worried him for some reason. I couldn't see what it was, though.”
“He showed Snape something on his arm?” said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about … but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to Snape for answers …”
Sirius stared off to the side of the mirror, then made a grimace of frustration.
“There’s still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn’t, but I just can’t see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he’d ever worked for Voldemort.”
“Maybe Crouch wonders the same thing. That could explain the break-in.”
“It's possible. But all we have are wild guesswork so far. We have nothing but speculation about Crouch, as suspicious as his supposed illness is. And Snape... well...” Sirius sighed. “Anyway, someone out there might have Polyjuice Potion. As Moody would say, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Be wary of everyone, don't go anywhere alone with anyone except Hagrid. Don't go out at night. The time for mischief isn't when your life is in danger. What time is it?”
“It's 10 PM. I wonder where the other boys are?” Harry thought aloud.
“Well, it's late. You and I both need to go to bed. I'll talk to you later, Harry.”
“Before you go, a couple quick things?”
“I suppose, if they really are quick.”
“First, how's Winky?”
“Ah, that. I tried Luna's suggestion to order her to sober up, and it seems to be working. She's clearly miserable, now that she's unable to drown her sorrows, but I've been ordering her to do extra work to keep her mind off things, which I think has been helpful so far. Dobby and Kreacher were annoyed by it, but then I ordered Dobby to make messes for her to clean. HA! I've never seen a House Elf look so shocked and appalled before. Took some cajoling, but I got him to do it.”
“Cool. And how're things going with Zuzanna?”
“They're going alright,” Sirius said evasively.
“Have you told her you're a wizard yet?”
“No. Never you mind about my love life, pup. Go to bed. I'll talk with you later, Harry.”
“See you later, Sirius,” Harry said, grinning.
Sirius's image in the mirror winked out, and Harry put the mirror away, getting up to go look for the others. He soon found Ron was talking with Hermione, and Dean and Seamus were doing homework.
~
March 8th, 1995
On Monday morning, Hermione eagerly awaited the owls. She had apparently taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet because she was tired of finding things out from the Slytherins. When Ron asked her if she was going to get out a subscription to Witch Weekly as well, she rolled her eyes at him.
“Good thinking!” said Harry, also looking up at the owls. “Hey, Hermione, I think you’re in luck —”
A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione.
“It hasn’t got a newspaper, though,” she said, looking disappointed. “It’s —”
But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny.
“How many subscriptions did you take out?” said Harry, seizing Hermione’s goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.
They were all baffled at first, but as soon as Hermione showed them a letter written from letters cut from the Daily Prophet, Harry told them all to stop opening them.
“We should leave this all here until we can get a teacher or other adult to deal with it. There could be curses in some of these, if they're all hate mail.
That gave Harry a horrible idea, and he went over to the Ravenclaw table, where Luna had also gotten a pile of hate mail. She had opened a few of them already. Harry watched in horror as she opened another one, and it covered her hands in undiluted bubotuber pus.
By now, Hermione had fetched McGonagall. She was over at the Gryffindor table, but Flitwick had seen Harry going to Ravenclaw, and he quarantined the rest of the letters as Harry escorted a crying Luna to the Hospital Wing.
“Mr. Potter?” Madam Pomfrey said. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into this---”
“It's Luna, she's hurt!”
Madam Pomfrey looked at Luna's hands as Luna cried into Harry's shoulder.
“Tsk tsk. Undiluted bubotuber pus. I'll be able to heal this of course, but it'll mean some bandages on your hands for a day or two. You won't be able to use your hands much until I take the bandages off.”
Harry watched and comforted Luna as she got her hands doused in some potion to neutralize the pus, another potion to stimulate healing of the skin, and then getting her hands wrapped in bandages. Then, since Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her under observation for a few hours, Luna insisted Harry go to his classes, she'd be fine.
As soon as Harry got out into the corridor, he said, “Dobby!”
With a CRACK, Dobby appeared. He was wearing an apron and holding a feather duster.
“Harry Potter is wanting Dobby?”
“Yes, thank you Dobby. I want you to find Sirius and tell him that Luna was attacked by someone sending her hate mail because of an article in Witch Weekly. Tell him I want Ms. Pennyroyal to do something legal to punish the magazine for opening her up to attack. Sue them or something, I don't know what, but I want to see some punishment. The article was written by Rita Skeeter. Tell Sirius I want to ruin her life for doing this.”
Dobby's ears had folded back in a little bit of fear at the look on Harry's face, but he nodded. “Dobby will be telling Master Sirius to be getting Ms. Pennyroyal on the attack against Rita Skeeter. Is there being anything else before Dobby is going?”
“That's all for now, Dobby. Thank you.”
Dobby smiled, nodded, and disappeared with a CRACK.
Harry went to go find McGonagall, to see what was being done about the hate mail. He hoped it wasn't being destroyed; he wanted the culprits found and charged with assault.
“Mr. Potter, there you are. I've had one of my NEWT students take over my classes until this matter is settled.”
“Professor McGonagall, where are all the hate mail letters for both Hermione and Luna?”
“Professor Flitwick and I have gathered them up and put stasis spells on them until a representative from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement can arrive to find the culprits.”
Harry blinked at this. He was surprised she'd thought to do that.
“It was young Mr. Malfoy's idea, in fact,” she said, as though answering the question he hadn't asked. “And I daresay it's a good idea. We can't let people who are presumably full grown adults get away with assaulting children. Not if anything can be done about it, anyway.”
“Thank you, Professor. And just so you know, if things go as I've planned, Ms. Pennyroyal should be coming here soon as well. I sent a message to Sirius with Dobby.”
“You sent a message with a house-elf?”
“Yes. Honestly, I don't know why more people don't do that. It's far faster than owls, and can be done from pretty much anywhere.”
“I see. Well I daresay the adults will handle it from here, Mr. Potter. You should go on to class. Oh, here's a note for you just in case,” she said, handing him a piece of parchment.
“Thank you, Professor.”
He was late for Herbology, but he ended up not even needing the note McGonagall had given him; Ron and Hermione had explained what happened, and so he wasn't in any trouble with Professor Sprout.
As they left the greenhouse for their Care of Magical Creatures class, they saw Knott, Crabbe, and Goyle descending the stone steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson was whispering and giggling behind them with her gang of Slytherin girls. Catching sight of Harry, Pansy called, “Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?”
Draco had, by then, slipped behind Harry, and at Pansy's words whispered to Harry. As he listened, he smiled, which made Pansy and her friends stop giggling and look concerned. What Draco had just told him, he was going to enjoy making use of. In the meantime, making Knott and Parkinson wonder what he'd been told that made him look so happy was making them look very worried indeed.
Hagrid, who had told them last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. Harry’s heart sank at the sight of the crates — surely not another skrewt hatching? — but when he got near enough to see inside, he found himself looking at a number of fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.
“These’re nifflers,” said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. “Yeh find ’em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff. … There yeh go, look.”
One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson’s watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.
“Useful little treasure detectors,” said Hagrid happily. “Thought we’d have some fun with ’em today. See over there?” He pointed at a large patch of freshly turned earth. “I’ve buried some gold coins. I’ve got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus’ take off all yer valuables, an’ choose a niffler, an’ get ready ter set ’em loose.”
“They aren't real gold, are they, Hagrid?” Harry asked. It seemed unlikely Hagrid would risk his own money for something like this, but then the half-giant was a trusting man.
“Nah, it's leprechaun gold. Disappears after a few hours. So there's no point in nickin any, yeh lot.”
They took off anything shiny and put it in their pockets, then spent the rest of the lesson watching the nifflers dive through the soil like dolphins in water, bringing the leprechaun gold back to them. Ron's niffler got the most gold. He commented that he'd like a niffler for a pet, but Hagrid disappointed him by telling him they wreck houses in their quest for shiny objects.
At the end of class, Harry told Hagrid what had happened at breakfast, mainly because he didn't know when Luna had Hagrid's class.
“Tha's ruddy horrible! Poor Luner. I like her. A bit odd, can't always unnerstan' what she's on about, but a sweet girl. 'ope she's okay.”
“I think she'll be fine, Hagrid, once she heals up a little. Sadly, I think she's used to being bullied.”
“Ah, but it en't the same when it's comin from adults. Watch 'er, she might be more 'urt than she lets on. Anyway, I got some o’ those letters an’ all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou’ me mum. ‘Yeh’re a monster an’ yeh should be put down.’ ‘Yer mother killed innocent people an’ if you had any decency you’d jump in a lake.’ ”
“No!” said Hermione, looking shocked.
“Yeah,” said Hagrid, heaving the niffler crates over by his cabin wall. “They’re jus’ nutters. Don’ open ’em if yeh get any more. Chuck ’em straigh’ in the fire.”
“Er, I wouldn't advise that,” Harry said. “What if they explode in the fire?”
“Oh. Tha's a good point. Er...”
“The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is investigating them.”
“Yes, that was my idea,” Draco said. “And if it gets to be enough of a problem, Harry, you can always go to Gringotts and set up an owl redirection ward. Then anything sent by an unfamiliar owl goes to them, and for a fee they'll sort out the harmful stuff and send along the rest. In fact... it's odd that you never get any fan mail, Harry. You might already have an owl-redirection ward in place. You should look into that, unless you already knew about it.”
“Huh. No, I didn't think of that. I'll look into that, Draco. Thank you.”
“You're quite welcome. Anyway, we should get going before we're late.”
~
March 9 – 13, 1995
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement tracked down a dozen different people who had sent dangerous things in the mail to Hermione and Luna, and they were charged with assault. A few avoided prison time by paying a huge fine – most of which went to Luna's father as restitution – but the ones that weren't wealthy spend a couple weeks in a relatively low-security part of Azkaban, which meant minimal Dementor exposure. It would be a miserable two weeks, but it shouldn't be too bad. It was certainly going to be a lot better than what Hagrid went through in their second year.
Ms. Pennyroyal got on the case against Witch Weekly for libel. It was a gossip magazine, of course, but a bunch of people had attacked Hermione and Luna over it. The magazine's lawyers, not sure they could win the case, made a deal instead. The magazine paid a 500 galleon restitution, printed an official retraction to the article that also said they were ashamed that some of their readers had taken illegal actions over their content, and promised they would never print anything by Rita Skeeter ever again.
Something about the wizarding world's laws prevented them from going after Rita Skeeter for libel for the same article, so that was a bust. But then Harry told her what Draco had discovered. Apparently it was something the other Slytherins had been trying to keep secret from Draco and the rest of Harry's Slytherin friends, but Draco was craftier than they knew and had discovered the truth anyway.
On the 13th, Rita Skeeter showed up at the Three Broomsticks as asked by Mr. Potter's and Mr. Black's lawyer, Ms. Pennyroyal. She had showed up with her own lawyer, one Mr. Cheetum of Dewey Cheetum & Howe. [NTS: did we do this in book 3?] Ms. Pennyroyal was already there, with Sirius, and after a few pleasantries, the two lawyers cast privacy spells to their satisfaction before getting down to business.
“What is this all about, then?” Mr. Cheetum asked. “You've already lost my client a lucrative market by getting her fired from Witch Weekly.”
“Oh, your client has been a massive thorn in my clients' sides ever since the beginning of this Triwizard Tournament. Young Mr. Potter was quite willing to leave you alone as long as it was only him your client targeted, but then your client impugned the reputation of his friend Mr. Hagrid. Mr. Potter was still willing to leave your client alone after that, but then your client – Ms. Skeeter – wrote that article in Witch Weekly that got his girlfriend Luna Lovegood hurt, and almost hurt his friend Ms. Granger. Not to mention, your client also came dangerously close to attacking the Dreyfuss heiress, Ms. Antigone Dreyfuss.”
“This was already settled,” Mr. Cheetum said. “It resulted in my client being fired from Witch Weekly.”
“Oh no, this is only beginning. Mr. Potter is furious with your client. He said he wanted to – and I quote – 'ruin her life' for this. Mr. Potter may be a Gryffindor, but he has a Hufflepuff's loyalty to his friends, a Ravenclaw's brains, and a Slytherin's cunning and guile. He also has several friends in Slytherin. And you've been spending a lot of time among the Slytherins this year, haven't you, Ms. Skeeter?”
“I advise you not to answer that, Ms. Skeeter,” Mr. Cheetum said. But the look on her face said it all. She had blanched, and now looked sickly.
“Oh, she doesn't need to say anything,” Ms. Pennyroyal said. Sirius was grinning, trying hard not to speak. Ms. Pennyroyal continued, saying, “because we have proof already.”
“Proof of what?” Mr. Cheetum demanded.
“Proof that your client, Ms. Skeeter, is an unregistered animagus.”
Rita was shaking now. Mr. Cheetum looked at her with an annoyed expression. “Pardon me a few moments while I confer with my client.”
The two of them moved to another table, casting privacy spells that not only blocked out their words but also blurred their entire bodies from Sirius's and Lilith's view. Even so, the exchange looked heated from how much the two of them were gesticulating.
Almost twenty minutes later, Mr. Cheetum and Rita Skeeter returned to the table with Sirus and Ms. Pennyroyal.
“What proof do you have of these claims?”
Ms. Pennyroyal slid an envelope over to Mr. Cheetum. He opened it up and looked inside. It was full of pictures of Rita transforming into a beetle, pictures of Knott and several other Slytherins talking to a beetle in their hands, and pictures of the beetle returning to human form.
“Those are not the only copies, of course.”
“I see. What do you intend to do with this information?” Mr. Cheetum asked.
“Well Mr. Potter wanted, at first, to just tell the Ministry and let Ms. Skeeter deal with the consequences. But I explained to him that the consequences were just a fine.”
“A steep fine that I know my client cannot afford, even if she sold off all her assets.”
“I thought so. That would, of course, mean time in Azkaban, as I told Mr. Potter. He doesn't hate you so much that he wants you to go there, Ms. Skeeter. At least, he doesn't hate you that much yet.”
“So what do you intend to do with the information?” he repeated.
“First, we want an official apology from your client, that will be run in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, for which she will not get paid. If Mr. Potter accepts your client's public apology, then we will permit her to keep her job at the Daily Prophet, on the proviso that anything she intends to print in that paper will be run by my office before it gets published. She will also promise not to publish with any other periodical nor any book publisher without my office's prior consent. These terms will all be written out in a nice, neat contract of course. Breach of contract will result in the Ministry being told about her status as an illegal animagus, with corresponding proof.”
“That's blackmail!”
“Yes it is. Incidentally, blackmail has an interesting legal standing in the magical UK. I won't bore you with the details, Mr. Cheetum already knows them, but it boils down to 'if you get caught blackmailing someone, you pay a fine, and only go to prison if you can't afford the fine.' And since both Mr. Black and Mr. Potter are extremely wealthy, I daresay they wouldn't mind paying the fine. Fascinating, the way the laws have changed since You-Know-Who fell from power, isn't it?
“What's even better,” Ms. Pennyroyal said without letting them answer, “is that the fine for blackmailing someone is the amount of money the blackmailer demanded plus a 30% fine on top of that. Since we're not blackmailing your client for money or resources, just to behave herself when she writes articles, it would be very interesting to see whether the Wizengamot would even consider that blackmail, legally speaking. And even if they rule against us... 30 percent of zero is zero.”
Mr. Cheetum conferred with his client again for another ten minutes. When they came back, Mr. Cheetum said, “Let's draw up this contract then.”
Ms. Pennyroyal smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Excellent.”
Endnotes: Basically, I think of Ms. Pennyroyal as the Anti-Umbridge. Where Umbridge feels sadistic glee from hurting innocent people with the rules, Ms. Pennyroyal feels righteous, sadistic glee from putting the squeeze on people who deserve it with the rules. OMG, now I just pictured Ms. Pennyroyal versus Umbridge, and had a shudder of delighted anticipation. :D
Bit short, but it's taken long enough to get out, and this seemed like the perfect spot to stop the chapter.
