Chapter Fifteen: Cryptic Warnings and Worried Friends
Sunday morning, after Harish woke up it took him a moment why he felt so worried and had gone to bed fully clothed. Then the events of the previous night hit him like a sledge hammer and he wrenched his hangings aside, grabbing his letter he had written. He duplicated it and grabbed a cloak. He passed the twins, who were still snoring softly. Then, he headed out to the Owlry.
Once there, he convinced an owl to take the letters; one to his father and the other to Sirius. The sixteen-year-old watched the owl disappear, pulling his cloak tighter around him. It was beginning to grow chilly, the nip of winter coming in. The grounds were covered in dew and mist lay in little billows, rolling across the lake. The Durmstrang ship was shadowed, docked by the nearest lake. Over by Hagrid's cabin, where smoke furled out of the chimney, the Beauxbatons powder blue carriage sat.
Harish stood there and admired it all, staring down at the still, quiet, empty space. No one had risen yet. No one was bothering him. The Slytherin let out a sigh and turned to leave. Just then, the door to the Owlry opened to reveal Daphne. She wore a cloak as well and her cheeks were slightly pink from cold. In her hands was a stack of steaming toast, wrapped in a napkin.
"I thought I might find you here," she said with a smile. "You want to go for a walk?"
Harish nodded.
"Good idea," he said.
The two of them exited the Owlry together and made their way across the entrance hall. Then, they walked along the edge of the lake. As they passed the Durmstrang ship, Daphne handed Harish some toast.
"I brought this for you, by the way," she said.
"Thanks," Harish said with a smile, biting into the toast.
"I figured you wouldn't want to go in there this morning," she said, talking about the Great Hall. "Everyone knows you had your name put in the goblet, of course. None of the Slytherins care, but the rest either hate that you made it, or think that there was some sort of fluke because your name came out twice."
"I do not care what they think," Harish replied, finishing his piece of toast. Daphne handed him another.
"I know that, but about your name being put in the twice—"
"I have no idea who else put my name in. I only put it in once."
Daphne nodded. "I know. Hermione and I were talking about it last night, and she thinks that someone else put it in as well. And, Harish—" Daphne came to a halt. "Whoever did it is no friend of ours."
Now it was Harish's turn to nod in agreement.
"The twins and I talked about it too. We came to the same conclusion that whoever put it in must be trying to do me in."
"And you are not worried about it?" she asked, her voice climbing in pitch.
"Why should I be? Whoever put it in must not really know me. They must not know that I would win no matter what. And certainly not who my father is."
"But that's the thing!" Daphne said, stomping her foot on the ground. Her voice was shaking. "Maybe they put it because they knew who your father is! You can't strut around the castle thinking that no one's out to get you, because obviously they are!" Harish opened his mouth in anger, but Daphne kept on. "Chances are, if you aren't killed by the tournament, whoever put your name in will find some other way to kill you! And—"
Daphne broke off, looking away at the lake. Harish's eyes softened as he realized the only reason she was speaking angrily with him was because she was worried about him. Harish tossed his last piece of toast into the lake and they both watched as a pale tentacle scooped it under the water. Then, the sixth year finally said, "Don't worry. I will take care. And Sirius is coming up here to make sure I am all right."
Daphne wiped her eyes and smiled at him.
"Now come on, before anyone misses us," Harish said, taking her hand and leading her back to the castle.
The next day showed Harish how exactly accurate Daphne was when she had said that most of the castle was either angry with him or angry with the goblet. There were a few people outside of Slytherin that didn't mind such as Dean, Neville, Angelina, Luna, and a few others. The rest of them shot him glares across the Great Hall or whispered about him as he passed in the corridors. The Hufflepuffs were especially annoyed.
They never got any glory. Because of this, all of them had been hoping that Cedric would make it. Now a Slytherin who wasn't even of age had stolen their champion's thunder. It was ironic, as Cedric didn't really mind all that much himself. Harish was amused at first by the others' reactions, but by the end of the week it had gotten old.
Another person that was really bothered with having Harish as the school champion was Ron. Whenever they were near each other, Ron would insult him or make some snide remark. Whenever they weren'ttogether, Ron would talk loudly about him to Neville where the fourth year Slytherins could hear him. Hermione and Daphne would grit their teeth in anger while Draco would come up with a few clever insults.
Meanwhile, Sirius still hadn't written back. It was beginning to worry Harish. He was half afraid that the man had gone and gotten himself caught—he was still a fugitive after all. It was driving Harish insane, not knowing what was going on and not being able to do anything about it.
Then, a few days after that chaos broke out.
The Slytherins and the Gryffindors were outside the dungeons, waiting for their double Potions class to start. Hermione, Daphne, and Draco were leaning up against the wall. Ron and Neville were over by the door, well within earshot.
"And, I mean, he's not even good," Ron was saying. "He's just an overconfident, good for nothing, son of a death eater."
Daphne clenched her teeth, Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, and Draco muttered, "I am really getting sick of hearing him go on about this."
The others nodded in agreement.
"I tell you, he's going to end up going bad, like all other Slytherins. It would just be better if he died during the tournament. It would save us—" but whatever it would save them from, no one ever found out for at that moment Daphne had heard enough. Not caring that they were surrounded by half their year, she whipped out her wand and pointed it at Ron.
Ron noticed and broke off, pulling out his own wand.
"Confringo!" Daphne cried.
"Densaugeo!" Ron shouted.
Both of their wands emitted jets of light, which collided with each other in midair and ricocheted off in separate directions.
Daphne's narrowly missed Neville's head and tore a chunk out of the wall. Ron's curse hit Hermione. Hermione whimpered in panic and clutched her mouth.
"Hermione!" Daphne and Draco both exclaimed, jumping forward.
They hurried over to see what was wrong with her. Draco dragged her hand away from her mouth and Daphne gasped, moving to shield her friend from sight. Hermione's front teeth—already larger than normal—were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin—panic stricken, she felt them and let out stricken cry.
"And what is all this noise about?"
Snape had arrived. Everyone was shouting explanations. Snape pointed a long finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."
"Weasley attacked us, sir—"
"We attacked each other at the same time!" Ron shouted.
"—and he hit Granger—look—"
Snape examined Hermione as she tried to hide her teeth again, but failed as they were now past her chin.
"Hospital Wing, Granger," Snape said calmly.
Hermione nodded her thanks and dashed off.
"Greengrass tore a chunk off the wall—look!" Ron exclaimed.
"Five points from Gryffindor."
While this going on, Harish was sitting in History of Magic. His head was resting on his arms and he was staring out the window, watching the Whomping Willow. The twins were snoring on either side of him. Suddenly the door to the classroom opened to reveal a tiny third year with honey colored hair and a good resemblance to the tiny Dennis Creevey.
Everyone in the room turned to look at the boy and his eyes widened slightly in fear. Professor Binns did not notice anything.
"I-I'm supposed to be fetching Harish Blake," he squeaked nervously.
Binns still didn't notice.
"What for?" Harish asked quietly.
"Mr. Bagman wants all of the champions—" but that was enough for Harish.
He stood, shouldered his bag, and made his way to the door.
"You may go, Blackthorn," Binns said as Harish walked straight out of the classroom without hesitation.
"Isn't it neat, your name coming out of the goblet twice?" the boy asked.
"Uh—sure," Harish replied. The third year was practically bouncing.
"Dean says he knows you. Dean Thomas? Do you know him? He thinks you'll do really well—almost got into a fight with Ron Weasley over it."
Harish finally realized that he had seen this boy before at the mention of Dean. It was Colin Creevey, the boy that turned up in the Hospital Wing, petrified, while Harish and Dean were recovering from a brutal Quidditch match a couple years previous. They came to a stop outside a classroom.
"Good luck!" Colin chirped.
Harish knocked on the door and entered.
The other champions were already in the room, along with Ludo Bagman, a man with a camera, and a blonde witch. Harish recognized her as Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet reporter that liked to kick up a fuss everywhere she went.
Bagman leapt to his feet when he spotted Harish and said, "Come on in, the wand weighing ceremony will start in a moment.
"Wand weighing?" Harish asked in curiosity.
"We have to make sure your wands are fully functional before the tournament starts, of course!" Bagman informed him. "The expert's upstairs with Dumbledore as we speak. And there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he gestured toward her. "She's doing a small piece for the Daily Prophet…"
Harish's lip curled.
"I know," he replied without any emotion.
While they waited on Ollivander, Skeeter did a quick interview on the three of them. Then, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff seated themselves in empty chairs by Ludo Bagman. Finally, Ollivander and Dumbledore arrived.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing toward the wandmaker and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition for the tournament."
Ollivander looked the same as he had six years previous when Harish had gotten his own wand. He had large, ever-knowing, pale eyes that still gave the sixteen-year-old the creeps. The main thing that made him uneasy around the wandmaker was that he had known that his father was Voldemort. He had also informed Harish that his wand was his father's wand's brother. At this thought, Harish looked down at his wand with pride.
Harish emerged from his thoughts to discover that Ollivander was already inspecting Fleur's wand.
"Yes," he was saying quietly. "nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…"
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," Fleur finished for him. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
Harish made a mental note to tell the twins that Fleur was indeed a veela as they had suspected.
"Yes," Mr. Ollivander said, "yes, I never use veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands…however, to each his own, and if this suits you…"
Ollivander ran his hand up and down the wand, checking for blemishes; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand-tip.
"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," Mr. Ollivander said, scooping up the flowers and handing both them and the wand back to Fleur. "Mr. Krum, you next."
Krum slouched forward and thrust his wand into the wandmaker's hands.
"This is a Gregorovitch creation unless I'm much mistaken?" Ollivander asked, receiving a nod. "A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I…however…"
He lifted the wand and examined it closely, turning it over and over, inches from his face. Harish was sure that he would go cross-eyed soon, but then the wandmaker lowered the wand and glanced at Krum.
"Yes…hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" Krum gave a curt nod again. "Rather thicker than one usually sees…quite rigid…ten and a quarter inches…Avis!"
The wand let out a sound much like a cannon and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the wand and through and open window into the watery sunlight.
"Good," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Krum his wand back. "Which leaves Mr. Blake."
Harish stepped forward and handed his wand over.
"Aaaah, yes, one of my own creations," Ollivander muttered, his pale eyes glinting oddly. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember. Do you take good care of it?" He glanced up at Harry before staring at the wand.
"I polished it just last night," Harish said proudly. Sure enough, his wand gleamed from the polishing.
Ollivander hummed and twiddled the wand between his fingers. A fountain of wine shot out of it. He then handed it back to Harish, who stowed it away in his wand holster.
"Thank you all," Dumbledore said, standing up. "You may go back to your lessons—or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end—"
Harish, who had sat down on the edge of one of the chairs, jumped up and quickly made his way to the door. Before his hand even reached the doorknob, the portly reporter jumped to his feet and cried, "Photos, Dumbledore! What about the photos?"
The photos took ages. Madame Maxime cast everyone else in shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her in the picture. Eventually, she had to sit while the others stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl. Krum, who Harish thought might have been used to photos, skulked at the back. The photographer was keenest to have Fleur at the front of the group, but Rita Skeeter kept dragging Harish forward. Then, she insisted on separate shots of all three champions. When they were finally finished, Harish went down to dinner. There, he noticed an empty seat.
"Where is Hermione?" he asked.
"Oh, I expect she's still having her teeth fixed," Draco said, unconcernedly.
"Having her teeth fixed?" Fred asked. "What did she do to them?"
"Oh, she didn't do anything," Daphne replied. "It was your brother who did it."
George turned and both the twins were torn between curiousity and annoyance.
"What did he do this time?" Harish asked for them.
Draco told them a vague version of the tale. He purposely left out what exactly Ron said, just hinting that he had been insulting one of them, and he described the very short duel in satisfying detail. When he was done, the trio were applauding an embarrassed Daphne who was pointedly not looking at any of them.
After dinner, they went down to the dungeons. Once there, Harish discovered he had an owl. How it got down into the dungeons was beyond Harish but he wasn't overly worried about that, especially not after he saw that the letter was from Sirius.
Dear Harry, it read,
I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted—we need to talk face to face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in the Slytherin Common Room at one o'clock on the morning on the 22nd of November?
I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, but please stay alert. I have already mentioned that Dumbledore and Moody suspect that something is afoot. Someone has already had a good try of hurting you by putting your name into that goblet. You guessed correctly when you wrote that they may be trying to kill you.
Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd as soon as you can.
—Sirius