"Sir, tell me this is a joke," Harry demanded.
"It's not a joke," Snape replied, looking up from his book. "Hmm, what are you talking about?"
"This," Harry shook the golden egg. "This thing says..."
"How many times have I asked you not to swear in my presence?!"
"Sorry, sir, nerves! But anyway, it says we'll have to dive into the lake! And it's not even July! Did the organizers decide to get rid of all of us at once? Besides, there's some kind of nasty creature in that lake, I remember that for sure!"
"It's not my lake," the professor snapped. "And I don't come up with the tasks, so stop yelling at me, Potter!"
"Uhm, again, I apologize, sir," Harry lowered his tone. "But still, the idea of falling in and getting pneumonia doesn't really appeal to me."
"Nothing can be done," Snape sighed. He didn't like the idea either, but there was no way out. "Are you going to work today or what?"
"I will," Harry said seriously. "But who lives in that lake?"
"Grindylows, mermaids, a giant squid," the professor listed offhandedly, "and some small creatures, they're not dangerous to humans. Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering... Shen, Shen, my joy..." Potter called. "Come to me... Tell me, can you swim?"
"I can, master," she hissed. "But it's cold..."
"I know it's cold, and I won't be able to hide you... But still – do you think you can crawl into the lake before the competition starts and meet me there? Something tells me this will not be easy, and some backup wouldn't hurt!"
"You've lost it, Potter!" Snape said, stunned.
"Not at all! I'm thinking quite clearly! Do you think mermaids will be scared of a huge poisonous snake?"
"Maybe. Just as it's possible they'll report that snake to the Headmaster," he replied.
"Dammit. I didn't think of that," Harry said gloomily, patting Shen. "Well, at least you won't have to freeze! I'll come up with something else..."
*
«Hi, Apple Moth!
Listen, here's the money, be a friend and order me a good wetsuit! You can get one with insulation, if they have those (I've written the sizes just in case). Also some fins and a mask for underwater hunting. I'd ask for a gun for the same hunting, but I'm not sure they'll sell it to you. If they do, then get that too, I'll send more money if I need to.
Now, let me explain why I need all this gear. Check this out, Moth, the second tournament competition is like this: we'll have to dive into our lake (you know, the one they forbade me to swim in) and free the hostages (Shen overheard them, they said we'll have to save something important to us). The one who finishes first wins. What do you think they were smoking? It's freezing cold! Plus, we have to swim underwater for at least an hour – the lake is huge! – so I need the mask. Put the tube in and just paddle. Underwater!
Well, it seems like the giant squid will be okay – it got scared of the Durmstrang ship and swam to the far side of the lake. Grindylows are small, but they've got sharp teeth, though I think they won't bite through a decent Hydra. But the mermaids – that's worse, they'll be guarding the hostages. How do you cast spells underwater? No clue! I think there are some techniques, but I won't have time to learn them, so I'll have to rely on brute force. All my hope is on you, buddy! I'm not planning on diving in just my swim trunks in this weather!»
*
«Hi, Lemon Eater!
Yeah, those organizers definitely either got high or took something else, something stronger. Do you guys have anything like that growing in the Forbidden Forest? Maybe some mushrooms…
I've ordered you the wetsuit and stuff, there are insulated ones, you were right about that. As for the gun, sorry, couldn't get it, and I asked my folks, they consulted with the bank, and they basically said that if you hurt any mermaids, it'll just make things worse. But I got you a tool belt, attach something heavier to defend yourself with. Should I send a wrench? Or a crowbar?
P.S. You know, maybe that certain someone can help out? Maybe a potion or something? What if they forbid you to use the mask and tube?»
*
«Hey, Moth!
I don't know what grows where, but the thing's nasty, I wouldn't risk trying it…
What would I do without you! I snuck out of the castle last night and tested the gear, almost forgot how to swim with fins. Everything's great! And it's not cold at all, especially if you smear on something.
Yeah, looks like we'll have to do without the gun… And thanks a lot for the tool belt, I've already attached a few things. Specifically, an axe. A kitchen axe, I begged it off the house-elves. And a knife, of course, the hostages will probably be tied up, they probably won't be shackled, that's too much. Well, I can pick locks, how many times I've stolen jam from Auntie and porn mags from Uncle, but the others – not so sure…
P.S. Yeah, that guy isn't supposed to give advice, but he left a handbook out in plain sight. I flipped through it and found something nasty – if you eat it, you can breathe underwater. But that's only as a last resort – it's disgusting, even to look at! As for diving deeper, I can hold my breath for two minutes, we tested it. Worst case, I'll dive a few times, I'm not racing against time.»
*
«Hey, Lemon Eater.
Glad the gear fits!
And take it easy with the axe, you've really lost it, haven't you! By the way, what if they do put shackles on you, what then? Are you going to chop off the hostages' hands?
P.S. Definitely tell me how everything went!»
*
«Hi, Apple Moth!
I can only say one thing – it was epic!
So, they take us to the shore, the audience is ready, applause, speeches... My competitors are slowly turning blue because, as I said, it's not exactly summer weather, and the guys are in just swim trunks... and the girl's in a biiig bikini... Sorry for the hole in the letter, Luna hit me again. And I wasn't ogling her, that French girl!
Well, we dive in, I'm last, of course. Someone cast some spell, like an ancient diving helmet, but transparent, and some other crap. The Bulgarian guy even turned halfway into a shark! You should've seen it! A fish head on top, legs on the bottom! Though you'll probably see it in magazines...
While they were diving, I took off my cloak (I'm not an idiot, I'm not diving in freezing weather!). My God, the way they looked at me! Like they'd never seen a wetsuit before...
I dove in and swam calmly, blowing through the tube, looking around. I was right, the grindylows can't bite through a Hydra. There were some bruises, though, but that's it. I made it to the spot (good thing I took a compass, or I'd have been totally lost, the water's murky), took a breath, and dove to the mermaids. And can you believe it?! The organizers tricked me with the Redhead! Well, the French girl had her sister, the Bulgarian had Granger, Diggory had a girl from another house, I think they're dating... But me! The Redhead! I almost decided not to save her... Then the mermaids started bothering me, so I had to show them the axe.
But I still had to dive a few times – they tied the Redhead up tight, and untangling knots underwater is impossible. I ended up chopping them with the axe. I think I nicked the girl a little, but she'll survive... I surfaced, grabbed her (just like the lifeguard taught us, remember?), and paddled back slowly to the shore. I was last again, but I completed the task!
And then it was incredibly fun. A journalist – well, a real sleazebag of a woman – wanted to interview me. She always writes nasty stuff, and she lies so well you can't prove anything. Could I resist?!
P.S. Remember how you set up the gym teacher in third grade? That trick still works!»
*
Potter didn't swallow the waterweeds, although he most certainly read about them—Snape was sure of that. After all, he had deliberately left the book in plain sight: the boy couldn't resist poking his nose into it! But where to get them... Well, was this his first day in the professor's laboratory? Surely he could figure it out. However, nothing was missing from the storage, and Potter had an unusually serene look, which meant he had something up his sleeve. Hopefully, not like last time, when Snape nearly had a stroke when Potter tried to hug a dragoness. One puff of fire from her or even just a little test of her bite... Well, at least the investigation was swept under the rug, otherwise too much would have come to light… although some must have already figured out the trick. Fortunately, no one said anything. As for Potter, he confidently claimed that he had always believed dragons understood human speech, and the only reason they didn't speak was because they considered such conversations beneath their dignity. And in general, if you approach any creature with kindness and affection, there's nothing to fear, Hagrid is proof of that! And if anyone doubts it, they should try it themselves—he's ready to repeat it anytime, and if they still disbelieve, they should be disqualified... Oddly, no one objected.
So, waiting until the third competitor stepped into the water, Potter dramatically shrugged off his robe, revealing something... something black and tight-fitting. While the audience rubbed their eyes, he efficiently pulled on a hood, then a large mask, checked that it fit tightly, put a mouthpiece in his mouth, quickly donned flippers, and awkwardly shuffled to the water.
Snape covered his face with his hand. On that scoundrel's belt hung an impressive knife and an equally impressive meat-cleaving axe.
Potter waved to the audience and disappeared into the lake.
"Allow me!" exclaimed Karkaroff. "What does your champion think he's doing? Is this allowed?!"
"Why not?" Snape asked sourly. "Do you see him above the water? Neither do I. Therefore, he must be underwater. The condition is met, right? Mr. Headmaster?"
"Absolutely," smiled Dumbledore, and the others, grumbling, fell silent.
Time passed. The audience shivered. One by one, the Tournament participants appeared with their freed hostages, sending them off to warm up and recover from their encounters with the underwater creatures. Still no sign of Potter, and Snape began to worry when suddenly someone from the crowd shouted:
"There, there he is!"
Still quite far from the shore, the last participant was lazily swimming on his back, towing his catch, whom he was holding by the neck without much tenderness. Every now and then, he made a snorting sound, clearly mimicking a whale.
"You're last again, Potter," Professor Snape said gloomily, as they took the slightly bloodied Ginny Weasley from him. "What have you done to the girl?"
"I was cutting the ropes, sir," Potter said with dignity as he removed his mask and flippers. "But the knife couldn't cut through them properly. You try sawing through thick ropes—I'm not a professional diver. Had to chop them with the axe, and I think I nicked her a bit. But all her fingers are intact, I checked!" He sighed. "But I lost the axe. The house-elves are going to be mad!"
"Go change," Snape ordered. "And stay away from the reporters!"
"Why?" asked Harry. "It's pretty fun sending them through the Forbidden Forest!"
"There's a certain Rita Skeeter who wants to interview you," said the professor. "And I'd advise you to avoid speaking to her. Otherwise, you'll never prove you didn't say the things she'll write about in her article!"
"Sir..." sighed Potter. "You've known me for a long time..."
"Would have been better if I didn't."
"Exactly. And she doesn't know me personally. So I'll dry off quickly and have a little chat with her, alright!" He grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, sir. I won't say anything unnecessary."
And if only Snape knew what that plan would lead to...
*
Harry had just managed to put on his cloak when an overly brightly dressed and somewhat vulgar-looking woman with heavy makeup entered the tent. (Thanks to Bellatrix, he had learned to recognize such things.)
"Hey!" he protested. "Why didn't you knock?! What if I wasn't dressed?!"
"But how am I supposed to knock on a tent?" she smiled.
"Knock yourself on the forehead," Harry answered rudely. "You're, I assume, Miss Skeeter?"
"Yes, but you can call me Rita..." She smiled even wider.
"How can I!" exclaimed Harry. "You're old enough to be my mother!"
Rita's smile faltered slightly, but it was not easy to stop the experienced reporter.
"So," she chirped, pulling out parchment and a quill, "I would like to interview the youngest participant of the Tournament, and I've been told that you, Harry, have no objections to a private conversation…"
"No objections," he nodded, gallantly pushing a splintered box toward her that had inexplicably been standing in the tent. "Please."
He then sat down, squatting in the favorite pose of London's Middle Eastern immigrants. Harry could sit like this for a long time, though the look was rather ridiculous.
"So, Harry," Rita looked at him sweetly, and the quill seemed to write on its own. Harry had heard of such tricks, so he watched with interest. "Tell me, please, about your impressions of the Tournament!"
"A madhouse," he replied briefly. "No safety precautions. I wouldn't be surprised if they chopped off the heads of the losers in the past. Though, most likely, they were just eaten."
"How did you come up with the idea to participate in such a dangerous challenge?"
"It didn't come to me," Harry said, pulling an orange from his pocket and biting almost half of it.
"But…"
"Miss Skeeter," Harry squinted, looking at the parchment. He was excellent at reading upside down—an essential skill for peeking at a textbook when summoned to answer a question in class. "What's this you've written here? 'A skinny pale boy in large glasses, through the thick lenses of which sad emerald eyes shone, sat before me on the bare ground, bashfully lowering his head.' First of all, miss, where exactly do you think I'm skinny? And pale? And especially sad? Secondly, if I lowered my head, how could you see my eyes? I understand that the public might swallow anything, but…"
"Oh, Harry, it's just a literary exaggeration!"
"Really? And what about this? 'Scratched hands protruded from the too-short sleeves of an old robe, under which worn Muggle clothes were visible.' Of course, the robe is old, am I an idiot to wear a new one over a wetsuit? And my clothes cost more than your fake diamonds!" he said. "By the way, wearing diamonds before six in the evening is bad form, especially for an unmarried lady. You should have learned that by now."
"Hmm..." Skeeter realized she had met someone difficult to talk around, but she wasn't about to give up. "Darling, but we need to draw attention to your miserable situation!"
"I don't get it…"
"You lived with awful Muggles, and now you're here, but… Tell me, do you have many friends?"
"None here," Harry answered honestly, crossing his fingers. He wasn't about to mention Luna—he didn't need that! "So what?"
"Exactly! You're lonely! You've been chosen as a sacrifice, but for what?!"
"To save the world, that's obvious to anyone!"
"Exactly!" She raised a finger with a long crimson nail. "So, what now?"
"What now?" Harry asked lazily. "Why do you think I'm lonely? My Muggle relatives are fine, and the ones here aren't bad either…"
"Hmm?" Rita took a hunter's stance.
"Godfather—Sirius Black," Harry began, counting on his fingers. "Aunt—Bellatrix Lestrange. Another aunt—Narcissa Malfoy, so Uncle Malfoy and… I wonder what relation Draco is to me? Never mind… There's another aunt, but I haven't met her yet, that can wait."
At the mention of the Blacks in general and Death Eaters in particular, Rita quieted down somewhat.
"Great classmates! Wonderful professors!" Harry continued, genuinely enjoying himself. He enjoyed it until he read again what had been written by the enchanted quill, after which he could only mutter, "Incendio!"
"Ow!" Rita cried, dropping the burning parchment. "Harry, what are you doing!"
"Stop talking nonsense about me and my relatives," Harry said. It seemed the game had gone a bit too far. "And if you write all of that from memory... Haven't you been sued yet, Miss Skeeter?"
"Oh, Harry, lawsuits are such nonsense! I'll just pay a fine, and the fee for your interview will cover all the losses," she smiled sweetly.
"Uh-huh, I see…" Harry got to his feet and stretched. "Alright, then we'll do it differently..."
"What are you doing?" Rita frowned.
Harry shoved the half-eaten orange into his pocket, tore off his already disheveled cloak, pulled his T-shirt halfway out of his jeans, and unbuckled his belt. Then, with a cheery "Pardon, madam!" he grabbed Rita by the shoulders and forced her to press her lips to his cheek. Most of the bright red lipstick stayed on his skin.
Having performed these strange actions, Harry jumped back from Skeeter, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of his lungs with his well-trained voice, easily drowning out the Hogwarts Express horn:
"Help! I'm being assaulted!!!"
"What the…" Rita jumped up, and at that moment, a few Aurors, Snape, and even the Minister burst into the tent.
The scene that met their eyes was quite a sight: in the corner of the tent, a ruffled Harry was caked in lipstick, with his jeans half-unbuttoned and his T-shirt lifted, while Rita Skeeter stood frozen, for some reason, with empty hands...
"Get her out of here!" the Minister ordered, regaining his speech. The protesting reporter was grabbed by the arms and pulled out of the tent. "Are you alright, Potter? Good... Skeeter! This is going too far! If you ever come within a mile of Potter again, you'll be sent to Azkaban, understand?!"
Harry, with a satisfied grin, tucked his T-shirt back into his jeans and fastened his belt.
"You're a real piece of work, Potter," Snape said with clear approval.
"I know, sir," Harry replied with a wide grin and began wiping lipstick off his ear. "A tried-and-tested method, though I had to… uh… adapt it to the situation."