Harry Potter & the Goblet of Treachery: Chapter Five
Chapter Title: Chapter Five: Prize, Found!
Summary: laurel_tx issued an AU GoF Deathfic Challenge. This is my answer. Will encompass Harry's entire fourth year. Will also incorporate elements of other Harry/Cedric stories I have already done as well as direct dialog taken from JKRowling's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all recognizeable characters are owned by Rowling, Warner Bros., and the other myriad of publishing companies that own Rowling. This chapter contains dialog lifted directly from Rowling's Goblet of Fire.
Warnings: Harry-centric in first person, secondary characters in third person.
Pairings: Harry/Cedric; Harry/Colin; Harry/Charlie; Cedric/?
Archived: GoF AU Deathfic
Chapter Five Word Count: 2433
Author's Note-1: Once you get to the letter, if you cannot read it, right-click >> open in new tab/window and click on it a couple of times and you will get a bigger version.
Author's Note-2: I use the word 'temptuous' because it's such a perfect word. Everyone knows what it means or, rather, what it's supposed to mean, seeing as it's not a word... yet.
As always, thanks to my wonderful beta Lisa, who remains a guiding force in my creative process as well as the beacon of grammatical sanity in my sea of misplaced semi-colons and overused dashes!!! Luv ya, dahling!
5.
I must say I’m quite put off, not by the fact that I kissed Colin, nor by the fact that I liked it - a lot. No, I’m rather annoyed that he doesn’t seem to be too excited about it. Having finished putting the classroom Ludo used for the ‘wand weighing’ back in order, Colin and I make our way down to the Great Hall for dinner. He’s distant, not physically, mind you; our arms are practically brushing together. But he’s distant, mentally. Now I understand how Hermione feels about me, sometimes. Blimey, is it ever infuriating!?
I can hear the commotion of the Great Hall as we approach the doorway. Colin slides to the side of the door and leans against the adjacent wall.
Without so much as a look, Colin says, “You better go in before me. I’ll follow…”
“Why?”
“Well, we don’t want people to… talk…” he answers, one of his feet bouncing nervously.
“Why would they talk, Colin? We’re both Gryffindors. Everyone knows I went to help you with the room.”
“It’s just… better this way,” he says, finally looking at me. He seems nervous, very nervous.
“Ok,” I resign with a sigh.
I walk over to him and lean down for a kiss. He purses his lips but tilts his head to the side so that I kiss his the very side of his mouth. I pull back, confused. He smiles. I shrug it off and begin to walk away when I feel his hand brush against my arm. He isn’t pulling me back; it’s more like he’s taking the opportunity to touch me because he knows it’ll be the last time he can do it for awhile. I hear Fred and George go on about how girls are confusing. But boys, apparently, are a fair bit worse, if you ask me. I start to wonder if it’s even worth it.
As expected, Hermione and Ron have saved me a seat. Ron has that doe-eyed curious look on his face. He barely gives me a moment to get settled before he’s on me like a vulture.
“Well?” he asks, far too jubilantly for my taste.
“Well what?”
“How was it? How was Krum? What did Mr. Ollivander say about his wand?? I bet he said it was brilliant, yeah?”
Across the table, Hermione scowls from behind her copy of The Daily Prophet, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you are quite smitten.”
“Oh, rubbish! It’s not everyday Hogwarts gets a star!”
I look back towards the entrance to find Colin walking in, shoulders tight and hands clenched. He stops and sits next to his brother, Dennis, and some other third years. I smile, waiting for him to look up at me. He never does. But he is looking at something - or someone. I follow the direction of his gaze to find...
… Draco Malfoy glaring back at him with his lip curled at one corner, jaw clenched tight.
Has he been bothering Colin? Is that why he didn’t want me to be seen with him, hoping that Draco wouldn’t notice him walk in? Merlin, why can’t Malfoy just leave people be? Does he have to ruin everyone’s dinner??
I feel Ron bump shoulders with me, diverting my attention back to him.
“Well?”
“Well what??” I ask, emphatically.
“His wand?!” he answers, as if those two words explain everything.
“It was a wand! It was made from … dragonstring, or summat,” I say, digging into the mashed potatoes that have magically appeared on my plate.
I hear Hermione gasp. I look up and she’s this stunned look on her blushed, red face.
“You-you mean… surely not dragon's heartstring…?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Why you look so put out, ‘Mione?” Ron asks, with narrowed eyes.
“Well, it’s nothing… I … just … that is, I mean to say…”
“Well, spit it out, already,” Ron exclaims.
Hermione seems to perk up, answering dismissively as she continues to read The Prophet, “It’s the same core as mine, is all.”
“Blimey,” Ron mutters, almost in awe of the revelation.
“Oh, speaking of ‘same cores’,” I say, “Cedric has unicorn hair in his. Isn’t that the same as yours, Ron?”
Ron’s eyes light up and a smile stretches across his face, “Yeah… yeah it is!”
“Oh, honestly Ronald. That doesn’t mean you could have been the Champion.”
Ron scoffs, “I bet it most certainly does. ‘The wand picks the wizard’, ‘Mione, don’t you know?”
“Yes, yes,” she answers with a wave of the hand, “Mr. Ollivander says that to everyone.”
“Well, the wand was obviously attracted to something grand and strong about me, just like Ceddie’s-!”
“Oh, it’s ‘Ceddie’ now, is it?” Hermione asks, with a raised eyebrow.
I can’t help but to laugh.
Unphased, Ron continues, “and it’s obviously the same strength of mind and character that the Goblet saw in Cedric. Logic dictates, then -”
“Oh, it’s ‘logic’ we’re dictating now, is it?”
(I must remind myself never to drink anything when Ron and Hermione get in this state because whatever I’m drinking will invariably end up running out of my nose between fits of laughter. Luckily, I manage not to choke - or drown.)
As if there was no break in the discussion, Ron continues, “THAT...” with a roll of the eyes, “if I could have competed, then I would have been picked. Just like good-ole Ceddie.”
With a quick, finalizing nod, Ron pops a boxty cake in his mouth.
“Well,” Hermione says giving us a look not unlike one of Professor McGonagall’s, “Bob’s your uncle, then.”
Ron becomes distracted - not that distracting him is a difficult task, mind you - by the fluttering of an incoming owl holding parchment in its claws. He lands gracefully next to my plate, followed intently by Ron and Hermione’s hopeful eyes, and half of the Gryffindor table.
“Who...?” Ron leans in as I take the scroll from its outstretched leg, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously, “Do - do you think it’s from.... you know...?”
“Dunno,” I answer, honestly.
I sent Sirius a letter telling him about my nightmares; I was expecting a response , but I didn't think it would come this quickly. I begin to open the letter when Hermione throws her hand across the table, covering it.
“Not here,” she whispers, quickly glancing behind her to Malfoy, “just in case.”
She’s right, of course. I put the letter in the pocket of my robes. I’ll read it when I get to the Common Room.
•~Š~•
Deep in the catacombs of Yardas-Caves, Peter Pettigrew stood in the familiar pentagram. Nervous, he began to bite his rough, dirty nails. The drip of moisture from the cave’s ceiling echoed down the empty corridors. His eyes darted across the room, as if searching for something, some idea that can be seen as easily as a painting.
In the second, smaller pentagram in front of him, a burst of flame flared intensely before dying out to a mere smolder. The dark, dense smoke gave way to the form of the Harry doppelganger with its offending red eyes, smiling as it held an old book that seemed far too heavy for his slight frame. Peter had to remind himself that this was not Harry; this was I’nuck, a mid-level dæmon of considerable power, mimicking Harry’s appearance as a taunt. If he were not careful, he could find himself on the receiving end of a millennium-old evil far worse than The Dark Lord.
Peter stood erect and cleared his throat before asking, “Have you completed the charge, beast?”
With a mock-scowl, the demon tutted, “Now, now. Manners, wizard.”
Even its voice was a mockery of Harry, deep and full of power, confident in ways that only an aeon of existence could instill. It held out the dusty tome with one hand; a leer broadened its stolen face.
“I have completed my charge, master. You see before you the Le Grimoire de Selene, one of the oldest books on dark magic.”
I’nuck looked at the book with a curious expression before his eyes darted back to Peter, “This tome is nothing but blood magic, youngling. And I know how … squeamish you lot tend to be about such things.”
It began to laugh, but Peter took no notice of it - or the taunt that preceded it.
“Were you seen by man or beast, wizard or dæmon?”
“I was witnessed by none, master.”
“Was anyone made aware of your thievery?”
“No one knows of the theft save you and I,” I’nuck answered with a smug bow. It seemed thoroughly pleased with itself.
With an innocent mien, its brows raised. It shook the book sumptuously, as if tempting a starving man with a slab of fine steak. In keeping with the analogy, Peter licked his lips, staring at the tome with bulbous eyes.
“Won’t you come and get it, then?” the dæmon asked, innocuously.
Without so much as blinking, Peter drew his wand. Pointing down at a tray beside his feet, he whispered ‘windgardium leviosa’ and watched as the tray floated towards the dæmon.
“Place the book on the tray, beast,” Peter ordered with a hint of madness in his eyes.
The dæmon’s smile fell into a twitchy scowl. With a huff, it placed the Grimoire on the plate, which immediately levitated back into Peter’s circle and into his hands. He took a moment to inspect his treasure, feeling the engravings on the thick cover, stroking the binding. He couldn’t suppress a smile from forming.
Peter Pettigrew, the bumbling fool everyone thought a lesser wizard, had conjured and controlled a mid-level dæmon, stolen a powerful artifact from the Ministry of Magic with none the wiser, and was mere steps away from formulating a plan that would be remembered long after his body fell dead.
“Careful, little wizard,” I’nuck warned, “Over-confidence has been the fall of many a’man.”
“Crucio!” Peter exclaimed, pointing his wand at the dæmon.
A deafening howl of pain leapt from its lips as it convulsed as though a thousand volts of electricity coursed through its body. Its stolen shape began to waiver as it fell to the floor, clutching at its chest. Its eyes shot daggers at Peter as it tried to catch its breath.
“That, beast,” Peter spat with as much disdain as he could muster, “is for your temptuous tongue!”
Before the I’nuck could utter a word, Peter incanted the four words of banishment and, in the blink of an eye, the dæmon was gone.
Peter sat on his knees, resting on his heels as he opened the Grimoire, hurriedly. His exuberant expression soon gave way to one of disappointed when he saw that, page after page, the book seemed to be completely blank.
“Oh, fiddle!” Peter exclaimed, exhaustively. Setting the book down, he considered summoning I’nuck again and torturing it until it revealed its treachery. But, he feared he hadn’t the strength to break through the dimensions and stay guarded enough to keep the dæmon under his reign.
‘…this tome is nothing but blood magic, youngling. And I know how … squeamish you lot tend to be about such things…’
The words came back to Peter. He mulled over its meaning before holding out his wand. Whispering ‘convertere scieran’, his wand transfigured into a blade. He raised his arm over the Grimoire, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then cut down the length of his arm.
Peter sucked in air through gritted teeth. Blood fell from the wound, dripping on the pages of the open Grimoire. He grimaced in pain, but soon the pain seemed to melt away as his eyes bulged at the sight of words forming on the pages, much like the Marauders’ Map. Only this time, the words were made from blood… his blood.
Chubby fingers darted as he flipped from page to page, frantically. Finally, he stopped. His mouth dropped and is eyes widened. He had come to the page entitled Resurgerie. He had found his prize.
•~Š~•
I’m lying in my four-poster when I finally read the letter. I had hoped it was Sirius, but I find myself grinning from ear-to-ear when I realize it’s from Charlie. I remember him saying something to the effect of ‘maybe we’ll be seeing you at Hogwarts after all’ before we left The Burrow. But, I thought it was just him trying to make me feel better.
I had an amazing time over the summer, and it wasn’t simply because of the World Cup or because I was away from the Dursleys or even because I was with my best mates. Charlie actually talked to me. Me! He’s a dragon-tamer; he’s got a cool job and gets to see and do all these wondrous things. Yet, there he was talking to me about Quidditch and dragons and magic. And, he wasn’t talking down to me, like I was some prattling first year. He was talking to me like a peer, an equal. It was refreshing.
And, as fit as I think the twins are, Charlie is, by far, the top. He’s like … Ron… only cuter… and funnier… and smarter… and a better flyer… oh, and he’s better at Potions, too. Ron’s pants at Potions, like me. But Charlie? He’s a god among men, that one, shaped by years of handling dragons and other magical wild-beasts in Romania and the Ukraine and wherever the Ministry sends him.
And he wants to see me!
Me!!
I read the letter, again for the hundredth time. Words like ‘dearest’ and ‘love’, phrases like ‘would love to see you’ and ‘have something to show you’ tower above the rest. In fact, the letter might as well not even have any other words. Before I pull the duvet to my chest in a vain attempt to go to sleep (which I know won’t come), I smell the parchment, hoping to gain a whiff of Charlie. I realize that’s a girlie thing to do, but at this point I don’t care.
Charlie Weasley wants to see me!
•~Š~•
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