“

‘Fine,’ Malfoy conceded, clearly bothered if the overexaggerated eye-roll was anything to go by. ‘Put your hand on my waist.’

Harry paused.

‘Your what?’

Malfoy gaped at him.

‘You cannot be- Ugh!’  

Done with the Gryffindor’s indecision, Malfoy grabbed Harry's right hand and brought it to the soft area beneath the ribcage and above the hip bone. “Soft” was something odd to think about someone as pointy as Malfoy. His skin was pale as marble, so Harry had always kind of thought it'd be cold like marble too. He tells himself that's why he snatched his hand back as if burnt when the warmth of the Slytherin's body seeped through his fine white shirt and to Harry's fingers.

”

It had felt so different from what touching Malfoy should've been like, Harry's mouth went dry just by thinking about it. Malfoy had been incensed though, and had berated him for not taking it seriously and declared he was not being seen with an untrained baboon. Harry wondered if the blond had heard McGonagall's speech by any chance.

What followed was a sad show of stomping, botched up spins and, once, he even managed to trip Malfoy. Luckily, everything Harry lacked in being a good dancer, he had in being a good Seeker. The hand that should've been properly holding Malfoy (and clearly hadn't been) shot out lightning-fast and scooped Malfoy up before he hit the ground. It was a strange sight, Malfoy's half-surprised, half-bracing-for-impact face; eyes wide and cheeks flushed after forty minutes of dancing and arguing.

Harry had, naively, expected some praise for his quick save; Malfoy hadn't thought the same. As soon as the blond regained his footing, he dusted himself, gathered his things and told Harry they'd see about fixing his astonishing clumsiness on another occasion, and left him alone in the room.

It had been, overall, such an embarrassing afternoon, Harry could feel his cheeks heating up just remembering. What was he thinking? Dancing with Malfoy. Maybe he should just fake sickness and not attend the Yule Ball at all.

It was with great regret that Harry finished the last of his mashed potatoes and got up.

‘Where are you going?’ Hermione asked softly.

‘Extra dance practice.’ Harry was intentionally vague.

Hermione arched a brow at that and, in a more interested tone, inquired:

‘With Professor McGonagall?’

‘No.’ Harry hurried his way out of the Hall, knowing perfectly what the next question would be and he did not want to answer it.

He deliberately took the long route to the West wing, and yet, sooner than he would've liked, he was standing before the fourth floor abandoned classroom. After taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The curtains were drawn back, the clear blue sky perfectly visible outside. Sunrays poured into the classroom and illuminated it better than any lamp or candle could. Positioned right under one of the windows, nearly-white hair adopted the warmer tones the sunlight offered. 

Malfoy sat on one of the desks, his back to Harry, he seemed to be writing something and Harry prayed he wasn’t taking notes on the cursed dancing book. The Slytherin was very focused on his task and didn’t hear Harry come in. As he approached, Harry noted with some relief the book wasn’t the same as last time, it was their Transfiguration textbook.

‘Isn’t that essay not due until past Christmas?’ Harry bit down on a smirk at the way Malfoy jolted. 

The scowl the blond sported at the moment was one of the deepest Harry had ever seen, and he could almost taste the venom in the other's voice as he accused:

‘You’re late,’ Malfoy turned sharply back to his work, ‘And yes, there’s still time, but I thought I’d get it started. You had me so bored.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry said, all false contrition. ‘I didn’t realize my presence was needed for you to be entertained.’

‘Why, of course,’ Malfoy continued without looking at him, ‘why else do you think kings kept buffoons in their Court?’

Harry counted to ten to keep calm. Either Hermione was off in her assumption of Malfoy fancying him, or Malfoy was doing a terrific job at hiding it. He took a peek at the book to see which paragraphs Malfoy had highlighted –Harry hadn’t started his essay nor could remember what it was about– but nearly half the page had been underlined and there were writings in every single margin.

‘I didn’t know you were so… thorough,’ Harry noted. ‘I’d never have the patience for that.’

Malfoy huffed a laugh.

‘Unlike you, I do concern myself with the academic part of school. Not that I expect you to understand.’ 

Then, he pulled the leather sketchbook out of his bag and set it on the table. With a quick chant Harry didn’t quite catch, he tapped it with the tip of his wand and the little Golden Snidget Harry’d seen Malfoy draw a few days ago slipped from in between the pages and fluttered her lightning-fast ink wings around the room.

‘Well, Potter, since you won’t learn respectable dancing theory no matter what expert manual I bring, I’ve decided to start with something you already know how to do.’

‘Er…’ Was all Harry could guess, his eyes never leaving the fluttering drawing.

‘It’s not a real Snitch, but the ball was designed after the bird, so it’ll have to do.’

‘W-what am I supposed to do with it?’ Harry asked, slightly shaky as Malfoy grabbed hold of right wrist and brought it to his own waist, keeping it there for a few seconds to be sure Harry wasn’t going to flinch away, then rested his own hand on the other’s shoulder. The Slytherin blinked down impassively at his partner.

‘Why, catch it, of course.’ He offered his right hand for Harry to take, when he did, he began counting the steps. ‘1,2,3…’

What followed was a terrible attempt of keeping sight of the Snidget while controlling his feet.

‘Quit looking downwards, Potter.’

‘If I step on you, I’m not cleaning your fancy shoes.’

‘Of course you are.’

After that, Harry ensured all his attention went to following the Snidget. For that, he didn’t need his brain, only his eyes, and the rest of his body would follow. In that state of focus, he waltzed through rows of desks while pulling Malfoy along. More than once the Snidget got within reach, but every time Harry unhooked his fingers from Malfoy’s, the elusive drawing escaped his grasp.

‘Remember: to catch it, you mustn't let go of your partner’s hand.’

‘You do realize that’s impossible, right?’

Malfoy sighed.

‘Of course a Gryffindor wouldn’t see a path other than the one straight ahead.’ He took his hand from Harry’s shoulder to remove the one holding his waist. ‘I said don’t let go of my hand, but, if you free the rest of my body, and open your arms wide,’ Malfoy demonstrated for Harry, ‘then I naturally make an arc in this direction, which allows me to…’ he stretched his arm and pulled the Snidget, already running away from them, out of the air before falling back into position right next to Harry, ‘get it for you.’

Harry was sure the other had created another Snidget and set it free inside his stomach to make him nervous. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy.

‘Let’s go again, from the beginning.’

They practiced the move until Harry started getting the hang of throwing Malfoy around without driving him into any piece of furniture. Before the next turn, the Snidget shot upwards and hovered above their heads.

‘How am I supposed to get it up there?’

‘Did you already forget you’re not dancing alone?’

The blond brought their joined hands to the other side of his waist and lifted his brows in challenge. Harry understood immediately what he meant. 

The boy wasn’t exactly light, but thanks to his slender frame, he was also not that difficult to lift. Malfoy’s fist closed around the Snidget and he smirked down at Harry,

‘150 points for Slytherin.’

‘Hey! I’m the one who’s lifted you up!’

‘And yet it’s in my hand, is it not? Don’t be a sore loser, Scarhead.’ Malfoy laughed and stuck the small bird back on the sketchbook page where it belonged. ‘For the next step we don’t need it.’

‘There’s more?’ Harry asked, genuinely confused. Malfoy didn’t grace him with an answer, simply took his place by Harry’s chest and grabbed his hand.

‘This time, when I reach six on the count, you're gonna dip me.’

‘Dip?’

‘Do keep up, Potter. On six, you move your right hand to my upper back and hold my waist with your left. The whole point is to lower my upper body, so don’t lose your footing and keep supporting my back.’

The first few tries, Malfoy complained Harry was doing it too soon and kept threatening not to drop him or else. On the third attempt, they finally got it right.

Harry scooped up Malfoy’s waist with his left hand while keeping the other under his shoulder blades for extra support. Malfoy rested his left hand on Harry’s mid-back as the right one slithered its way up Harry’s arm and perched itself on the boy’s neck.

They froze in position for a few seconds, panting. Their cheeks were flushed by exertion. This time, though, instead of looking scared and about to hit the ground, Malfoy looked quite pleased. Harry felt a rush of pride run through his chest at having met the standards of someone as demanding as Malfoy –not that he cared about Malfoy’s approval usually. 

They had been practicing for quite a while, the sweat on Harry’s face being just enough for the glasses to slip from his ears and hit Malfoy on the bridge of his nose. The pure-blood flinched minutely and made a pathetic sound suspiciously similar to a soft “ouch”.

Unable to hold back, Harry brought his dance partner back to a straight position, lest his belly-laugh made him drop Malfoy.

‘Think your visual aid attacking my face is funny, you speccy?’

Malfoy couldn’t have been that angry, Harry thought as his laugh passed, because he was still holding on to Harry’s neck. 

He had gotten quite comfortable with holding Malfoy’s waist on the course of the afternoon, so he was content to let his hands rest there while the Slytherin went through all the moves they had covered. It was probably unconscious, the moment Malfoy’s fingers hooked around the longer hair on Harry’s nape, but it relaxed and tensed him in a way that was difficult to understand. Just as Harry leaned slightly into the contact, the hand was withdrawn and Malfoy walked away.

‘That’s all I had to teach you, I’d say. Just move your feet in the pattern we’ve practiced and it should be fine.’ Malfoy rambled on as he stuffed his belongings haphazardly inside his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. He crossed the room in a brisk walk and opened the door, apparently not intending to say anything more.

‘Wait,’ Harry stopped him, ‘there really aren't any more moves?’

‘Not that you’ll need for Yule,’ the blond replied without looking back and promptly left.

Harry hadn’t realized how dark the room had gotten until then. Red light spilled from the windows, signaling the last hours of the afternoon. He’d get some dinner if he hurried, but he wasn’t in the mood to hurry, or to face Ron and Hermione’s interrogation, so he decided to go straight for the dorms.

He picked his glasses up from the floor and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. After hours of having just enough room to breathe between him and Malfoy, the air of the castle felt freezing cold.

Harry left the room in a befuddled state. He barely noticed the trek up to Gryffindor Tower at all, lost in his own mind. He’d been in a room alone with Malfoy, no-one else knew where they had been, and neither of them had ended up killed or maimed. And that wasn’t the most surprising fact today. 

Malfoy –cold and haughty Malfoy– had seen Harry not getting it and, instead of hitting him over the head with the book, had adapted his method taking Harry’s interests and strengths into account. And he’d actually gotten some potential out of him, too. For the better part of the session, Harry hadn’t felt clumsy or hopeless.

With a small smile, he gave the Fat Lady the password and made his way straight for the bathroom.

He started shredding his clothes for a shower, but first, he checked his neck on the mirror. For some reason, he expected to find some kind of mark there. Logically, he knew the contact hadn’t been strong enough to leave a bruise, but it felt scorching hot under his skin in the area where he could still imagine Malfoy’s hand.

After fifteen minutes under cold water to try and wash the strange prickle in his neck away, he was ready to go to bed. He laid on his four-poster, all lights off except for the pale moonlight filtering through the window.

They’d only practiced for an afternoon, but Harry already felt infinitely more confident about the Yule Ball.

And when he let his eyes fall shut, it wasn’t the steps he saw behind his eyelids, but the faint curl of Malfoy’s mouth when he’d said ‘Let’s go again, from the beginning’.

She never forgave him, but the anger did pass. Besides, she had bigger things to worry about—life altering things. She had tits now. 

Puberty was strange, adding to a long list of stuff that she only wished someone had given her a guidebook for rather than being thrown headfirst into the fray. “You look ...different,” Severus had said one day down by the muddy riverbank on the outskirts of town, his cheeks filling with more color than she had ever seen. It was hot and their splashing made her top stick to her like a second skin. 

“A good different or bad?”

“I don’t know—just different.”

Severus wasn’t the only one to notice. She felt the change the second she stepped on the platform in September: boys, their eyes roaming every inch of her like she’d transformed into some shiny object they’d want to steal. Their bodies had changed too—some better than others but changed just the same. They were taller, voices lower, and faces littered with patchy stubble or red bumps. Potter’s shoulders had become more toned and square too—not that she was taking note.

It only took until October to choose one. On some random day, Fifth year Hufflepuff, Robert Altwood, asked her to Hogsmeade and she couldn’t possibly say no. He was older, on the quidditch team and most importantly he was fit— like really fit. 

She liked how it felt when people stared as they held hands in the halls, liked that when they studied together he drew circles on her thigh under the table; really liked when he kissed her goodbye before class with hot, hungry lips. It had nothing to do with how Potter saw of course, but it didn’t hurt either. 

“So, you and Altwood..” Black croons at the start of class. He also had grown over summer, his good looks only fueling an already stoked ego. “Good for you, Evans—and here I thought you and ole’ Snivelly would be making greasy babies by the end of term.”

“Fuck off, Black.” She shoots him a glare over her shoulder which he relishes, teeth gleaming. “Ohhh, I get it now. You traded in your crush on Prongs for the next best thing. Good thinking—hitting him where it hurts.”

Beside him, James looks up as though breaking out of a trance, eyes focusing anywhere but her. 

“Hey! I’m not like Altwood,” he quips, icier than she’s ever heard him speak to his mate. It only makes Sirius laugh harder.

“Yeah, you’re right. You aren’t snogging Evans’ face off before every class.”

When it’s announced they would be learning about boggarts, even Black and Potter’s interest pique. “The concept is simple,” explains Professor Slothrop, “A boggart transforms into what you fear the most and thus you must combat it with fear’s greatest opposition: laughter.”

“Wanna bet Snivellus’ worst fear is a proper bath?”

Potter says it loud enough for the class to hear and the room erupts in a rumble of giggles, meanwhile Severus’ knuckles turn white on the table. “Poor bloke has no chance—he’s never laughed a day in his life.”

Severus keeps his head down, seething behind a curtain of hair. Lily places a hand on his forearm and he looks up at her, a tiny smile threatening at his otherwise pallid face. 

When the class lines up for the practical exercise Black and Potter rush to the front, wrestling like children. If any other student had done the same, they would have been endlessly mocked but practically every girl swoons when the two claw at each other's ties and hair, only exacerbating their usual state of dishevelment. 

“Idiots—,” Severus says under his breath. He follows quickly behind the boys, slotting himself third in line and in front of Lily. “—the whole sodding school.”

Sirius takes the lead, many girls stepping out of line to watch him push back his hair and poise his wand. Normally he is the definition of haughty entitlement but even paces away, Lily can see his jaw clicking.

With a flick of Professor Slothrop’s wrist, the trunk clicks open and a broad shouldered man steps out. He has the same jawline as Sirius; the same deep gray eyes. Unlike his son, the man’s gaze isn’t full of careless ease and mischief but something cold and cruel. He lifts his wand directly to Sirius' forehead, the sleek tip almost touching with a spell already poised on his lips. Crui—

“Riddikulus!”

With a flatulent sound, the man’s wand goes limp in his hand and his body balloons up into the air. The whole class bursts into laughs while Sirius’ face goes alight with pure, unadulterated joy. 

“Potter! You’re up!”

Lily leans in to watch James move into Sirius’ previous spot, bumping into Severus’ back. It’s silly really—why would she care what Potter fears? And what would he have to fear anyways? It’s probably losing the quidditch cup…that or going bald. 

James takes his place and the floating, engorged man shifts as though entering through a kaleidoscope. An ornate oak bed drops to the ground.

It hits her hard and fast, making the room spin. The smell of sickness. Images flash through her mind like flipping through some horrific picture book: the tubes, bottles of medicine littering the floor, her mother with shallow cheeks and thinned hair pulled back in a yellow bandana. It isn’t just the smell of sickness she realizes--it is the smell of creeping death.

Under the bed covers an elderly couple hold hands, their bodies pockmarked and sickly. The woman reaches out to James, her arm shaking and frail; dark red splotches mixing with hues of purple and blue as the disease spreads upwards. She smiles and even on the verge of death it is bright and encompassing— his smile.

“R-Riddikulus!”

The bed and the sick couple splash into a puddle of green slime at their feet, making some of the students’ squeal when it encroaches towards the line. When he turns, she expects to see the same triumphant glee that Sirius had sported just moments before but James face is still pale, color only starting to rush in as he faces his audience. In an instant, his usual charisma turns on as though changing a channel. 

How many times had she done the same when Mum was dying? 

“You’re up Sniv,” James sneers as he makes his way to join Sirius at the outskirts of the room. Lily tracks him with her eyes. Reaching his mate he is all smiles again and an image of the woman returns, teeth gleaming amongst the sickness.

Severus straightens his shoulders and takes a step forward. The slime recedes slowly, flowing back to the middle of the room until it grows into a gelatinous mass. Human flesh forms and a couple appears, so tightly intertwined it takes seconds to register it isn’t one single body. Their lips are locked with a frenzy bordering on desperate, tongues slipping together with breathy moans. Details materialize in their figures as their hands wrap around each other: an auburn fringe, untidy black hair, glasses askew, green eyes burning—-

“Riddikulus!”

It’s not Severus who casts the spell. Professor Slothrop jumps in front of the line with his wand poised and the boggart James and Lily burst into a cloud of confetti. Behind her students gasp, hair becoming littered with strips of color. 

Once everything settles, Severus is already gone.

Sirius is the first one to break the silence, howling with laughter and bending at the waist. He shakes the confetti from his hair and turns to clasp James’ shoulder but James just stands there frozen in place. If he looked pale when he faced the boggart, now he is downright translucent, his eyes blown and directed straight at her.

He looks absolutely haunted. 

After class ends, the news travels so fast Lily wouldn’t be surprised to find an article about it in the next morning’s social section of The Daily Prophet. Everywhere people make kissing noises at her and feign snogging by turning around and wrapping their hands around their bodies. 

Severus doesn’t show for charms and then again for potions. But he can’t hide forever. 

“Sev, stop ignoring me.” She stands outside the broad door of the Slytherin Common Room, the giant statue of a serpent staring back at her with dead eyes. She hates coming down here—nothing good ever happened this far back in the dungeons.

“I’m not ignoring you I’m just—” She has never seen him like this before, not even when his parents would drink too much and start to row. His uniform is disheveled and it’s clear he had just pulled himself out from the covers of his bed. Dark red circles line his eyes and she swears she can see blue veins running through his forehead. 

“It’s Black and Potter—they must have done something,” he lunges towards her, grabbing her shoulders with clawing fingers. “You know how they are—I bet they planned the whole thing, snuck into the classroom and—and—”

“And what?” She sputters, feeling on edge by his encroachment. She doesn’t like him like this—like he would do anything if it meant getting his way. “I know Potter and Black are tricky arseholes, but that was a real boggart, Sev. If it wasn’t then Professor Slothrop would have—”

“Professor Slothrop is an idiot,” Severus gasps ,“All of our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been and you know it. It wouldn’t be the first time Potter and Black snuck something behind one of their backs.”

His fingers dig deeper into her shoulders, creating a dull ache. 

“Sev, you’re hurting me,” she tugs away, but he isn’t ready to let her go just yet. 

“Lil, you have to believe me. I would never want what happened today, not in a million years.”

Yes, because it’s your biggest fear.

In the end, she agrees to believe him, which is only a partial lie. She believes he would never want the events of the day to happen, but she doesn’t believe that the boggart was some elaborate set up. Severus’ worst fear was her and James together—the same thing that she had practically confided in him about a year earlier when being tormented by the rest of the school. It wasn’t Robert or Lupin or even universally handsome Sirius Black—Potter was his greatest threat because he knew it could actually be true. 

Thinking about it made her head hurt so much she almost missed the familiar, light voice of Robert calling after her as she trudges down the corridors to her next class. When he bounds up to her, she feels a weight start to lift, everything going soft and airy with promises of sweet touches and—

“I think we should break up.”

"—what?”

He gives her a pouting face that feels more taunting than sorrowful. “You’re really great—I’ve had a lot of fun with you but—”

But your best friend is in love with you. But the whole school is now talking about how some supernatural version of you snogged my quidditch rival.

“You don’t have to explain it Robert, I think I get it,” she says, being more articulate than she ever dreamed she would be being dumped. 

“It’s not you, really. It’s me. You’re just—”

A muggleborn, a freak, an idiot who doesn’t see the writing on the wall even if it animated itself and screamed. 

“—a lot.”

Well, at least he summed it up nicely.

Later at dinner, she realizes it’s the first she’s seen James since the incident. He sits at the end of the table surrounded by his usual crowd, spooning up a thick helping of mushroom soup and watching it slop back into his bowl in thick clumps. It’s oddly reminiscent of the boggart slime.

“Altwood is a git,” Mary says at her side, ripping off a piece of bread with her teeth. “It’s not like you even snogged Potter in the first place— and honestly the fact that people are conflating the two worries me about the intelligence level at this school.”

Lily looks down into her own bowl, feeling more nauseous by the sight of food than hungry. 

“People just want to say shit because you're a muggleborn,” Marlene adds, pointing her butter knife. “They're all just knobheads trying to fulfill the stupid stereotype that we muggleborns are easy.”

Lily snorts, taking her spoon and sloshing her soup against the side of the bowl. “Well bad luck for them. According to Altwood I’m the farthest thing from easy—I’m a lot.”

She takes another glance down the table and is not prepared to find him staring back. In the years past she’s seen his eyes filled with many things: happiness, mischief, pity, sorrow—but none of them compare to the sheer hollowness that now watches her.

Was it really so bad? Did seeing them snog–very realistically–really cause him this much pain?

In great Potter fashion, the answers come unsolicited and wrapped in ambiguity. 

“Uhm—hi.”

She looks up from her parchment, shocked to have heard a voice, much less his. She had chosen this part of the library knowing no one would come down this way, the shelves lined with ancient tomes that were barely legible between the deep foxing on the pages and archaic script. 

In short, James looks like shit. His hair had gotten more unruly this year, but now it points in different directions as though he’d walked into an electric current. His eyes hold the same hollowness as before, but up close there’s something deeper and dark and ready to boil up.

“Look—I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I’m not here to faff around and make you feel bad.”

“A first,” she snorts, folding her arms and turning back to her book. He makes a frustrated sort of squeak and shifts his weight. He’s clearly not used to fighting for attention. 

“I just want you to know I had nothing nothing to do with what happened today. I swear to Godric Evans, I—” 

Something inside of him breaks open, the cogs in his brain working overtime until he looks absolutely tortured and the words start pouring out. “I mean, how was I supposed to know that Snivellus would conjure that— even think about that …It’s just–It’s just…” His voice cracks off into a furious groan, hands running through his hair and tugging on the roots.

“I know you didn’t do it,” Lily says, crossing her arms. She shouldn’t get as much satisfaction from his suffering as she does, but something about it makes her feel like she is seeing him with an unfiltered lense. 

“How could you, it was a bloody boggart.”

“I just assumed you’d think I was trying to take the piss.” Even though his voice is still cracked, his body relaxes, shoulders falling back with relief. 

“Severus certainly does—but even I know you aren’t smart enough to pull something like rigging a boggart response.”

Like another click of a channel his demeanor changes, vulnerability transforming into pride. 

“So, you think I’m smart?”

Bloody infuriating. An absolute terror.

“That’s not the point, Potter,” she screams, throwing her hands in the air. “ Christ, how are you capable of making every conversation an ego trip? Do you think about anything else? Is there any room left in that inflated brain of yours?”

Another change in the programming. A familiar sad smile. 

“What can I say: I am—by your definition—the world’s biggest wanker.”

It stings to have last year's conversation make a reappearance—maybe too much. He’s doing it on purpose, reminding her of his absolute lack of interest in her so that she believes his story. As though she needs convincing—his eyes have said everything she’s needed to know all day.

“Well, at least Altwood is good for it,” James adds. It’s bait and she knows it but she doesn’t care. 

“Good for nothing, ” she spits. “Seeing as he broke up with me.”

At the very least, it makes him pause.

“Merlin—damn. That’s… I’m sorry Evans.” 

“Yeah, well,” she looks back down at her parchment, hoping that if she blushes he will have the decency not to point it out. “Apparently boggart Lily liked snogging you a little too much.”

“And the real Lily?”

She can’t help it, her head snaps up. He leans against the table with both hands, looking forward so that the gold flecks in his eyes are visible behind his lenses. 

“Excuse me? ”

“Did you like it? The idea of me snogging you?”

She thought the snitches that used to swoop around her insides had long flown to greater pastures but as though waking from a long hibernation, their wings start to flap again, beating thunderously against her ribcage. 

“Because I–I liked it. And I think that if maybe we–you know–got to know each other a bit more—”

No no no no no

It’s last year coming back to haunt her. You’d think he would have come up with a better plan by now—the “pretend you like her to humiliate her” bit already stale from third year’s charade. She slams her book closed, snatching her parchment away to stand and shove it in her bag. 

“You make me sick, Potter,” she spits, whipping her hair over her shoulder. “What? Think it would be a laugh to make Severus’ fears a reality then?”

“No. I just want you to go out with me.”

It's definitely like third year again, because her heart is already in her throat and cutting off her air supply; the snitches making good time clawing through her chest to turn her into a cloud of wings and gold just like boggart Lily had done as confetti. She might as well be a boggart herself: a kaleidoscope of images shifting inside her without consent: an ornate bed, his smile, the trembling hand, his broad shoulders, Severus’ clenching fingers, her mother, his mother, the smell of sickness, the smell of death…

She didn’t know when the tears had come, but she hates him for it. “Leave me alone.I’m tired of your stupid jokes— I mean it this time.”

But like always, he is full of surprises: he smiles—a wide, genuine one and she hates him for it too. 

On a random Friday evening Harry was sitting up on the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the Black Lake. After the second trial he was getting nervous. He had managed to avoid death for the past fourteen years of his life but now it looked like his good luck could come to an end. They put an age restriction on the cup for a reason. He never wanted to compete but now he was in it. Tied for first place with Cedric.

Why couldn’t he just get a break from risking his life for once?

“Hey.”

He kept on looking forward, recognizing Hermione’s voice.

“You’re the best.”

“What are you doing up here?”

She took a seat next to him. “I was worried about you. I haven’t seen you since lunch.”

They hadn’t been dating long, only getting together after the first task. Even after knowing him for three and a half years she still felt as if there was a part of himself that he kept hidden and it hurt knowing that. She knew that he loved her and that he trusted her but sometimes she suspected he didn’t want to worry her.

Hermione still remembered the day they realized that they wanted to be more than friends. It had been strained ever since he and Ron stopped hanging out but she had tried to let him know that she was there for him no matter what. After seeing him being chased by the Hungarian Horntail she knew that she had to tell him what she had realized over the summer. Out of everyone that she wrote to over the summer, he was the only one to consistently respond and actually take an interest.

Once they had started dating, he had still been the same boy who she had been friends with. Caring and compassionate. He always showed her how much he loved her, despite others telling her that she was too much at times. Whether it was listening to her ramble on about her most recent book or how he would find little gifts that made her heart melt. Whether it was a new book that she had mentioned once in passing, some treats for Crookshanks, or a heartfelt note, he never failed to make her day a bit better.

Hermione took one of his hands in her own, “Hey, I know you’re worried about the third task but trust me. You will be fine. We can go over some of the spells that are taught in the upper years so you’ll be on an even playing field. I found a book that has tons.”

“Thanks. Right now, I just want to sit here and think.”

“Okay.” She leaned her head down on his shoulder and just sat there next to him, her mere presence calming. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her close to him. They sat there looking out into the distance for a while, comfortable with just staying there together. After a while, her neck was starting to hurt so she pulled away to stretch only for him to make a small noise that almost sounded like a whine.

“I’m right here. I’m not leaving.” She said, looking at him. That was one of the things that she had quickly realized after they started dating. He did not like parting ways, even when it was just for a few minutes. Every time however she would simply try her best to show him that even if she left for a little while she would never actually leave him.

“Trust me, you’re never getting rid of me.”

He hugged her, his head nestling under her chin. She returned his hug, squeezing tightly. When he finally pulled away she ruffled his hair a bit. Smiling, she took him in. With his messy black hair, a smile on his face with his glasses sort of askew. Pulling them off, she turned them around to put them on her face.

She then got a wonderful idea, making various weird faces at him. He started to laugh and the sound of his joy made looking goofy worth it. He was absolutely adorable. From the way he scrunched his nose to the light in his eyes. If there was one thing that she loved doing more than anything it was putting a smile on his face. She knew she couldn’t protect him from everything, that was his burden as the chosen one but she vowed to always protect her Harry. The eleven year old boy who became her best friend and was always by her side. The twelve year old who defended her when others insulted her because she was a muggleborn. The thirteen year old who trusted in her. He may be the boy who lived to the rest of the world but to her he was Harry. Her best friend, her rock, her everything.

She started to laugh as well along with him. Harry leaned in to kiss her, but neither of them could stop laughing. With everything going on it was difficult at times to find something worth laughing about.

“You’re the best.”

She blushed.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do without you Mione. I love you.”

She met his eyes, her own a bit watery. This wasn’t the first time that they had said those words but it always got to her, knowing just how much he meant. Some people, including her parents, were a bit skeptical because they were still so young but she knew that she had found her person

💙💙💙💙

𝕴 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖙 𝖘𝖚𝖓 on my face and I was soaking wet when I woke up. There was an arm around my waist and I spat water out of my mouth and coughed.

"Harry?" I asked, trying to look at him. The sun was blinding and I squinted.

"Yeah, it's alright." He said, struggling to keep the three of us afloat.

"I can swim on my own now." I said and his arm disappeared from his waist. The mermaids were up around us. "Oh good, you brought her up too."

"Help me with her, will you? I don't think she can swim well." Harry said. We put the little girl between the two of us and swam back to the bank where the judges stood watching. The mermaids were singing a horribly screechy song, swimming around us like we were some sort of royal procession.

I looked up into the crowd. Professor McGonagall was clutching the railing tightly, Professor Dumbledore was smiling, Professor Snape looked tense, and I looked away from him quickly. Uncle Moody looked grumpy, leaning on his staff. The way he always did, I guess.

I stumbled up onto the banks, my legs hadn't been working for about 18 hours and helped the girl to the banks as well. Madam Maxime had been restraining Fleur who was fighting hysterically to get back into the lake for her little sister.

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'hurt?" She was screaming.

"She's fine." I muttered.

Madame Maxime let her go, now that we were out of the water and Fleur raced over and hugged Gabrielle fiercely. "It was ze grindylows. . . zey attacked me. . . oh, Gabrielle, I thought. . . I thought. . ."

"Come here, you." Madam Pomfrey said, wrapping a thick blanket around Harry's shoulders and forcing potion down his throat. I went to walk away, preferably up to the castle but Madam Pomfrey caught me and wrapped a towel around me as well. She forced the hot potion down my throat and I coughed when it went down. The towel was nice and warm though.

"Harry, well done! You did it! You found out how all by yourself!" Hermione said, delighted.

"Well. . . yeah that's right." Harry said. I noticed that Karkaroff was looking our way. I turned my back on him.

"You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny."

Hermione brushed the water beetle away and said, "You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry. . . Did it take you ages to find us?"

"No. . . I found you okay. . ." Harry muttered. I patted his arm reassuringly. I still felt uncomfortable though. Why me? Why not Ron? All the things I'd originally foreseen- Fleur kissing Ron's cheek, Percy running out to rescue Ron. . . those things were gone now. Or perhaps they were never going to have happened in the first place.

I decided it was officially time to stop relying on my visions. They were screwing me up and I was worrying over them. Enough was enough. I wasn't going to look at them anymore, I wasn't going to react to them anymore. I was done.

Madam Pomfrey was trying to clean Fleur's cuts on her face and arms but Fleur wouldn't let her. Instead she said, "Look after Gabrielle." Fleur then turned to Harry and said, "You saved 'er, even though she was not your 'ostage."

"Yeah." Harry said.

Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek and then turned to me. "And you too- you 'elped."

"Er- sure." I said and she pulled me into a surprising hug. Well, at least she hadn't tried to kiss me.

"Ladies and gentlemen ,we have reached out decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. .. Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retriever her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

"I deserved zero." Fleur said, shaking her head. Ron was approaching us slowly and finally came to stand by Ron. Fleur smiled at him and he blushed.

"He's the one who would've helped- if he'd been the hostage." I said. Fleur of course, like the other foreign students, knew about my future seeking powers, "I wasn't supposed to be in the lake, he was."

Fleur appraised him for a moment and Ron looked nervously between me and her. She swooped down and kissed both his cheeks too and said, "That's for eef you 'ad saved her." Ron's cheeks were bright red and I smiled. At least I could fix mistakes. Hermione looked furious.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minutes outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points. Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We aware him forty points. Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect. he returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own. Most of the judges," Ludo threw Karkaroff a nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However. . . Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points."

There was roaring applause from the crowd and I smiled up at him. "Congratulations."

"There you go, Harry!" Ron shouted, "you weren't being thick after all- you were showing moral fiber!" I giggled.

Fleur clapped very hard- probably relieved that Harry had saved Gabrielle too.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

Madam Pomfrey started ushering us back up to the castle in order to get into dry clothes.

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𝕬𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖘 later, Sirius sent a letter to Harry which read

Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Devish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.

"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" Ron asked incredulously.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" Hermione asked.

"I can't believe him, if he's caught..." Harry said tensely. "What do you think, Elizabeth?"

I shrugged. "Don't know anymore. I mean, technically, I don't foresee any trouble but it's not like that means anything anymore."

"Someone's bitter this morning." Ron said.

"Her visions have been off, Ron, what do you expect?" Hermione asked with a huff.

"Off?" Harry asked, frowning. "Like what?"

"A bunch of little things that are all adding up together." I muttered. I took my glasses out of my bag and put them on. "By the way, another Witch Weekly article came out about you two. Pansy Parkinson will give you the article before Potions class. I wouldn't read it until after however, or if you read it in class, put it in your bag or something because if or when Snape sees it, he'll read the entire thing out loud."

"I thought you didn't trust your visions." Ron said thickly through a piece of bread.

I didn't answer and just got up in a huff and went to Ancient Runes. I wasn't really angry at him- I was frustrated with myself. What wasn't I seeing?

💙💙💙💙

𝖂𝖊 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 castle grounds, our cloaks thrown over our shoulders in the mild weather. Harry had put food in his bag which contained about a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and flask of pumpkin juice.

I, on the other hand, had gone straight down to the kitchen and had gotten two dozen chicken wings, some fruit, a couple glass jars of milk, and some cakes and had put them in a container which I had shrunk and was now carefully carrying in my hands. I also had a bag of supplies on my shoulder.

We went to Gladrags Wizardwear first because Harry wanted to buy socks for Dobby. There were many different types of socks. Socks that changed colors, socks that switched patterns, socks that screamed when they became too smelly, socks that were simply the most ridiculous colors you could get. I got a pair of coloring changing socks for Trang. She'd enjoy them.

Then, at half past one, we made our way up the street to the stile that Sirius had indicated we come to. Waiting for us was a dog on his hind legs, his front paws on top of the top bar. He had newspapers in his mouth and was wagging his tail.

I grinned, ran, and vaulted over the stile. Landing on the other side, I carefully put the box down and petted Sirius' head and scratched behind his ears. "Hi puppy." I muttered quietly.

"Hello, Sirius." Harry said as the other three reached the stile. They climbed over. Sirius sniffed Harry's bag and wagged his tail again. Then, he started to trot away into the rocky mountain ranges. I picked up the box and hurried after him.

Sirius led us to the foot of the mountain which was covered in boulders and stones. He started up it, easily for him with four paws. The rest of us staggered behind, climbing over the boulders and trying to find an easy footpath.

I loved it though, it was like an adventure game in real life. The path was steep, winding, and stony. But we followed Sirius' wagging tail like a beacon. The sun beat down on us- surprisingly warm for March weather. Then at last, we slipped into a narrow fissure in the rock.

I looked around the dimly lit cave. At one end was Buckbeak the hippogriff. We all bowed to him. Buckbeak lowered himself into a bow. Hermione rushed over to pet him. Harry turned to our godfather who had turned human, spitting the newspapers out of his mouth. I launched myself into his arms and he gave me a huge hug, chuckling.

He was wearing his ragged gray robes from Azkaban still. His black hair was longer than before, which I was glad about but it was matted again. He looked very thin.

"Chicken." He said hoarsely after I released him. Harry pulled the food out of his bag and handed over the food. "Thanks. I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal to much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He said as he ripped into the chicken.

I sat back, grabbing the small container and tapping it with my wand. It grew into the large sized box that it originally had been and pushed it over. "That's more food and. . ." I rummaged in my bag, pulling out multiple items and announcing them as I pulled them out, ". . .robes, parchment, ink, quills, water bottles, blanket, and pillow."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius all stared at me in various shades of amazement and amusement.

"Where did you get all this?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.

"House-elves" I said, pointing to the food, "Dad refuses to wear those robes, he hates the color- bit stupid really- just some spare parchment, ink, and quills I had, and the blanket and pillow are duplicates from the storage bin."

Sirius chuckled.

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" Harry asked nervously.

"Fulfilling my duty as godfather. Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray." He said, gnawing on the chicken in a dog-like way.

Sirius was still grinning, but he could read the anxiety on Harry's face and said, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter. . . well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried." He nodded to the papers.

I'd already read most of them. They were talking about Mr. Crouch being ill and Bertha Jorkins disappearing.

"What if they catch you?" Harry asked as Ron picked up the papers. Hermione was still petting Buckbeak. I got up to go pet him as well and he greeted me cheerfully. "What if you're seen?"

I heard Sirius behind me say, "You four and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus."

There was a bit of silence and the shuffling of the newspapers and Harry said slowly after a few moments, "They're making it sound like he's dying. But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here. . ."

"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant. He says Crouch is suffering from overwork." Ron informed Sirius.

"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close. The night my name came out of the goblet. . ." Harry said, "Didn't he Elizabeth?"

"Bit like a dead man walking." I confirmed. "And while I didn't stay around, I know for a fact from my visions that Dumbledore was a bit alarmed at his condition as well."

"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he? I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now- bet he feels difference now she's not there to look after him." Hermione said with an edge to her voice.

"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs." Ron muttered.

I stopped petting Buckbeak, kissing the top of his head and going to sit down next to Sirius. "Crouch sacked his house-elf?" Sirius asked in interest.

"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup." Harry said and quickly told Sirius what had happened in the clearing at the Cup. When Harry had finished, Sirius was on his feet, pacing up and down the cave.

"Let me get this straight. You first saw the elf in the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?" He asked, brandishing a fresh chicken wing in the air like a wand.

"Right." All four of us said at once.

"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?"

"No. I think he said he'd been too busy." Harry said.

"Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"

"No." Harry said. "Elizabeth already said that she believes it was taken in the top box."

"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione said hotly.

"The elf wasn't the only one in that box. Who else was sitting behind you?"

"Loads of people." Harry said. "Bulgarian ministers. . . Cornelius Fudge. . . the Malfoys"

"The Malfoys! I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!" Ron said extremely loudly.

"Anyone else?" Sirius asked.

"No one." Harry said.

"Yes." I said.

"There was Ludo Bagman." Hermione said.

"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps. What's he like?" Sirius asked. I snorted in distaste and Sirius glanced over at me.

"He's okay. He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament but he keeps asking Elizabeth for gambling advice." Harry said.

"Does he, now? I wonder why he'd do that." Sirius said with a frown. I wondered which part he was referring to.

"Says he's taken a liking to me. Apparently he's having financial problems." Harry said, answering both.

"Hmm." Sirius said.

"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared, remember?" Hermione asked the three of us.

"But there was the person under the invisibility cloak too." I pointed out as Ron said, "yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest did he? The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."

"How d'you know?" Hermione asked. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"

"Come off it. Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?" Ron asked.

"It's more likely he did it than Winky." Hermione said.

"Told you, told you she's obsessed with house-" Ron started but Sirius held up a hand to stop him.

"When the Dark mark had been conjured and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?" Sirius asked thoughtfully.

"He went to look in the bushes." Harry said. "But there wasn't anyone else there."

"Of course. Of course he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf. . . and then he sacked her?" Sirius asked, frowning.

Hermione answered in a heated voice, "Yes, he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled-"

"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" Ron said exasperated.

Sirius shook his head however and said, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." He ran a hand over his unshaven face. Razors- that's what I'd forgotten. "All these absences of Barty Crouch's. . . he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too.. It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."

"D'you know Crouch, then?" Harry asked.

Sirius' face darkened with hatred. "Oh I know Crouch all right. He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban- without a trial."

"What?" Ron and Hermione asked together.

"You're kidding!" Harry said incredulously.

I said nothing, just looking at him.

"No, I'm not. Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?" Sirius asked, taking another bite of chicken.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads. I nodded.

"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic. He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical- and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporters, no, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side. . . well, you wouldn't understand. . . you're too young. . ."

I felt a bit irritated with this answer and Ron clearly felt the same way because he said, "That's what my dad said at the World Cup. Try us, why don't you?"

A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face. "All right, I'll try you. Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing. . . The Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere. . . panic. . . confusion. that's how it used to be. Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning- I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers- powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you- plenty of people though he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened, Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's son was caught?" Hermione gasped.

Sirius nodded, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak and threw himself down next to me and began to tear pieces of bread off. I grabbed his hands, frowning. "You're going to make yourself sick, eat a little slower."

Sirius grinned at me and slowed down a little bit and then turned back to the story, "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd image. Should have spent more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while. . . gotten to know his own son."

"Was his son a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"Yes." I confirmed, monitoring the size of bread Sirius was stuffing in his mouth.

"I was in Azkaban when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters- but I'd just thought he was in the wrong place at the wrong time like the elf."

"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.

Sirius barked a laugh. "Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again- doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy. . . then he sent him straight to Azkaban."

"He gave his own son to the dementors?" Harry asked quietly as though he couldn't wrap his mind around the concept. Perhaps he couldn't. Not him, not him who would have loved parents, could not imagine horrible parents because his- our- parents had died for him.

"That's right. I saw the dementors bringing him, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though. . . they all went quiet in the end. . . except when they shrieked in their sleep. . ."

Sirius's eyes got a dead look in them and my heart twisted. "Sirius. . ." I whispered and put my head on his shoulder. He put his arm around me and kept it there.

"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry asked.

"No. No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."

"He died?" Harry asked in shock.

"He wasn't the only one. Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it." Sirius threw aside the bread now, reaching for the pumpkin juice and drained it in one go.

I frowned at him, but held my tongue. He was going to make himself sick.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made. One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic. . . next his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

There was a long silence. I thought carefully about something. Crouch had lost both his son and wife. There was someone Crouch was hiding under the invisibility cloak. There was someone that Winky wasn't going to talk about. There was someone that was taking ingredients from Snape's potion ingredients. There was someone that Voldemort needed for the job of getting Harry. There was someone that had attacked Uncle Moody before his job. There was someone. . . someone. . .

"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards." Harry said out of the blue before I could finish my thoughts.

"Yeah, I've heard it's a bit of a mania with him. If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater." Sirius said, nodding his heads.

"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" Ron said.

"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all!" Sirius said.

"Yeah, it does!" Ron said excitedly, his hatred for Snape overcoming his logic.

"Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."

"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" Harry asked.

"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape-" I said hotly.

"Oh give it a rest Elizabeth. I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him-"

"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?" I interjected, getting even angrier.

"I dunno- maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out-" Ron said, struggling.

"What do you think Sirius?" Harry asked quickly.

"I think they've both got a point. Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was." Harry and Ron grinned at each other. I frowned. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters. Rosier and Wilkes- they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges- they're a married couple- they're in Azkaban. Avery- from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse- he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater- not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught."

"He was." I said softly. "it came out during Karkaroff's trial. He used Snape's name but Dumbledore stood up for Snape. He had, at first, joined because that was what his friend group was doing but after a certain circumstance, he turned, letting Dumbledore use him as a double-spy. He's been on the good side ever since."

The others stared at me in amazement. I frowned at them. "What? I know some things."

"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" Ron asked stubbornly.

"Well. I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts very seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch though. . . he's a different matter. . . is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not. . . what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?" Sirius said, rubbing his chin.

Personally, I thought that if Uncle Moody had killed more people he might've lost less body parts, but that was just me.

There was more silence. Then Sirius looked at Ron and said, "You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"No." I said. "Not no because Percy won't answer, but no, he won't have seen him."

"Guess that answers that." Ron muttered.

"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it." Sirius said. "Well any leads about what they think happened to Bertha anyways."

"But she's dead?" I questioned, confused.

"I know." Sirius said, nodding slightly. "But the Daily Prophet doesn't know that, do they? It'd be good to know what they are thinking."

"It is?" Ron asked.

"Well, Bagman's quoted in here," Sirius said, gesturing to the article. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all- quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic. . . maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long. Now what did you see?"

"Memory charms can hurt the mind. . ." I murmured out loud, staring at the wall.

"Elizabeth?" Hermione asked uncertainly and I held up a finger. I needed to think.

Bertha Jorkins worked under Crouch. What if, she'd stopped at the house and seen his son- if per say, the son had been taken from Azkaban- how I didn't know yet. But assuming the Son was out of Azkaban, Bertha Jorkins finds out, confronts Crouch, he erases the memory with a powerful spell. So powerful in fact, that her memory was damaged. Hypothetically, of course. Everyone would think she had a bad memory afterwards because the spell had affected it. It changed her personality. So if the boy had been a Death Eater, which I was sure he had, he would've wanted to return to Voldemort. He could've potentially been the one to sneak up on Moody which meant. . . and Moody was trying to get into Snape's office, where potion ingredients are kept. . . potion ingredients for the Polyjuice potion. A man that lived in Crouches house that Voldemort would want back. . . his son had been on trial.

"Elizabeth?" Sirius asked alarmed as my face paled, "Are you alright?"

And Percy had said to his father that Mr. Crouch was taking a special interest in Bertha Jorkins whereabouts. Of course he would, if he had indeed put her under a spell or erased her memory.

"Huh, oh yeah, fine, I was just trying to digest some information. The theory is a work in progress." I said quickly.

"What time is it?" Sirius asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Quarter to four." Hermione said, checking her watch.

"You'd better get back to the school. Now listen. I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Particularly you, Elizabeth, I know how much you wander about outside. Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you." Sirius said, getting to his feet.

"No one has tried to attack me except a dragon and a couple of grindylows." Harry said and I laughed.

"No one has tried to attack me period." I said before remembering that I'd been attacked once before.

Sirius scowled at both of us. "I don't care. . . I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. Harry, Ron, Hermione, could you give Elizabeth and I a second?"

"Sure." Hermione said and the three of them left through the fissure.

Sirius turned to me, "What's wrong?"

"It's just a hypothesis and I could be wrong." I said, frowning. "But I think I know who put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire. It's only a guess though so I don't want to say in case I'm wrong."

Sirius measured me with his eyes. "You aren't going to confront them, are you?"

"I'm not stupid." I said defensively. "I just need solid proof that isn't guess work or coincidences."

Sirius kissed my forehead. I hugged him tightly. "Thanks for everything Eilís"

"Of course." I said.

Then we went outside. Sirius turned back into a dog and we headed back to the stile as fast as possible so that we could get back to Hogwarts. He allowed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to each pat him on his head, but I got on my knees and pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. "I know I smother you with love." I whispered in his ear. "But I can't help it." And then I stood up and joined the others on the other side of the stile.

"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch? But maybe he doesn't care. . . it'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son." Ron said, making up his mind.

"Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors." Hermione said severely.

"I don't know. If he thought we were standing in the way of his career. . . Percy's really ambitious, you know. . ." Ron debated.

Little did we know there was a bit of truth to that.

💙💙💙💙

𝕴 𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖚𝖕 to the dorm, to drop off my winter stuff before I went to Dumbledore's office. There was a pair of heels on my bed- purple heels, the ones I'd left in the forest. I touched them briefly. Severus must've sent them. I smiled. I really hoped I wasn't going to die.