Chapter Text
When Harry and Ron finally entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster’s Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas had put up some impressively large new banners, most of which depicted Harry doing many daring and ridiculous acts he most certainly had never completed in his life, including flying around the dragon on a broomstick. A couple showed Cassius with his head or his arm on fire. Harry made them take those down. He hoped that, now the school had seen exactly what the champions were up against, they’d take it a bit easier on the Slytherin champion.
Harry helped himself to food; he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry. He took a seat with Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t believe how happy he felt; he had Ron back on his side, he’d gotten through the first task, and he wouldn’t have to face the second one for three months.
“Blimey, this is heavy,” noted Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands.
“Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”
“He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said swiftly. “It’s in the tournament rules...”
“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Harry muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily.
“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” several people echoed.
Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open. It was hollow and completely empty — but the moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Harry had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw.
“Shut it!” Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.
“What was that?” said Seamus, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. “Sounded like a banshee... Maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next, Harry!” He suggested, sounding a little too eager for Harry’s liking.
“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!” Several people gasped at that idea.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions.” Harry didn’t point out that Moody had used them in front of a bunch of fourth years. He had also used a different Unforgivable, illegal curse on a group of fourth years. “I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Harry.”
“How is that any less ridiculous than Neville’s suggestion?” Harry asked him. George grinned.
“Want a jam tart, Hermione?” offered Fred. Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to them. It’s the custard creams you’ve got to watch —”
Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed.
“Just my little joke, Neville...” Harry grinned, he knew full well Fred wasn’t kidding at all. They had definitely hexed the custard creams. He wondered if their potion to make the effect last longer was ready yet.
Hermione took a jam tart. Then she asked, “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?”
“Yep,” said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. “‘Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!’ They’re dead helpful... get us anything we ask for, no questions asked.”
“How do you get in there?” Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice. Harry fought not to roll his eyes.
“Easy,” said Fred, “concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and —” He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. “Why?”
“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly.
“Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?” said George. “Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?” Harry thought he might not actually be wrong about that, even if he was joking.
Several people burst out laughing, but Hermione didn’t answer. Harry could see the gears turning in her mind.
“Don’t you go upsetting them and telling them they’ve got to take clothes and salaries!” said Fred warningly “You’ll put them off their cooking!”
Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.
“Oh — sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted over all the laughter. “I forgot — it was the custard creams we hexed —”
Within a minute, however, Neville had moulted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.
“Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. “George and I invented them — seven Sickles each, a bargain!” Several people were signing up to make orders for the Canary Creams. It made him happy to see so many people wanting the twins’ stuff. Especially having seen all of the work that went into their creations.
The party carried on for hours. Throughout the afternoon, Harry was able to talk to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, all of whom were still around except Oliver, and they all eagerly agreed to meet at the pitch on Saturday morning.
Just before seven, Harry rounded up Fred, George and Ron, ready to go and meet Charlie. At the last second, he realised he should probably invite Ginny. Charlie was her brother as well. Hermione offered to find her in the crowd and only a few moments later, the youngest Weasley joined them. Harry had tried to back out, they didn’t exactly get to see their second eldest brother much, but Ron and Fred both told him not to be stupid, so the five of them headed down to Hagrid’s hut.
Charlie was already waiting for them. “Hey guys.”
“Hey Charlie.” Ginny ran over to her brother who swept her up in a big hug.
“Hey there Gin Gin. How are you?”
“I’m alright.”
The Weasleys all continued catching up while Harry stood awkwardly off to the side. At least until Fred dragged him over and began talking about his performance. Desperate to change the subject, he really hadn’t done all that much except summon an egg, Harry asked about Norbert.
“Ah, you mean Norberta. Turns out she was female all along.”
“Of course,” Ron snorted.
“But she’s doing well. She’s huge now, and pregnant with her first clutch of eggs.”
“Please don’t tell Hagrid,” Ron muttered. Charlie grinned.
“Well, I gotta get going shortly, but I’ll see if I can get some time off to come and see at least one more task.”
“Don’t feel obliged,” Harry told him.
“You’ll do great. You already stole the show in this one,” Charlie pointed out. “If I can’t make it, let me know how you get on. Bill too, for that matter, he was pretty worried once he heard about the dragons as well.” Harry blinked in surprise but agreed. They all said their goodbyes and headed back up to the castle.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery, once Ron and Harry were back, to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry could send Sirius a letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time they entered the Owlery Ron was saying that they ought to have suspected it all along.
“Fits, doesn’t it?” he said. “Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I’ll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he’s going to be feeling really stupid now, isn’t he? Didn’t work, did it? You didn’t even get a scratch. Although maybe that’s why he gave you such a stupidly low score. You didn’t get hurt. Come here — I’ll do it —”
Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry’s head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg. Hedwig glared at him, and Harry sighed. He wished he could use her, but he wouldn’t risk Sirius’ safety. He hated it when she was mad at him.
“There’s no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?” Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. Harry disagreed on that. He didn’t want to know how they could, but he had a feeling they would. “You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I’m serious.”
Harry knew that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behaviour of the last few weeks, but he appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron.
“Harry’s got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament,” she said seriously. “If that was the first task, I hate to think what’s coming next.”
“Right little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” said Ron. “You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime.” Harry thought Hermione had a point. He’d already had to get past a dragon, and that was only task one. He dreaded to think what the other two tasks would have in store.
Ron threw Pigwidgeon out of the window and he plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual. Harry hadn’t been able to resist giving Sirius an account of his conversations with Warrington, given that there wasn’t much to say about the task. And he had mentioned his upcoming Quidditch game against Krum. He knew Sirius had warned him about the Durmstrang champion due to Karkaroff, but Harry wasn’t going to pass up a chance to play against the youngest Seeker who had caught the snitch at the World Cup, even if his team hadn’t won.
They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then made their way back to the common room where the party was still going strong. Harry was surprised Professor McGonagall hadn’t broken it up yet.
It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut, Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point... they were all right, really, dragons. Tiny ones, anyway.
Over the next few days, it became clear that the rest of the school had somewhat accepted Warrington as the Hogwarts champion.
Word had also spread about the possible Quidditch match. On Saturday morning, hundred of people turned up to watch, despite the fact they weren’t even going to be playing right then. Harry arrived with the Gryffindor Quidditch team at two minutes past nine. The Slytherins were already there. Harry recognised Malfoy and Warrington, obviously. Bole and Derrick, both in their seventh year, were also there with Montague, Pucey and Bletchley. Harry assumed Pucey had been drafted back in to replace Flint who had graduated at the same time as Oliver.
Not long after the Gryffindors arrived, Roger Davis crossed the pitch, leading the Ravenclaw team. Harry vaguely recognised most of them, but the only one he actually knew was Cho. When she spotted him, she gave him a small wave and he smiled back. Cedric then appeared, leading the Hufflepuffs. Harry didn’t know any of their names either. There were only four others, aside from Cedric, so obviously they had had a couple of graduates as well.
“Right then. So, what’s the plan?” Cedric asked once he had checked everyone who was supposed to be present, was.
“Well, Krum agreed to a match. A Hogwarts team against a Durmstrang team,” Warrington spoke up.
“I spoke with Fleur, the Beauxbatons champion, and she doesn’t play Quidditch. She said she would ask the other students though, some of them may want to form a team,” Roger Davis put in.
“So, we have to pick one team from all of us?” Cho asked. Warrington nodded.
“Yeah. We should all vote on a captain. Then we can vote on who takes each position. Captain will have final say, but only if it’s a tie to stop any favouritism,” Angelina said. There was a muttering of agreement at that.
“Roger is the longest standing current captain,” one of the Ravenclaws stated.
“Cedric has made the biggest impact though,” a Hufflepuff pointed out. “Everyone knows our team wasn’t that great until he took over.”
“Alright, any other names to put forward?” George asked.
“Warrington is school champion. And it would either be him or Montague that would be our captain this year,” Pucey said.
“He’s a champion, he shouldn’t be captain too,” Alicia frowned.
“But if Cedric is captain, he’ll obviously take the seeker position and we all know Harry is the best,” Fred pointed out.
“I am perfectly capable of playing chaser,” Cedric stated coolly, “as I did before I became seeker.”
“Alright, the vote is between Roger and Cedric. All those for Roger?” Warrington said. All the Ravenclaws naturally raised their hands, but that was it. Everyone else voted for Cedric. “Alright, we have a captain.”
“Alright. First, let’s vote on who should be seeker. I personally, think Potter should take it,” Cedric stated. “But it’s supposed to be a vote.” Cho shot him a betrayed look and he grimaced apologetically.
“Hands for Harry as seeker?” Fred asked with a grin. Almost everyone put their hand up, with the notable exception of Draco, who was looking angry that none of his teammates had put his name forward.
“Alright. Harry is seeker. That makes me a chaser. Now, who should be the other two chasers?”
“I vote Angelina,” George said instantly. “And, well, I guess Warrington or Alicia. Sorry Katie, but Angelina and Alicia have played together longer.” She nodded her acceptance.
“I vote Roger,” one of the Ravenclaws said.
“Applebee is a good chaser,” Cedric stated.
“Montague,” Pucey said.
“Alright. So, the vote is between Pucey, Warrington, Johnson, Spinnett, Applebee and Davis,” Cedric announced. In the end Cassius and Roger Davis were selected to join Cedric as the chasers. Angelina frowned in disappointment, but she was chosen as the stand-in in anyone got injured along with Pucey. Fred and George were chosen as the beaters, everyone agreed that if you picked one, it only made sense to pick them both as they made such an exceptional pairing. Rickett from Hufflepuff and Page from Ravenclaw were the two backups. Fleet, the Hufflepuff keeper, was chosen with Bletchley as the backup.
The team did have a mix of all houses, with three Gryffindors, two Hufflepuffs, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw making up the main seven. One Gryffindor, three Hufflepuffs, two Slytherins and a Ravenclaw as the backups. If Harry was injured, Cedric would take over and Angelina would step in as chaser.
“Right then, with that sorted, we really need to train together to get a feel for working as a team. I’ll check with Krum when he wants the match. I’ll probably suggest in a couple of weeks’ time. Maybe just before the Christmas holidays,” Cedric said. “If we practice twice a week, we should be able to work something out by then.”
“Sounds good, captain,” Fred grinned, saluting Cedric.
With that, they all dispersed. George consoled Angelina about not getting selected while Fred dragged Harry up to their workroom to show him their latest progress. Harry found the whole thing fascinating. He was now contemplating taking Arithmancy or Ancient Runes as an elective to replace Divination, despite knowing Ron would hate them, and was likely to stick with the easy options. Still, the twins made magic fun again.
It reminded Harry of how awesome he had found it when Hagrid first revealed he was a wizard, before knowledge of Voldemort and his first year had ruined it. Honestly, Lockhart had done a good job of ruining it in second year as well, but Harry wanted to go back to when he loved magic. To when he found it…for lack of a better word…magical. The twins had told him that he could drop a subject and take up another as long as he passed the end of year test from the previous year. So, to take either subject, Harry would have to take the third-year test and pass. You were also allowed to take up to three electives, so he could drop Divination and take both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as long as he could study hard enough to get the necessary grades. The twins each took one of the subjects and had offered to coach him. George’s three OWLs were in Potions, Arithmancy and Charms, while Fred’s were Ancient Runes, Defence and Transfiguration.
The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. The castle was always drafty in winter, and Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake. It was frequently seen pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. Though it might be cool to sleep with the rocking motion, he wouldn’t fancy the cold.
He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Then he recalled there were such things as warming charms, so it could well be toasty warm inside. It was probably easier to heat the Beauxbaton’s caravan than an entire castle. That probably applied to the Durmstrang ship as well.
Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime’s horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them.
Hagrid’s most recent brilliant idea was to check and find out if the skrewts hibernated. He wanted them to settle the ten remaining ones down in boxes lined with pillows and fluffy blankets. Clearly, he’d learnt nothing from the time he had given a baby dragon a teddy bear, only for said dragon to rip it apart in seconds.
The skrewts were now almost six feet long with thick, grey armour, fire-blasting ends, stings and suckers. They were the ugliest things Harry had ever seen. For some reason, nobody was thrilled with Hagrid’s hibernation plan. It would be nice if they did, the class could have a break if they slept through the winter, but Harry privately thought they wouldn’t be that lucky. He certainly never was. Harry was correct. Skrewts did not hibernate. Or they just didn’t appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Harry didn’t entirely blame them.
Class descended into the typical chaos, with Hagrid telling everyone not to panic as the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch that was currently strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class had fled into Hagrid’s hut, Malfoy, naturally, was in the lead of the fleeing party. Reluctantly, Harry remained outside with Ron, Hermione and a few others. They eventually managed to restrain nine of the ten, though this came at the cost of numerous cuts and burns.
Hagrid yelled at them not to frighten the skrewt as Ron and Harry advanced on it, shooting sparks out of their wands. Harry bit back a sarcastic retort, feeling that the skrewt was very unlikely to be the one scared at this particular moment in time.
“I’m going to kill him,” Ron muttered. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he meant the skrewt or Hagrid, but he agreed with the sentiment given that the skrewt was now advancing on them, sting arched and ready.
“Jus’ try an’ slip the rope ’round his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!” Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid’s cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.
“Well, well, well... this does look like fun.” Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. Harry groaned. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.
Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby. “Who’re you?” Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt’s sting and tightened it.
“Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,” Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.
“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore,” said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows. Rita acted as though she hadn’t heard what Hagrid had said. Harry didn’t know that. Rita had been banned from the grounds? Clearly, it was doing so much good, he thought to himself angrily.
“What are these fascinating creatures called?” she asked, beaming still more widely.
“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” grunted Hagrid.
“Really?” said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. “I’ve never heard of them before... where do they come from?”
Harry noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid’s wild black beard, and his heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, “They’re very interesting, aren’t they? Aren’t they, Harry?”
“What? Oh yeah... ouch... interesting,” said Harry as she stepped on his foot, which he didn’t appreciate. He would have agreed for Hagrid’s sake anyway. Plus, he didn’t want Rita’s attention on himself any more than was absolutely necessary.
“Ah, you’re here, Harry!” said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. He elbowed Hermione angrily and she shot him an apologetic look.
“So, you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favourite lessons?”
“Yes,” lied Harry, trying to sound firm. Hagrid beamed at him.
“Lovely,” said Rita. “Really lovely. Been teaching long?” she added to Hagrid.
Harry noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.
“This is o’ny me second year,” said Hagrid.
“Lovely... I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I’m sure you know. We could feature these — er — Bang-Ended Scoots.” Harry fought to hide a snort at the incorrect name.
“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Hagrid said eagerly. “Er — yeah, why not?”
“I can think of a reason,” Harry said. “She’ll turn everything you say into a load of old rubbish because it suits her story,” he sneered. Hagrid looked at him in surprise while Rita narrowed her eyes at him.
“Why don’t you tell me, Harry, how you feel about these creatures, and how your schoolwork is coming along with you being so busy preparing for the tournament.”
“I’m not saying anything to you,” he scoffed. Hagrid looked between the two of them uneasily. “You didn’t even mention Warrington as the Hogwarts champion in your stupid article, and you made up a bunch of utter rubbish, saying things I’ve never said in my entire life.”
“Oh Harry, you’re the story. The readers want to hear about the underdog, forced into a tournament well above his skill level.”
“Didn’t seem all that above my skill level in the first task.” Her eyebrows rose and Harry immediately regretted his words. Her next article was probably going to be about the arrogant Boy-Who-Lived thinking he’s more capable than seventeen-year-olds because he did ok in one task.
“Well, yeh bes’ be goin’,” Hagrid interrupted. Harry shot him a grateful look as he herded Rita away.
“That wasn’t a good idea Harry, saying something like that to Rita Skeeter,” Ron said gravely.
“Yeah, I know. She just…I hate her, you know?”
“Yeah,” Ron nodded.
Hagrid dismissed them after that, and they headed to lunch. Harry thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that he and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life.
“I would think,” she said, in a faux mystical whisper that was mostly ruined by her very obvious annoyance, “that some of us” — she stared very meaningfully at Harry — “might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths... and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?”
“An ugly old bat in outsize specs?” Ron muttered under his breath. Harry fought hard to keep his face straight.
“Death, my dears.”
“Nothing new then,” Harry snorted. Several people who had overheard him, chuckled. However, both Parvati and Lavender put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified. “Honestly, if I dropped dead every time she said I was going to, I’d be a medical miracle,” he added in an undertone.
“You’d be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost,” said Ron, chortling. This earnt them both an irritated look and extra homework, but they considered it worth it. The whole thing had only cemented Harry’s desire to drop the stupid subject. Of course, that meant studying extra hard to get into the other two classes. You couldn’t take only one elective, so he couldn’t drop Divination if it didn’t take something else. Or if he failed the entry exam.
But Hermione wasn’t at dinner, nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph — but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.
“Wonder where she’s got to?” Ron said as he and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower.
“Dunno.”
Harry had just given the password and the Fat Lady started to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind them made them both turn. Hermione was racing towards them.
“Harry!” she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). “Harry, you’ve got to come — you’ve got to come, the most amazing thing’s happened — please —” She seized Harry’s arm and started to try to drag him back along the corridor. He asked what the matter was, but she didn’t answer, just continued to drag him down the corridor. Ron hurried after them.
“Oh don’t mind me!” the Fat Lady called irritably after them. “Don’t apologize for bothering me! I’ll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?”
“Yeah, thanks!” Ron shouted over his shoulder.
Harry tried once more to find out their destination as they emerged into the entrance hall. She turned left at the bottom of the marble staircase and through a door. Harry narrowed his eyes. He knew the kitchens was the only place in this direction they could possibly be visiting. Unless Hermione was desperate to show them the Hufflepuff common room.
They eventually emerged into in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.
“Hermione? Why are we going to the kitchens? Is this about spew?”
“It’s not spew!” Hermione said hotly.
“Changed the name, have you? Probably for the best,” Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a nasty glare before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken.
“And, anyway, it’s not about that. Oh, Harry, just come on.”
She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside.
He had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, “Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!”
Next second all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly he thought his ribs would break.
“D-Dobby?” Harry gasped in surprise. He hadn’t ever really expected to see the house-elf again. Certainly not at Hogwarts.
“It is Dobby, sir, it is!” squealed the voice from somewhere around his navel. “Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!”
Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him, except the clothes, which were very different.
Previously, Dobby had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Harry had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup, which was saying something. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children’s soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Harry saw, was the black one Harry had removed from his own foot and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. Harry sincerely hoped he had washed it since then but didn’t care to ask or to inspect it closely enough. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes.
“Dobby, what’re you doing here?” Harry wondered in amazement.
“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!” Dobby squealed excitedly. “Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!”
“Winky?” frowned Harry. “She’s here too?”
“Yes, sir, yes!” said Dobby, and he seized Harry’s hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Harry noticed as he passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but he supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above. At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Harry past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied like a toga. Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed.
“Winky, sir!” he said.
Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not cared much about finding herself clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby’s strange collection of garments appeared to be clean and well cared for so that it looked brand new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.
Harry greeted her. She burst into tears which had Ron edging away nervously. Harry followed. However, Hermione and Dobby moved closer to the elf. Harry and Ron exchanged looks before reluctantly following them. Hermione tried to soothe Winky, but failed, only making her cry even harder.
Dobby beamed up at Harry, seemingly unperturbed by the sight.
“Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?” he squeaked loudly, over Winky’s sobs. Harry agreed absently. Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.
“Good service!” Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.
“I’m not surprised Fred and George get so much stuff from the kitchens if they’re this eager to be helpful,” Harry muttered. No wonder they were able to leave him meals all the time. Ron nodded and grinned.
“Good to know, eh?”
“How long have you been working here, Dobby?” Harry wondered as the elf handed out the tea.
“Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!” said Dobby happily. “Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed —” His words were cut off by Winky, who began howling even more loudly at these words.
“You should have come and said hello,” Harry said. Honestly, he was slightly surprised the elf hadn’t already done that. He certainly hadn’t had issues with visiting Harry previously, at the most inopportune times, even if his intentions had been well-meaning.
“Dobby wasn’t sure if he would be welcome to visit the great Harry Potter,” Dobby said, looking a little nervous.
“You’re welcome to visit, as long as you don’t try saving my life,” he replied with a grin. Dobby beamed more widely than ever and flung himself at Harry’s leg, clinging on for dear life.
“Oh, the great Harry Potter is so kind to Dobby, so generous, so…”
“So, why are you at Hogwarts?” Harry cut him off, feeling embarrassed. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to give Dobby an open invite. Ron was smirking at him.
“Dobby has travelled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!” Dobby squeaked. “But Dobby hasn’t found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!” The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing.
Hermione, however, said, “Good for you, Dobby!”
“Thank you, miss!” said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. “But most wizards doesn’t want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. ‘That’s not the point of a house-elf,’ they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby’s face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter... Dobby likes being free!” Harry couldn’t help but smile at Dobby’s enthusiasm. Maybe Hermione did have a point. He still hated the name spew, but no elf should be subjected to what Dobby had been through at the Malfoy’s. Or even to be treated the way Crouch had treated Winky at the World Cup. Maybe there was another way to go about things.
The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume of her crying.
“So, you like being free, but you also like working?” Harry asked.
“Oh yes, Dobby likes work, Harry Potter,” Dobby nodded, ears flapping madly. “Dobby is liking work and freedom.”
“So, are you being paid here?”
“Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Sir.” Winky’s wails reached an all-time high at this. The Hogwarts house-elves were also glaring at Dobby as they continued on with their chores.
“But before Hogwarts, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!” said Dobby delightedly.
At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Harry and Ron both flinched at the volume. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky’s screeches, but Harry still had to strain to hear him.
“And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! ‘Why doesn’t Dobby and Winky find work together?’ Dobby says. ‘Where is there enough work for two house-elves?’ says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So, Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!” Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again. “And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so, Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!”
“That’s not very much!” Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor.
“Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off,” said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, “but Dobby beat him down, miss... Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn’t wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.”
Harry thought about this. He agreed with Hermione that a Galleon a week didn’t seem like much, but what did house-elves spend money on? Clearly Dobby was powerful, he could probably magic up most of what he needed, and he most likely got his food from Hogwarts. Could house-elves own bank accounts? He wasn’t sure, but he doubted it.
“Well, as long as you’re happy, Dobby,” he said eventually. Dobby nodded enthusiastically.
“Dobby is very happy, Harry Potter, Sir.” Ron was looking bewildered at the whole conversation, but he smiled at Dobby’s enthusiasm.
“And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?” Hermione asked kindly. Harry winced. If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up, she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious.
“Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!” she squeaked. “Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!” Harry felt bad for her.
“Ashamed?” said Hermione blankly. “But — Winky, come on! It’s Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn’t do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you —” Harry had to agree with Hermione on this. Winky had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and tried to escape being killed. It was hardly worthy of being fired.
But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn’t hear a word, and screeched that Crouch had been right to sack her and for them not to say anything bad about him.
“Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter,” squeaked Dobby confidentially. “Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won’t do it.”
“Well, it is quite a change. And not everyone had to put up with the Malfoy’s after all, but that doesn’t mean she can’t say anything bad at all about Crouch, does it?”
“Oh no, sir, no,” said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. “’Tis part of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family’s honour, and we never speaks ill of them — though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to — to —” Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry closer. Harry bent forward. Dobby whispered, “He said we is free to call him a — a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!” Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle. Harry snorted. He certainly thought it was a fitting description of the headmaster at the moment. Ron chuckled, while Hermione looked scandalised. “But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter,” he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. “Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him.”
“So, you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?” Harry asked him, grinning.
A slightly fearful look came into Dobby’s immense eyes.
“Dobby — Dobby could,” he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders bravely. “Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were — were — bad Dark wizards!”
Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring. Then, without further warning, he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” Harry, very used to this, quickly seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table.
“Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you,” said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head.
“You don’t need to do that anymore, Dobby. I’m sure Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to.”
“Oh, no, Sir. Professor Dumbledore bes telling Dobby he is not to punish himself.”
“Good,” Hermione nodded. “It’s barbaric.”
“What about if you’re sick?” Harry wondered. “Do house-elves get sick?”
“It is rare, Harry Potter, Sir. House-elves only stops working when they is having a baby or if they is being too old,” Dobby told him.
“And you enjoy working?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You’re ok with working all the time?” All of the house-elves nearby nodded vigorously.
Winky began howling even more, sobbing about how Crouch must be struggling without Winky to look after him.
“Winky,” said Hermione firmly, “I’m quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We’ve seen him, you know —” Harry wasn’t entirely sure about that. He thought back to the stupid ceremony where his name had come out. Crouch had looked rather unwell.
“You is seeing my master?” said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. “You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament.”
“Mr. Bagman comes too?” squeaked Winky, and to Harry’s great surprise, and Ron’s and Hermione’s too, by the looks on their faces, she looked angry again. “Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn’t liking him, oh no, not at all!”
“A bad wizard? Bagman?” said Harry. Other than clearly being a bit biased towards helping Harry in the tournament, Bagman seemed alright. He wasn't surprised someone like Crouch didn't like Bagman, given the differences in personality, but he didn't see why he'd think the man was a bad wizard.
“Oh yes,” Winky said, nodding her head furiously. “My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying... Winky — Winky keeps her master’s secrets....” She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, “Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more! They couldn’t get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.
“Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!” he said happily, pointing at his bare chest.
“Tell you what, Dobby,” said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, “I’ll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don’t mind maroon, do you?” Dobby was delighted. Harry and Hermione both smiled at Ron for his offer.
“We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you,” Ron told him. Harry snorted. There was no ‘might’ about it. There was absolutely no way a jumper made to fit Ron would ever fit Dobby. It’d probably drown him in fabric. “But it’ll go well with your tea cozy,” Ron continued, ignoring Harry. Dobby was beside himself, hugging Ron delightedly. Ron was a bit bemused but hugged the elf back briefly.
As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron were more than happy to load their pockets with cream cakes and pies.
“Thanks a lot!” Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. “See you, Dobby! Come and visit when you want.” Dobby beamed.
“I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know,” said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. “I mean, Dobby coming to work here, it means the other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it’ll dawn on them that they want that too!”
“Let’s hope they don’t follow Winky's example instead” muttered Harry. He felt bad for the elf.
“Oh, she’ll cheer up,” said Hermione, though she sounded a bit doubtful. “Once the shock’s worn off, and she’s got used to Hogwarts, she’ll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man.” Harry doubted this, but said nothing. He was well aware that Hermione wouldn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention except to scoff that he thought her idea anything less than perfect. It wasn’t that he disagreed with stopping the elves being in situations like Dobby’s at the Malfoy’s, but the Hogwarts elves seemed happy. They actively disliked it when Hermione or Dobby mentioned being free and especially being paid. Maybe Hermione should pay a little more attention to them rather than deciding what was best for them all by herself. But he knew better than to say that out loud.
“She seems to love him,” said Ron thickly, having just shoved a cream cake into his mouth.
“Doesn’t think much of Bagman, though, does she?” commented Harry.
“Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?”
“Probably says he’s not a very good Head of Department,” said Hermione, “and let’s face it... he’s got a point, hasn’t he?”
“I’d still rather work for him than old Crouch,” said Ron. “At least Bagman’s got a sense of humour.”
“Don’t let Percy hear you saying that,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.
“Yeah, well, Percy wouldn’t want to work for anyone with a sense of humour, would he?” said Ron, now starting on a chocolate eclair. “Percy wouldn’t recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby’s tea cozy.” Harry couldn’t disagree with that.