Harry knows that it takes time to put an article like this together, but the anticipation of it all is killing him. He's waiting on the first draft of Skeeter's article, waiting on a thunderstorm, waiting for the second task… It feels like waiting is all that he's been doing this year. And there's not much that he can do in the meantime beyond taking swimming lessons from Viktor, getting tutored in Potions by Cedric, and learning a few more broadly useful spells from Fleur. They can't be completely certain that their wands will be taken, after all, and it doesn't hurt to be prepared. Not that they're likely to need anything else with the gillyweed…
Cedric is an angel for that one. Who knew that there was a plant out there that they could just eat to temporarily become able to breathe underwater? Certainly not Harry. He's almost excited for the second task now, if only because he's starting to become a decent swimmer and is curious to see how having webbed hands and feet affects that. Will it become easier? Harder? Will returning to swimming without those differences be more difficult afterward? Whatever the answer, they don't have a better option for facing the second task, but it still feels strange that they haven't been able to find much information on the long-term effects of consuming gillyweed.
The next full moon comes and goes with no sign of a thunderstorm, allowing Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor to join him and Draco in their eager waiting to discover their animal forms. Maybe it's better that way. It'll be pretty cool to see everyone transforming at once; Harry just hopes that a storm comes before the second task. That particular date is creeping closer and closer now, and he's getting increasingly nervous about it. What if they don't get a thunderstorm before even the final task is upon them? It isn't like Harry would regret doing this, not even then, but... He doesn't like the thought of being down a potential tool in his arsenal, either.
It's during yet another mind-numbingly boring History of Magic class that Harry finally hears it: thunder. It takes every ounce of self-control that he has to not immediately jolt out of his chair, but he exchanges a brief glance with Draco who subtly lifts his head in acknowledgment. He heard it too. Parkinson and Zabini seem oddly interested in their little interaction, and Harry looks away, feeling a bit too seen. Thankfully, they know better than to say anything here. He's never been more grateful for Slytherins and their secretive natures.
They all make a point of making a brief appearance in the Great Hall for dinner, and a single glance at the ceiling confirms that it is still pouring down rain, clouds dark and gray as lightning flickers between them and crashes down to the earth. It's not at all unusual for Harry, Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor to suddenly slip away from the Hufflepuff table after eating, so they walk slowly to keep anyone from thinking that they're doing anything other than practicing for the tasks ahead. It is strange for Harry to be leading them toward the Chamber of Secrets, but there's simply nothing for it. It's the best place for Draco to meet up with them without getting seen, and Harry doesn't want to risk disturbing their mixtures by bringing them out of the cool, dark chamber. It could wind up destabilizing the whole thing, and then they'd be forced to start all over again. Besides, with almost everyone else still eating in the Great Hall, this is their best chance to avoid getting caught along the way. It's now or never.
Harry is both pleasantly surprised and immensely relieved that they don't have to wait in Myrtle's bathroom for very long. Draco must have been all but sprinting through the halls to catch up with them so quickly. "Pansy and Blaise are covering for me," Draco explains with a wry grin. "Told everyone that I've been going a bit mental over a Charms essay, which isn't entirely uncommon. No one will think twice about it."
Cedric is the only one of them who looks a bit dubious about this entire situation, mostly about the fact that they're all currently standing in a girl's bathroom, but when Harry marches right up to a sink and hisses at it, he understands why. "... I really hope that this room wasn't a bathroom when the chamber was first made. That would be… reallyweird."
"I try not to think about it," Harry mutters with an amused snort. "At least it's out of the way… No one ever comes in here." A group of second years never would've gotten away with brewing Polyjuice in this bathroom, otherwise. "But let's not linger and risk it. It'd be just our luck that Filch happens to pass by now..." With a single, pointed hiss, the sharp slope in front of him shifts into a staircase, and Harry leads them all into the darkness, hissing for the entrance to the chamber to shut behind them as soon as the last person stepped inside.
Draco doesn't cast the Wand-Lighting Charm to illuminate the way this time. His Patronus hops and skips in front of them, illuminating the passage with a gentle glow and easing their nerves all at once. "Show-off," Harry murmurs with a fond little smile tugging at his lips.
"I have you to thank for it. Besides, I rather suspect that your Patronus would blind us in such close quarters, so…"
Harry chuckles at that, shrugging his shoulders as he mutters, "Fair enough."
"Zis is… so eerie," Fleur murmurs with an uneasy glance as they pass by a pile of bones that Harry carefully looks past every time they go down here. He doesn't want to know what they once belonged to.
"Vat do you know? Hogwarts can feel like home," Viktor says very dryly.
Their group's startled laughter echoes down the hallway. Harry honestly loves Viktor's sense of humor; he's so disarmingly funny all the while seeming like he doesn't mean to be. It's hardly any wonder that he and George get along well enough that they're properly dating now.
"I should've started hanging out with you guys sooner." Draco snickers under his breath as a grin curls his lips. "This is fun."
"Speaking of, when did this," Cedric gestures vaguely between Harry and Draco. "Happen? You two have been at each other's throats since you set foot in Hogwarts. What changed?"
He and Draco exchange a weighted glance, and Harry rolls a shoulder, smiling as he says, "We grew up, I suppose."
"It started as an even exchange, of course," Draco sniffs haughtily, turning up his nose to hide the smile tugging at his lips. It doesn't work very well. "I wanted to learn the Patronus Charm, Harry wanted to become an Animagus, and both of us could help each other in a way that very few other people could. Then we kept making other deals, started really talking, and, well… We found out that we actually get along quite well when we're not slinging hexes and jinxes at each other."
"Thank Merlin for that," Cedric mutters with an amused snort. "I feared the two of you would bring this castle down on our heads before you graduated. You know–" Their conversation comes to an abrupt halt when the other champions see the basilisk's corpse sprawled out within the chamber. Or what's left of her, anyway. "Oh," Cedric whimpers as he immediately loses every hint of color in his face. "That's lovely. I think that I'm gonna be sick…"
"If you are, then you should get it out of your system now. Ve don't vant you to throw up your potion," Viktor suggests, not unkindly, as Fleur rubs Cedric's back in sympathy. She's looking a bit green herself.
"Here is beings your potions!" Dobby squeaks as he pops into the room, eagerly passing out the phials as he all but vibrates with excitement. "Dobby be staying just in case anything be going wrong. Or if anyone be needing taken to the Great Lake very quickly. We don't be knowing if you all is being land creatures."
"That's really smart. Thank you, Dobby," Harry praises as excitement thrums throughout his entire body. Then, as one, they all chant "Amato Animo Animato Animagus!" Every single person in the room drinks their potions within seconds of each other.
Harry closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the world seems a whole lot bigger than it was before.
-
Draco isn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. He barely has time to register that Viktor has turned into a bull shark before Dobby whisks him away, presumably dumping him into the Black Lake to adjust to his new form and not suffocate on air. Delacour is soaring through the air like she was born to fly, taking on the form of a peregrine falcon that swoops and dives so quickly that it's almost dizzying to watch. She could probably outspeed the snitch, or at the very least give it a good run for its money. Diggory is, to absolutely no one's surprise, a honey badger. He's a Hufflepuff through and through, and this is just further proof of that.
But when he sees Harry, it feels as if his heart has stopped beating in his chest. Curly, messy black wool that bounces as Harry takes a few unsteady steps on cloven feet; piercing green eyes that stand out even more starkly on a dark, furry face; the faint impression of a lightning bolt scar on his forehead… Harry's Animagus form couldn't be mistaken for anyone else, that's for certain. It's also disturbingly familiar, and Draco does not have to think on it for long to realize why.
His Patronus. Harry's Animagus form is his Patronus, down to the very last detail. Draco is so stunned by this realization that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize what he, himself, has transformed into.
Gleaming, white scales catch his eye first. A massive tail sweeps across the earth as he rises to his feet, instinctively ducking his neck to avoid hitting his head on the stone ceiling above. His claws dig into the earth as he stretches out, and he spreads his wings as far as he can in such a confined space. It's only once that action truly registers that he's struck with an even more earth-shattering realization.
He's a dragon. An Antipodean Opaleye, if his coloration and size is any indication. The exact same species as Harry's… Oh. Oh, but Merlin, they're both oblivious fools, aren't they? Magic like this… It doesn't lie. It takes a long, hard look at the deepest depths of your soul and draws what it sees up to the surface. Draco is a dragon, and Harry's Patronus is the very same dragon. Harry is a lamb, a still-young ram with so much potential, and Draco's Patronus is the very same lamb. He's quite certain he can remember seeing a slightly dimmer spot on his Patronus's forehead the other day, actually, and he cannot believe that he dismissed it as a trick of the light.
They are, perhaps, the closest thing that there is to soulmates. Their magics are so synergized that they blatantly reflect each other in this emotion-based, instinctive magic that draws on both positive feelings and their sense of self.
He knows that it doesn't necessarily mean anything. Harry knows astonishingly little about the magical world, for one, so he doubts that he understands the full implications of this. Most witches and wizards wouldn't understand the implications of this. Draco only knows because he's always secretly been a bit of a hopeless romantic, and he's found the idea of such a thing enchanting since he was very small. Despite that, he knows that magical compatibility is just that: compatibility. It doesn't mean they're necessarily beholden to it. He doesn't have to spend an eternity with Harry Potter. That being said…
Draco imagines a future where he is allowed to stay by Harry's side, and he finds himself quite enamored by the idea of it. He wants to wake up to dark, messy hair and bright green eyes every morning. He wants to hear Harry's laughter, his wry chuckles; his amused laughs; and his delighted snickering, and see his smiles, and he wants to hold him close when the weight of the world that everyone seems content to lay upon his shoulders gets to be too much. He wants to brush away his tears and promise him that everything will be okay whenever Harry is standing on the ledge of that metaphorical Astronomy Tower again. Or the literal one, as much as that particular thought terrifies him. He wants… He wants to be there for Harry. Always. Damn the war and damn the consequences of it all. Gryffindors don't have a monopoly on being brave.
Merlin and Morganna, he has a crush on Harry Potter.
A tiny little snout gently presses against Draco's scaled leg, and he watches Harry's tail flick with excitement as a quiet "Baa…!" escapes his throat. Harry starts jumping around then, clearly excited for him, and a rumbling chuckle reverberates in his chest and echoes around the room.
"This is… strange." Very exciting, but strange nonetheless. "I cannot wait to get the wind beneath my wings."
"Draco…?" A lamb should not be able to hiss. It is extremely disconcerting that Harry still can, but Draco is trying to ignore that feeling of instinctive wrongness. "I can understand you! Better than I could the Horntail, anyway. Huh. This is so cool! I can't believe that you're a dragon!"
"It's not nearly as stealthy a form as I had hoped," he admits. Not that he could ever be disappointed about turning into a dragon. "But that's mostly because it's all but unheard of for Animagi to be magical creatures. I'm certainly not complaining. Just... shocked, I suppose."
"I'm not exactly unnoticeable either," Harry pointed out with an amused flick of his tail. "At least I've got my size going for me… I can hide, if nothing else, but if someone spots me, that's it. They'll know who I am if they know me at all."
"Indeed. You're as recognizable now as ever," Draco teases before shifting back into his human form with a quiet groan. "Sorry, I was starting to get cramped in here. Merlin, but it's going to be difficult to transform anywhere but back at the manor unless I want to register it… Which sounds like a very good way of getting a bunch of attention that I don't want right now."
"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear you say that," Diggory mutters with an amused snort once he's back in his human skin. "Did you notice anything different about my form? I'm trying to figure out what my distinctive marking is."
"Your fur is dark brown where it should be black," Fleur answers once she touches down on the ground and shifts back as well, a satisfied smile curling her lips. "Just as my feathers are lighter zan usual. I do hope zat Viktor is doing alright…"
"I'm sure he's fine. Dobby's looking after him." Harry stretches his back with a quiet yawn, having transformed back into a human as well in the scant few seconds that Draco wasn't watching him, and rubs at his eyes as they start to water. It should not be even half as adorable as it is. "A shark is pretty useful for the next task… Though it's sad that he can't run around with us."
"It's not like I can either," Draco murmurs with an idle hum. "Far too noticeable. But this form will be a fantastic scare tactic in battle, if push comes to shove…" He would typicallysay duel, but they all know that something far more serious is looming on the horizon. He won't do them the disservice of suggesting that they're too dull to recognize that.
When Dobby brings Viktor back, they are both wielding sharp, eerily similar grins. "That vas fun. I am definitelyusing it for the task. I vill have to register aftervard, but…" Viktor shrugs helplessly. "It von't be very useful to me in most situations anyvay. But I am happy. It vill be nice to swim so freely."
Draco watches on with a begrudgingly fond smile as the four champions start discussing their group strategy for the second task, heads bent together as they eagerly toss ideas back and forth that incorporates Viktor's Animagus form into the plan. He's not quite sure how his life wound up turning out this way, but whatever caused it, he wouldn't change it for the world.
Merlin, Pansy and Blaise are going to tease him for all of eternity once they hear about this.
-
Harry is practically shaking out of his skin on the day that it happens, mere days before the second task is upon them. He'd sent out his approval for Skeeter's article a week ago, and today is the day that it finally hits the papers.
It's also the first time he's ever willingly grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet, and the Hufflepuffs surrounding him look quite nervous about that.
"Vat did you do now?" Viktor asks with a chuckle. "I vonder if—"
Fleur's heartbroken gasp cuts Viktor off, and he immediately drops the teasing tone as he, too, picks up a copy and begins to read. The Great Hall is deathly silent, and it's not hard to figure out why. Skeeter really doesn't pull her punches.
The Boy-Who-Lived: Abused by Muggles and Abandoned by the Ones He Saved
By Rita Skeeter
My dearest readers, today I bring to you a tale that is immensely difficult to hear, but it is for that very reason that it is so important to tell it. Many of us have found ourselves wondering about the life of the Boy-Who-Lived after the tragic loss of James and Lily Potter, but despite many reporters and government officials searching for any scrap of information regarding what happened to young Harry Potter afterward, nothing could be found. Albus Dumbledore repeatedly assured us that the boy was safe and being well taken care of, that his location had to remain secret for security purposes, and today, I am here to tell you that they were all lies.
How do I know? Why, the Boy-Who-Lived came to me and offered an exclusive interview to set the record straight. How could I ever refuse?
Petunia Dursley née Evans is the surviving, muggle sister of the late Lily Potter, and it is with her that our savior spent his formative years. But instead of receiving the love and care that he, and all other children, deserved, he was met with only hatred and scorn.
"She never let me forget it, you know? That I was dumped on her by those 'freakish, no-good people', left on her doorstep like garbage that even they didn't know what to do with in the aftermath of that night. I spent years believing that my father was a violent drunk and my mother a whore, both killed in a drunken car crash," said Harry Potter, face twisting with sorrow as he recounted his tale. "I believed it because that was what they told me. The Dursleys hatemagic. They hate it with every fiber of their being, and they were determined to… Well, my uncle always said that he'd beat the freakishness out of me eventually."
Imagine my shock and horror. There were tears in my eyes as I listened to this boy, for this interview made it rather clear that he truly is still just a boy, casually speak of horrors beyond my worst fears. He said these things as if they were normal, and that is what is truly horrifying. Because, to him, they were. They still are.
"You know, I didn't even know my own name until my first year of primary school," he confessed to me with watery eyes. I could tell how difficult it was for him to hold back the tears, and I wanted to reassure him that it was okay to let them fall. But I couldn't bring myself to interrupt this horrible story, voice lost to the shock of it all, and so he continued on without interruption. "I thought it was Freak or maybe Boy. Because that was all they ever called me. So when my teacher called out my name, I didn't respond to it, and she thought I was causing trouble on purpose. That I was trying to be funny or something, I dunno. She told the Dursleys about it, and when I got home, my uncle beat me bloody with his belt and locked me in my cupboard. I wasn't allowed any food for a week."
"Cupboard?" I asked, trying not to allow myself to linger on the rest of that story. I really would start crying then.
"My cupboard," Harry repeated, nodding with a look of, dare I call it nostalgia, on his face. "My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, you know? It was my room. It was small, and cramped, and it always smelled strongly of chemicals, but… My uncle couldn't fit in there, so I liked it anyway."
"Did your relatives not have any other rooms?" I found myself afraid of the answer, and I knew before he even uttered a word, solely from the look on his face, that I was right to be afraid.
"We had four bedrooms. The master bedroom; a bedroom for my uncle's sister to sleep in whenever she visited; and then Dudley, that's my cousin, had two bedrooms. One for him to sleep in, and one for him to store all of his toys in. I got that bedroom eventually but… Is it horrible of me to say I wish I still had the cupboard? I felt some measure of safety there. That second bedroom… During my first year at Hogwarts, they bought and installed dozens of locks on my door. They put bars over my window to keep me from sending letters with Hedwig. They installed a cat flap on my door so they didn't even have to look at me whenever they were generous enough to feed me. All of my things were locked up in my cupboard, so I couldn't even do my summer homework until Ron; Fred; and George Weasley came to save me when I didn't respond to any of their letters. They had to pry the bars off my window to get me out of there, and honestly? I don't know how much longer I would've survived if they hadn't shown up. I was lucky to get a few pieces of stale bread in a week, and I wasn't lucky very often."
"Why did you go back to them at all?" I asked, utterly heartbroken by every new piece of information I learned. "Surely you would have told someone!"
"I did. I…" Harry swallowed harshly then, casting a furtive glance around the room. He seemed so afraid of being overheard, but in spite of that, he continued telling his story. "At the end of my first year, I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer. I offered to work, to help Hagrid with his duties since I'm quite good with landscaping after years of doing it anyway, but… Dumbledore said no." I could hardly believe my own ears when he told me this, but there was no denying the truth of it. It was too painful for him to speak about for me to doubt him for even a moment. "I begged him. I told him that the Dursleys were the worst sort of people, that I was afraid of going back, but he told me that it was for my own good. That it was for my protection. I didn't feel very protected."
"So, in your opinion, should Albus Dumbledore remain over Hogwarts?"
Fear unlike anything I had ever seen from our savior flashed across his face, and I immediately wished that I could have taken the question back. "I… I don't want to talk about Dumbledore right now."
"Okay. How about Hagrid, then? Were you aware of his secret?"
"No, but it doesn't matter." I found myself shocked by the sudden conviction in his voice, and despite his slight form, a form that I now know was caused by chronic malnutrition and not a genetic anomaly that occurred despite how tall both of his parents were, I feel quite small when faced with the fire in his eyes. "Hagrid is my friend. You called him violent and cruel, and I am still quite cross with you about it. I know violent and cruel. I lived with it every single day of my life. I lived with belts and fists and hot frying pans swung at my face, and I lived with words meant to rip and tear and destroy the very spirit of the person who heard them. Hagrid is the opposite of that in every way."
I listened, enraptured, as he told me of his first meeting with Hagrid. "When my Hogwarts letter came, the Dursleys were terrified. Enraged and terrified. My uncle tossed it in the fireplace, and I thought that was the end of it but… I received hundreds of letters over the course of the next several days. It got to the point where the Dursleys packed their things and fled in an attempt to avoid them, so desperate to prevent me from knowing anything about magic that they would upend their entire lives to make sure of it. Hagrid was the one who came for me. He was the one who didn't even balk when my uncle pointed a shotgun, which is a deadly and incredibly powerful muggle weapon, at his face. They tried to refuse my admission to Hogwarts because as much as they hated me, they hated magic even more. Hagrid's persistence, his dedication… He's the only reason that I got to attend at all. Because honestly… If he left me that day, I don't think I would have survived it. My uncle was that angry."
"So you don't care that his mother was a giantess?"
"Why would I? Based on what I've told you, do you think I'm anything like the Dursleys?"
"Of course not!" I cried out, appalled that he would even suggest such a thing after what he had shared with me that day.
"Then why do you assume that Hagrid is like his mother?" It was such a simple question, a question that only a child could ask, and yet… I found that I had no answer. "Hagrid gave me the single best birthday of my life. The first one that I was ever truly able to celebrate. He baked me my first-ever cake, bought me my first-ever gift, and quickly became the first adult that I ever trusted. I wouldn't care for Hagrid any less if he was half-Dementor."
And considering the Boy-Who-Lived's experiences with Dementors last year, that was quite the statement indeed. "Then you don't blame him for letting you go back to them? For not fighting harder to keep you at Hogwarts?"
"He doesn't really have the power to go against that sort of decision, does he?" Despite the innocent tilt of his head, I knew that he was not truly asking me a question. "Because Dumbledore is the only reason he has a job at all. He had his wand snapped when he was even younger than me, and even if he wanted to leave the magical world, he would stand out too much. He has no opportunities here or there. It's a very unfair position to put him in, especially when he was punished for a crime that he didn't even commit."
"Oh? And what do you mean by that?"
"Hagrid was arrested for opening the Chamber of Secrets, but I know for a fact that he couldn't have done that. Because he isn't a Parselmouth, and the only way you can get into the Chamber of Secrets is by speaking Parseltongue. I would know. I've been down there."
I could hardly believe my ears. The legendary Chamber of Secrets, lost to time and believed to be little more than myth at this point, had been rediscovered by our savior? How could I ever refrain from asking, "Do tell."
What followed was yet another harrowing story. The Hogwarts petrifications of both 1943 and 1992 were caused by none other than a basilisk, and we were simply fortunate that only one student stared directly into the beast's eyes the first time this occurred. Wanting nothing more than to protect his friends, our young hero was forced to slay the serpent in a deadly battle, one that left him scarred and would have killed him outright had it not been for the timely intervention of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.
"So Hagrid couldn't have released Slytherin's monster, you see? And it's ridiculous that anyone ever thought an Acromantula was the monster to begin with. They can't petrify people, they can't kill without leaving traces of their venom behind, and if an Acromantula really had killed Myrtle, then there wouldn't have been anything left of her body to find. But the Board had to be seen doing something, so they snapped Hagrid's wand and expelled him even though he didn't do anything wrong. It's cruel and unfair, and between that and my being forced into a tournament that I shouldn't even qualify for, I'm really starting to question the competence of our government officials. It seems to me that they have no idea what they're doing. Refusing to even give proper trials… It sickens me."
Upon doing further digging, I confirmed that, indeed, Hagrid never received any sort of trial at all. It was believed at the time that it was to spare a thirteen-year-old boy that sort of public humiliation, but in light of these revelations, it is an especially horrifying miscarriage of justice. I intend to do more digging to discover if there are any other cases such as this one.
And in light of what I have learned today, I would like to issue a formal apology to Rubeus Hagrid. I can admit when I am wrong, and this time, I could not have been much more so. I retract my previous statements, and I apologize for quoting a student who, to quote our savior, "Must be projecting his own insecurities onto Hagrid. He's such a pompous snob that even the other Hufflepuffs are getting sick of dealing with him." Blood alone does not make up one's character, and our savior has made it more than clear that yours is good beyond question. This humble reporter thanks you for both bringing him back to us and saving him from that hell.
Now it's our turn. It's our turn to make up for so utterly failing our savior. It's our turn to make sure that he never returns to that hell again.
"Check," Harry murmurs, eyes glinting with smug satisfaction at the looks of horrified shock all around him. He knows that, hidden away in his hut, Hagrid is currently reading a copy of this very article courtesy of Dobby. He doubts that there's a single soul in Wizarding Britain that won't have read it by the end of the day.
Fame is a double-edged sword. It's about time he learns how to wield it.
Harry locks eyes with Dumbledore from across the Great Hall, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispers, "Your move."