By tati1
Disclaimer: sorry, but no, I do not own Harry Potter. Which really bites.WARNING: This story is R for a REASON! It is NOT NC-17, as I have read much, /much/ worse that was permitted, so I have abused nothing! Rated for violence, serious angst (later on), and rape. If you have a problem with it, go read something else because I didn't write it just to be safe. It's written because it's how and what I write. So buzz off.
(and if my mean attitude offends, I do apologize but I'm sorta protective of my work.)
A/N: I actually have an excuse this time! I was away on vacation for the last two weeks, with no computer access whatsoever, so I couldn't update. I nearly went nuts. sighs I apologize for how long the A/N went last time, but I did make sure that the chapter was at least as long as the review responses. Someone complained that the chapter was only – at most – half as long as the review responses. I am telling you right now that I would never do that. The responses were seven pages – including the title and warnings and such – and the chapter was seven pages. I do NOT cheat my reviewers. I like you guys.Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Kel of Mayhem. Your review was wonderfully well-written and thoughtful, and I thank you. It really made my day.
And, since apparently review responses are now banned, would Black-Rose1212 please e-mail me with her last review? I'd love to answer your questions, but it'll take awhile.
Ack! I know I already loaded this, but someone mentioned that I didn't make the boggart turn into anything funny! is horrified I was so sure I had included that, too…
Chapter 18 – The ChampionLast time:
As the door shut over Harry's soft, "Good night, Professor," Severus sighed again.
"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, and turned back to his papers.
Harry awoke with dread seated in his stomach on Tuesday morning, for this was the day that Transfiguration classes resumed. He did not want to see McGonagall's reaction to being hauled off by Dumbledore last week, and since Draco was still following him about … well, he just hoped that didn't make it worse.
But when he arrived in the classroom, the Malfoy preceding him arrogantly, he found that his fears were entirely unfounded. Professor McGonagall was not even present. Rather, in her place, was a thin, shabbily dressed man with graying hair and kind eyes. Curious, Harry took his customary seat in the back and ignored Draco's muttering ("Peasants! Disgraceful. What will father say…?") in favor of examining the odd stranger, wondering who he was. He didn't have long to wait.
As the last seat was filled by late-comers, the man stepped out from behind McGonagall's desk and smiled at them all.
"Good morning," he began cheerfully, "I am, for the time being, your substitute teacher, Professor Remus J. Lupin. Professor McGonagall, due to her … breakdown … last week, is off recuperating. Her absence is indefinite, so until then, I shall be your Transfiguration Professor. Please don't hesitate to ask questions, but please also understand that I will not hesitate to exercise my authority should you get out of control. I hope that we'll get along." With that, he stepped back to the desk for the role sheet, and the class commenced.
Professor Lupin proved to be quite proficient at teaching unruly students the magic of Transfiguration, and he was especially patient when anyone struggled. All in all, when the session ended, the majority of the students were chattering loudly about how much they liked him. Even Draco conceded (though only to Harry) that, "Though his taste in dress is an absolute abomination, he is proving more apt than I should have thought, and is certainly an improvement on that Gryffindor hag." Thankfully, this phrase was not said before any of Harry's Housemates, for they seemed to be taking McGonagall's absence rather harder than most, especially the older years.
The rest of the day passed by with startling speed, and before long it was dinnertime, and Dumbledore was standing to make an announcement before the meal commenced.
"Now that we have struggled through our first few weeks," said the Headmaster, eyes twinkling as the Weasley twins, sitting with Draco and Harry at the Slytherin table, made fainting motions, "it is my pleasure to announce that tomorrow, those students who have signed up to try and earn the right to become Hogwarts champion will be tested. Those who have decided to try must go straight to the Quidditch Pitch immediately after breakfast. The testing will take all day, so yes, you will get out of your classes. Please all try your best, and I look forward to seeing which of you is most prepared for the challenge presented by the Ebony Orb competition." And with that, he sat down again.
You have signed up, haven't you? demanded Tom as Harry carefully ladled himself some soup from a pot at the center of the table. Harry nodded absently as he took a sip.
Yes.
Yes what? sneered Tom, making Harry flinch. The boy didn't even dare to roll his eyes at Tom's big-headedness, for it was certain that the teen would notice, and punish him, be they in the Great Hall or alone in Sirius' rooms. All he could do was comply.
Yes master, he said quietly, his tone rather defeated.
And?
I apologize for forgetting, Lord.
Good, said Tom, satisfied. You're improving, heir. Now, about this competition. You need to get into the competition and win it; it is quite vital that you do.
Why? asked Harry, uncertain he actually wanted to be helping Tom in any venture, much less one so big. He winced as Tom pulled his nerve endings so that he felt as though he'd been slapped harshly.
Nothing that you need concern yourself with, snapped the older boy, but should you try to back out of it I swear I'll hunt down that filth you keep trying to pass off as friends and—
Leave them alone! snapped Harry back. It's not like they've done anything to you, and Muggles aren't all bad.
Just the ones you live with, I suppose, sneered Tom.
They're not bad! snarled Harry. Tom's presence in his mind seemed quite taken aback by his vehemence. They're just confused and scared! And they're just trying to do what's best for me, so don't you dare insult them!
For awhile, Tom was quiet. Then, with a touch of bitterness, he said, We really need to make sure you see Severus more, heir.
The next morning, everyone was talking loudly at breakfast. Having heard that it would get them out of classes, there had been a mad rush to sign up. Unfortunately, the parchment had a charmed limit as to how many students could sign without permission from their teachers, and so only forty or so would be tested. Numbered among the first of these forty was Harry Potter, looking ridiculously tiny beside the other students preparing for the tests. Nevertheless, he earned a great many wary looks from those who had been in class with him, but those looks were scoffed at by those who merely thought that it was all favoritism for the Boy Who Lived, rather than any real talent. Harry didn't really care what any of them thought, but he hoped that they weren't too upset if he won—which you will, said Tom confidently. Even if you do freeze up, I know enough spells to get you in. After all, I am—in a way—still a Hogwarts sixth year.
Really? asked Harry, genuinely interested in his tormentor for once. You never mentioned that. Did you know Professor McGonagall?
That Transfiguration teacher you lost? sneered Tom. No, I did not have the doubtful pleasure of meeting her.
I dunno, said Harry dryly, you might've gotten on well. You see, she didn't like me either. In fact, her so-called breakdown was strangely reminiscent of attempted murder. My Lord.
Don't be dramatic.
Fine. Master, he added. All the same, she had her wand aimed at me, and she looked so … well … she looked like she hated me. And she had been picking on me—specifically—since my first class, and she's the teacher that everyone had agreed to be fair at school. I think that there's something else going on, but of course Headmaster Dumbledore (that old coot, hissed Tom) likely wouldn't tell us if there was a dragon loose at school, much less—
"Potter!" barked Snape, reading off the list of those who had signed up. Harry jerked, startled.
"Here," he said quietly, ignoring his classmates' sniggers as Severus glared at him. He sighed despondently as the teacher moved on to "Lewick."
"Harry, what are you doing here?" asked a startled voice from behind him. Harry turned to see Professor Lupin standing, shabby as ever, before a rather large crate that shook and shuddered every so often rather ominously.
"Good morning Professor Lupin," said Harry softly, staring up at the man. "I'm here to compete."
"Ah," said Lupin, smiling suddenly. "Wanted to get out of class, then?"
"No," said Harry calmly, finally used to the seeming denseness of those around him, "I'm here to enter and win the tournament." Momentarily taken aback, Lupin finally gave him a crooked smile, patted his head, and nodded.
"I'm … sure you'll win," he said, sounding as if he was sure of no such thing. Harry waited for him to leave before he rolled his eyes, something he'd seen Draco do often.
And yet another person thinks I'm wacked, he sighed mentally. Tom snorted.
Of course they do; after all, what normal eleven-year-old is taking fifth year courses?
And seventh year, murmured Harry, almost inaudible. He had the oddest impression that Tom jerked.
What? And you let them find out you were this advanced??
Why not? asked Harry, puzzled. I was bored in all my classes. School is supposed to be challenging—
And at the same time you are not supposed to let people know how advanced you are! reprimanded Tom, sounding peeved. If people underestimate you, it's far easier to do what you want to.
Only in certain things, though, Harry replied calmly. After all, they don't give jobs to imbeciles.
Have you seen the Minister of Magic lately? sneered Tom. And anyway, it is also easier for a supposed imbecile to get around and do things he's not supposed to, because no one realizes that he can do them. Therefore, people will eliminate this supposed dunce as any sort of threat and he can thereby gain more power with less rivals.
I suppose, Harry conceded. No matter how you look at it though, both have their advantages and disadvantages. Frankly, I prefer being challenged.
Then read the library, snapped the black-haired teen. And then he was silent, done conversing for the moment.
Harry looked up after Tom retreated in time to see Dumbledore move before the large group on the Quidditch Pitch. Draco wasn't with him today. Rather, he'd gone to class without Harry, having been assured by Percy (who was also trying out) that Harry would be well looked-after.
"My esteemed students," began the white-bearded Headmaster, "if you will please gather into groups according to your age, we may move into the cycle of testing. All years will be tested until either the tests are finished or they fail an assignment. First Years will be assigned to Professor Flitwick for the first test; Second Years to Professor Grubbly-Plank; Third Years to Professor Snape; Fourth Years to Professor Sprout; Fifth Years to myself; Sixth Years to Professor Lupin; and our Seventh Years to Professor Moody. You will have two hours for the first round of testing, after which we will eliminate those who have not passed and decide upon the next approach. Your testing begins in exactly two minutes. Please go to your assigned teacher. Good luck to all of you."
Five hours and three tests later, only fifteen students were left. Harry, among those fifteen, had found the first round of testing to be ridiculously easy, but he had been the only first year to pass to the second round, which, while noticeably different, was still not ultimately too difficult, and he had passed with ease to the third round. This he had had with Severus, and it had been the brewing of a rather complex potion that had completely thrashed all years below sixth, save (again) Harry. Those who had been laughing at him at the start now watched him anxiously, hoping that he truly didn't have what it took to beat them to the top. Unfortunately for them, he most certainly did.
"Now," said Dumbledore cheerily, smiling at all of them, "we move on to the hopefully second-to-last test. Professor Lupin, if you please." Lupin stepped forward, tearing his gaze from Harry, still looking surprised at the boy's presence.
"Yes. In this crate," he said, pointing to the shaking container, "you will each enter and face the creature inside. There is a silencing charm around the cage, so no one will know how you defeat it—if you do. Should you get in trouble, send up red sparks. I'll see them and rescue you. Ready? Now, Alexander Davies, you're first. First find out what the monster is and then defeat it." Looking rather pale, Sixth Year Davies walked to the lid of the crate, quickly flipped it open, and jumped in. Professor Lupin slammed it shut after him.
A minute later, he stepped out again, looking rather shaken but still grinning.
"Alice Bartwotski." A pretty Seventh Year girl stepped forward. A few minutes later she emerged, shaken but triumphant.
The next five, in succession, failed, sending up red sparks only a minute or so into the test. Harry, the next to go, stepped up quietly and slipped inside, wand at the ready. Lupin watched him go with worried eyes.
The inside of the crate was far larger than the outside, and looked like a small, empty room. A wardrobe stood against one wall, and it rattled and shook, making the crate shudder. Pondering what sort of creatures he knew that hid in closets, Harry had a few good guesses on what might be waiting. Thus prepared, he stood at the far wall and charmed the wardrobe door to open.
At first glance, what stepped out was innocuous enough – Harry's friends and Sirius were even smiling and laughing amongst themselves as they emerged from the depths of the wardrobe. Seeing Harry though, the smiles vanished, to be replaced by hatred and contempt. They looked—unnervingly—quite like the Dursleys did when they were displeased with him. Harry was very familiar with this look.
Knowing what the creature he had been sent to battle was, Harry quickly raised his wand as the Sirius look-alike opened his mouth, ready to snarl at him.
"Ridikkulus!" he cried, and with a sharp crack! the boggart Sirius smiled and laughed as he activated a dungbomb on Fred. Harry smiled slightly, and the vanquished boggart vanished back into the depths of the wardrobe, which Harry shut securely behind it.
Quiet and rather upset by the appearance of his deepest fear, Harry walked back to the crate entrance and exited slowly and silently.
The final test was even easier for the five that trumped the boggart. It was the magical project—whoever did the most complicated and difficult spell was in. Period. Of course, there would be a runner-up in the eventuality that the champion died or something, but that was more formality than anything else.
Two people in the group did Patronuses, but only one was corporeal, and even that not very. Alex Davies conjured a puppy that lasted a full hour, and Bartwotski did a complicated meal charm—real food made of magic, which was a lot harder than one would think, especially as the conjuration had to maintain substance even hours late in order to fully qualify as food. Harry, on the other hand, determined (and permitted by Tom) to beat everyone hands-down, asked for a school broom and modified it, with a series of interwoven spells, to be faster and safer than even the Nimbus Two Thousand model that was the talk of the Quidditch teams.
While the task might not appear difficult, in reality racing brooms were a specialty-magic. They were difficult to make, and even harder to force to maintain the magic placed upon them. The magics employed were complicated, and often it took months for even a new broom model to appear for testing. It took years for the average, specialist broom-maker to create a finished copy. Harry's, though not his first try at broom-making, was advanced and magically enhanced enough that it would maintain its magics for at least the next ten years before they would start to fade. The teachers, and Tom, were suitably impressed enough to make Harry hopeful. The other competitors were merely resigned.
"Oh well," said a disappointed but smiling Davies, "we knew we couldn't compare, but it was fun to try. Besides, I'm glad you're the Hogwarts champ. We are so going to win this thing." He smiled at Harry's surprised expression. "No, seriously, I don't think any of us really mind. After seeing and hearing some of the things I have, I'm just surprised you didn't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds!"
"But that's impossible to do," said Harry, frowning. "No one can—"
"I know," smiled Alex. "That's why I'm surprised you haven't. You seem to delight in doing what we mortals can't." He grinned. "It's called joking, okay?"
"Oh," said Harry, blushing. "Sorry."
"It's alright. You really need to be less uptight though. Hey, I'm going to dinner; you want to come?"
"Sure! Can Draco sit with us?" Alex rolled his eyes.
"Would I be able to get his highness to not sit with us?"
"…good point."
A/N: Sorry this took so long. Finally! The long-awaited tests! Now we can start having some fun around here … Please note that I know this was a crappy chappy, but it needed to be done, and the information had to be put in. I did my best with an uncooperative muse. I hope it was good enough!
--tati1