First off, this is my second try at one of these, and I know for a fact I destroyed the timeline. Sorry, I couldn't really find a place to put it, so I threw a little bit of everything in. It's before the seventh book and before the end of the sixth. It might be in the middle of the fifth book with less Voldemort issues. And it's long. Other than that, enjoy.
Dumbledore emerged from his pensieve, mulling over the thought that he had been thinking about for weeks. He sat in his chair, absentmindedly twirling his long silver beard between his fingers.
“Sometimes those just raise more thoughts than they answer, don’t they?”
“Yes, many times they do. Excuse me for interrupting your intrusion upon my office, but who might you be?”
The unexpected visitor smiled politely and introduced himself. His name was Andrew Johnson, he was from America, and he had an inquiry. He asked for an appointment at a later date, he was becoming lightheaded. Having your head on another continent can do that to you. Dumbledore told him that his office was always open and that he appreciated the warning. Andrew thanked him graciously and left with a pop. Moments later, Professor McGonagall entered the room.
“Dumbledore, I thought I heard voices, but nobody left. I was just outside the door waiting to talk to you. Who was it?”
“Ah, that was an American boy. I believe you’ve heard of one Andrew Johnson?
McGonagall covered up her look of shock quickly. “The Andrew Johnson? What did he want from you? I had no idea he was coming”
“Oh, I knew he would be coming soon. I heard it from the Minister himself. But nobody seems to want to tell me why.”
Four days later, Dumbledore sat in wait. He was not a man to get overly anxious or excited about very much, but this mystery visit had been on his mind for quite a while. He waited for the moment when his questions would be answered. Right at six o’clock, a half hour before dinner exactly, a young man walked through the door. He was not a particularly imposing figure, but he seemed to command a certain respect, even Dumbledore could sense this attribute. Andrew was tall for his age, but not so much that he became abnormal. He stood nearly six feet tall, and he was well built, muscled in his arms and chest, with a tan that people from Georgia often have. His relaxed good looks starkly reminded Dumbledore of a young Sirius Black, with the one major difference of the hair. Andrew kept his hair short where Sirius had to flip his back so that he could see. He wore Muggle clothing, jeans and a sweatshirt, though he was raised Pure-blood and was in a Wizarding building. He accepted the role of the younger, and sat down and waited for Dumbledore to address him. His politeness reminded Albus again of a young Wizard, this time Harry Potter, because both Harry and Andrew were extraordinary young wizards who had enough clout to be rude and obnoxious, but chose not to. Dumbledore was pleased with his initial reactions, few fifteen year olds were as well mannered as Andrew, and Americans did have a certain reputation.
“So, tell me what everyone is whispering about.”
“Firstly, I trust you heard what happened to me at school?”
Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I don’t know of many people that haven’t. But we’re not here to dwell on the past, are we? That would hardly do justice to the tales I have heard about you.”
“No, I’m not here because of that. I am here to see if I can talk to your students about an event that may be occurring soon, and to ask for use of premises.” Dumbledore gave a nod, but didn’t say anything. Andrew kept going. “I was hoping to ask if any of your students or even your teachers, or even you, would be interested in entering a dueling competition with entrants from all corners of the world. It will be the tournament to decide the champion of champions. Open to all, with minimal rules, I’ve designed it to find the most truly gifted combatant in our world. And I would like Hogwarts to accommodate the tournament.”
Dumbledore thought for a solid five minutes before answering. It was a pause unbecoming of such a brilliant mind, but it was a surprising question with many ramifications. “I do believe that there is an embargo on dueling, how is that going to allow for a massive tournament?”
“Galleons talk, Sir. A gathering of this size in Britain, Fudge went crazy for that. And the way the tournament’s set up, all the other Ministries will make some money. And then there’s the fact that everybody thinks they turn out better wizards and witches than everyone else, which made it easy to play some Ministers against each other. I did it alone in about a week. And I would be flattered if we could hold the tournament inside the most prestigious school in the area, not out in some field or in the woods where Muggles are running about.”
Dumbledore smiled silently, while secretly marveling at just how mature and intelligent this kid sounded. He thought for another five minutes or so, a period of silence unbecoming of such a great wizard, but there was much to think about. “Thank you for calling my school that, and I think I will allow you to speak with my students. Whether or not you may use this building or not, I will converse with my students and my staff.”
“Of course, there’s a large sack of Galleons in it for you if you’re in.” He doubted that Dumbledore, who was enormously wealthy, would really care, but it couldn’t hurt. It didn’t help either. Dumbledore shook his head and bade him a good evening. He would be allotted time at dinner for a speech.
The Great Hall was spectacular. He’d never seen such a place, his school near Atlanta had a huge kitchen, but the tables were more personal. Eight to a table, and the food was nowhere near as good. This was probably because their gamekeepers made everything and not house-elves, but Andrew couldn’t find the time to care, he was too busy stuffing his mouth with all the different foods. He even saw a platter of fried chicken, but didn’t see any anywhere else in the room. He was sure that Dumbledore had arranged that, and ate it all. Sitting at the Head Table, he swapped travel stories with a small wizard named Flitwick. Both had been to China, though Flitwick much more extensively. Flitwick swore that he saw a Chinaman manipulate FiendFyre, a supposedly impossible task. Andrew believed him, he was sure that the man, whose name was Yuan, was entering the tournament. But nobody knew about that yet, so he kept it quiet. Eventually, Dumbledore stood up, and the room went quiet. Andrew admired his ability to dominate a room without speaking.
“Now that we are all fed, I would like to introduce a special guest into our home. His name is Andrew Johnson, and he has an exciting message for us all. You will show him no less respect than you would show me.”
Harry was anxious to hear what this guest had to say, it was rare that Dumbledore had speakers at dinner, and even rarer that they had anything good to say.
“And certainly no more!” Mumbles flew about the room as Andrew stood and walked to the center of the stage, his voice carrying an astounding distance. Harry noted a distinct difference in his voice.
“Yes, people, I have a slightly different accent than y’all do.” Ron snorted into the remainder of his pudding. The words ‘slightly different’ did not seem to cover it. In fact, the word accent had come across like ‘ak-sint.’
“He must be American, probably from the Southern part of the States,” Hermione whispered. Then she sat up attentively, apparently as eager to learn as always.
“And he looks about our age. Where’s Dumbledore get off treating him like a teacher?”
Hermione spoke again, “Ron, you would say that. Clearly Dumbledore respects him, I think the least we could do is listen to what he has to say.”
Harry looked over to the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy loudly imitating the foreigner’s accent. He looked back at Andrew, trying to distance his actions from Draco.
“Okay, so if the Slytherin table would shut up, I could get back to what I’m trying to say.” The other three tables gave a collective chuckle. “So, my name is Andrew Johnson. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia, originally from Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am here because I have set up a competition y’all would likely be interested in.” Everyone quieted down at this, after the Triwizard tournament, they expected quite a bit from contests. They would not be disappointed. “What I have set up is an intercontinental deuling championship. The US will send sixteen duelists, Europe and Australia will combine for sixteen, Asia will send sixteen, and Canada, South America and Africa will combine for sixteen. Now—Everyone shut up!” He said this with such force that even the teachers looked shocked. Harry felt like he’d been snapped out of a dream, even though he had been paying attention the whole time. “Thank you. Now, you have to place top sixteen in a qualifying tournament to get into the big tournament. I don’t recommend that anyone not of age try and enter. You may be going up against your teachers, they have the right to enter. So if you couldn’t hold your own in a duel against your teachers, don’t try to enter. If you couldn’t hold your own against me, you won’t win. I’m the best duelist in America, the favorite to win the tournament. These people at the Head Table, they’re your competition. Except Dumbledore, he’s too noble to hurt people a hundred years younger than him, even if the reward is as ridiculous as it is.”
Out of the crowd, someone yelled “What’s the reward?” More muttering insued, with people guessing what would be payed to the winner.
“Maybe it’s ten thousand Galleons again, like the Triwizard Tournament,” said Ron hopefully.
“The reward is ten thousand Galleons” a gasp from the crowd. “From each division. Forty thousand Galleons in all.” This time nobody bothered muttering, some people screamed outright. After the din quieted down Andrew began to wrap up. “That’s pretty much it for me, the rules will be posted, if you want to enter you’ll find the entrance date and place from someone later. Oh, one last important note: Harry Potter, you need not go through the regional tournament. You’re in as an eight seed automatically. I’d advise you to pick the best wizard in the school or even a teacher as a second, but Dumbledore tells me you’re going to pick some redheaded kid. Good luck, the tournament is at Hogwarts so you don’t have anything to worry about.” This last note inspired rage in some students. Draco Malfoy was the most vocal.
“So Potter gets in for free, without having to pay entry or even get in on merit?”
“Well, it’s my tournament, so you’re not one to challenge my rules. And if you don’t think he got in on merit you should get looked at.”
Draco stood up, “It’s your tournament? Your tournament? You’re no older than I am! You’re not even of age, you should be in school, not telling the Ministries of Magic who should be in some tournament! I’m a better wizard than Potter, how come I’m not in? I’m probably a better wizard than you!”
McGonagall stood up. The crowd went silent, but Malfoy did not sit down.
“Mr. Johnson is here as a guest of Hogwarts, and you will show a bit more respect or I will see you in detention!” Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor cheered once again as a Slytherin was reprimanded.
Andrew simply turned, smiled at McGonagall and said “It’s all right, Professor. I believe that respect has to be earned. Professor Dumbledore, do I have permission to teach one of your students some respect?”
Dumbledore got a twinkle in his eye and nodded. “Use discretion,” he added. “I don’t want Madam Pomfrey to be overworked tonight.”
Most of Hogwarts didn’t know what to do with themselves. Many had never seen a duel before, and were interested in seeing what this kid who called himself the best in the world could do. Andrew walked over to the Slytherin table and stood on it. He invited Malfoy to do the same. Though Draco knew he had bitten off more than he could chew, he was in too deep to back out now.
“You know what, I’m feeling good tonight. I’ll even let your boys Crabbe and Goyle help you. Three on one, you think you can handle that?” Andrew started laughing, and as he laughed he took off the sweatshirt he was wearing, revealing a tight shirt underneath that outlined his physique. This drew whistles from the crowd and giggles from groups of girls. Still laughing, he called Flitwick over to start the duel. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle bowed, as did Johnson. Flitwick sent sparks out of his wand, and the duel had begun. Food dishes were still on the table; students were still seated. The duelists were on opposite ends of the long table. Malfoy and his buddies began throwing hexes down the table at Andrew, who flicked all of them away lazily. He advanced down the table, looking completely calm. He actually looked like he was bored. A platter of treacle tarts threw itself into one fourth year’s face, the tarts hit another Slytherin. Goblets flew into their owner’s faces. Hexes and curses were flicked into the crowd too, several students began to tap dance uncontrollably, others just froze. Other unfortunate students began speaking rapidly in a language that nobody in Hogwarts could understand. The hall was erupting in taunts, jeers and cheers. Andrew had progressed halfway down the table, his laughter somehow resonating through the noisy hall. Many teachers stared in wonder, while younger students were either awed or scared. The older students looked on with admiration or jealousy, and Andrew didn’t care about any of it. He was enjoying the look on his victim’s faces. The trio he was facing had moved beyond minor spells and jinxes and were now shooting a steady stream of stunning spells. Andrew took two of them, and nearly simultaneously flicked them back at Crabbe and Goyle. They hit the table with a resounding thud. Malfoy stood alone, looking suddenly scared. Andrew walked right up to Malfoy, and was standing maybe a foot away from him blocking jinxes and spells. Andrew stared into Draco’s eyes and the duel suddenly stopped. Malfoy stopped moving. Andrew had not fired a spell of his own yet. Finally, he pointed his wand at Malfoy’s arm and the wand flew out of his hand. Malfoy looked back at his wand, shocked. He was so shaken by his loss of face that he just stared dumbly as his wand clattered to the floor. Then he heard a few people give yelps of surprise, and was about to look forward again when a large, hairy hand grabbed him by the throat and lifted him a foot and a half off the ground. He was staring directly into the face of a silverback gorilla. Malfoy was two feet off the ground, roughly an inch away from the bloodthirsty eyes of an animal that looked absolutely mad. The gorilla gave one great roar, sharp, long, white canines an inch away from Malfoy’s face. Then Andrew forcefully threw Malfoy back on the table, where his head landed directly in a great bowl of pudding. Andrew summoned the discarded wand from the floor and transformed back into his human form. He flipped the wand back to its owner began to walk away. The room was once again silent.
Harry was impressed, but scared. If this guy is in the tournament, what else am I going to be facing? Who else will I be up against? I couldn’t do that if I’d Confunded my opponent. Nevertheless, he was impressed at the commanding figure walking along Slytherin’s long table, where the people were going back to normal and the places rearranging themselves as he walked along. Malfoy had stood up, and raised his wand to curse the foreigner. “Stupefy!” A plate shot straight up in the air and took the Spell instead of Johnson. The plate was still tinkling to the ground as Johnson spun around. In a split second Malfoy was hanging in the air, like a puppet suspended by invisible ropes. The wand shot out of his hand again, this time landing right next to McGonagall.
“You’re still hexing people when their backs are turned? Again? Do you remember what happened to you last time that happened?” He turned to the crowd and shouted, “If you don’t remember what happened to Malfoy the last time he tried to hex someone who was walking away from him, here’s a refresher.” He turned back to Malfoy, and before everybody’s eyes, Malfoy was turned into a small, white ferret. “Yes, Malfoy, I do know what goes on around this school. I know who the witches and wizards are who are in my league, and I know those who, well, aren’t. It’s got nothing to do with blood. If I say Potter’s in, then Potter’s in. You won’t change back until I leave. Have fun hanging out.” With that, he turned away from the floating ferret and spoke with Dumbledore privately for a few moments. Then, he disappeared, leaving everyone who had read Hogwarts: A History (namely, Hermione) to wonder how he had Disapparated inside the school.
After dinner, the Gryffindor Common Room was absolute chaos. Conversations were held in earnest, probably over who was entering. Those that were planning to enter were met with doubt. “Did you see that guy at dinner!? He used one spell and took out three guys! What else do you think he can do?” However, the promise of forty-thousand Galleons was more than enough to entice any and all duelists with any knowledge of defensive spells. A mini-tournament broke out, which was ended by McGonagall after one match ended particularly badly. One of the contestants had nearly lost several fingers, and even Madame Pomfrey had difficulty healing all the wounds. Harry was bombarded by people asking to be his second, the duelist who would take his place if he was no longer able to compete, but Harry told them all that he was sticking with some red-headed kid. Ron, the red-headed kid, busied himself with fantasizing about what he would do with forty thousand Galleons.
“I could buy a new house. No, a new house for everyone in my family! Big ones, with house elves and no gnomes! Oh, I could buy a great broom then. Or I could just buy a Quidditch team. I could buy the Cannons! Maybe they wouldn’t suck so much then!”
Harry was still unbelievably nervous. Hermione was trying to help him, but it wasn’t working.
“Harry, we’ve got weeks to prepare. I’m sure it will be allright, you’ve fought Voldemort loads of times and won. And you were always the top in our class in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and you were the head of the DA! We could go to the library and study, or even get the DA back together and use that to practice! I’m sure if we go to the Room of Requirement we’d find some really useful books, and Sirius an Lupin gave you some books last year. Sirius and Lupin! We could get some Order members to help you out. Oh, we’ll work so hard, remember the Triwizard tournament. You did pretty well in that, when you thought you were outclassed.”
No matter what she said, Harry knew there was no way that he would even get past the first round. The best duelists on six continents would be his competition. He wasn’t even of age. How did this American expect him to win, or even compete? He would simply be embarrassed in from of the entire school, and from the sound of it, most of the Wizarding world. Hermione was still trying to help him out.
“Harry, Dumbledore wouldn’t even allow this if he didn’t think you had a shot at winning. Or at least not getting hurt too badly.”
That was true. Harry would trust Dumbledore with his life. In fact, he had done it many times before and was doing it again now. He went from nervousness to elation and excitement. The next day a sign appeared on the bulletin board. The regional tournament would begin in a week and would last for four days. The opening of the tournament would occur in roughly three weeks, the next full moon. The first match would be the next morning. Three weeks have never passed faster. _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
ooo, I really like this, a different approach. Write more soon please! _________________ Draco Malfoy and *sniff...sob* Fred Weasly ♥
banner made by Kino
The night of the opening ceremonies arrived quickly. The castle buzzed with excitement, from the North Tower to the dungeons. Malfoy seemed to be irritated, and everyone knew why, the taunting became nearly unbearable so he spent most of his day in the Common room. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked into the Great Hall to see it adorned with flags. USA, China, Japan, India, Canada, Brazil, Mexico, Zimbabwe, England, Spain, France, Germany, Russia and others had flags up. Everyone was seated, sitting quietly they waited for the announcements of the contestants. Dumbledore stood and waited for silence. He did not have to wait very long.
“The night is upon us! I trust that everybody is anxious to begin. I need not attempt to impress upon you the importance of the event that is coming up, so let’s just get down to it. I will introduce the duelists by name and country, division by division. I will announce their seeds also. I would like you to applaud all who come through the door, may they be friend or foe. Show them a good night and make them feel welcome at Hogwarts. So. The first duelist is Weimin Yuan, from China, with his second, who wishes to go by the English name of James. They are the first seeds from the Asian division.”
They lived up to their reputation. The doors burst open, and fire filled the alleyway, from the floor to the ceiling. It stretched on both sides all the way to the table directly below the Head Table, where the competitors would be seated. The fire moved as it stayed, either inflating towards the table or shrinking rapidly inward. Phoenixes of flame flew throughout the Great Hall, flying with dragons. The FindFyre seemed to ripple, and gaps would appear periodically, allowing for a glimpse of the men walking inside it. They were shorter than most, but both well built. They had determined looks upon their faces. The rest of the Asians followed, making impressive entrances, but nothing really matched with the opening. When one Taiwanese pair walked in, the world turned upside down for a minute, until they were seated. Some came in with music, some making the ground shake. The Asian two seed could not make it that night, but it didn’t seem to phase anybody. Then came a pleasant surprise.
“The nine seed, from Russia, is a familiar face to all Hogwarts students. Once again, we are blessed by the presence of Viktor Krum.” Hermione cheered the loudest of anybody.
Next it was the turn for the Canadians, South Americans and Africans. Their one seed and his second, Martin Lupez and Maria Lupez, did a neat trick where they apparated every other step, switching places as they walked. It led to confusion and a couple headaches, but it was a cool effect. An African pair walked in, and halfway through they changed into bull elephants. Johnson checked off the gorilla transformation on his list of tactics.
After a long list of semi-pronouncable names, the Europeans were up. The cheers came loud when the one seeds entered the room: Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. They required no display of strength, the cheers said it all. They couldn’t help themselves smiling while they walked to the competitor’s table. Two other Hogwarts pairs were announced. Harry and Ron walked in to no music, no tricks, nothing. They walked in like McGonagall and Flitwick had. The other pair was Roger Davies and his second, Cedric Diggory. Harry was not happy seeing this pair because they had the distinction of being two of the best wizards at school, with the bonus of them being fawned over by every girl at Hogwarts. They were only a fourteen seed, and probably wouldn’t survive the first round.
“The last group wishes to be announced as a team. I will read off their names and the state they come from and their seeds, and they will enter afterwords.” Dumbledore read off the names in reverse order, from highest seed to lowest. When he got to the one seed, he stopped. “I believe the presentation begins now,” he said, and took his seat. Students and teachers alike stared anxiously at the door.
The doors opened, and sparks entered above the mass of Americans, reading “For Whom the Bell Tolls, Metallica.” Apparently this was the name of a song, for as they walked in bells rang and an angry guitar joined in. There were no lyrics, but the pissed off guitar set the mood well enough. The group walked in slowly, in an undisciplined group. When they reached the halfway point, they stopped and separated. All turned to look to the door. Two barely discernible figures stood in the door. The second they took a step upon the threshold of the Great Hall, a great explosion sounded. Tables, chairs and place sets exploded, the shrapnel flying into the air of its own accord and creating a mosh pit fifteen feet above everyone. Students, suddenly upended by the explosion of their benches, began to yell. As the two figures walked up what used to be the aisle, the shouting stopped and whispers shot about the room. “Werewolf!” Indeed, as Andrew walked forward in the form of a gorilla, a wolf with a snout too long to be normal walked beside him. The Hall became quiet. The Americans walked to their table and took their seats. Malfoy was not pleased with this arrangement.
“Hey, can we get a table, or are you and the filthy half-breed the only ones important enough to sit?”
An edge appeared in Andrew’s voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. Must’ve forgotten.” He pulled out his wand and the furniture disappeared above the Hall and reappeared as the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw table. A heap of wooden pieces piled itself in front of Malfoy and the Slytherins.
“Would you like to rearrange the pieces for us?” At his request, Johnson swished his wand again. The wood pieces re-formed in the shape of a giant hand making an obscene gesture.
“A table!” A table much too large for anyone to sit at came into being. This went on until Dumbledore stopped it. Johnson had the feeling that the exchange went on much too long for Dumbledore’s usual policies. Smiling, he sat back down.
Dumbledore finished up the announcements, adding that the werewolf’s name was Tye—no last name was given—and that Andrew was his second.
Ron and Harry stared at each other stupidly.
“’I’m the best duelist in America, and probably the world?’ Then why is he a second?” Ron asked, astounded.
“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like to duel and only does it when he has to. The best we can do is guess.”
“Should we switch? Should I be a first?”
“I don’t think so. Tye’s probably still one of the best duelists in the world. And Andrew wanted me in the tournament. I guess I’ll stay.” Harry looked over at Tye, who was sitting on a square stool and eating a massive slab of red meat.
The dinner ended on a grand note. When Dumbledore announced that the duels would begin the next morning, flames and fireworks shot from beneath every table. A huge chart appeared above the Head Table, with the names, seeds, country, and division marked. The tournament was not set up to find the best duelists in Asia, for example, and pit them against the best European in final four. They had already decided the best in the divisions in the qualifying tournament. Four from each division would be present. In Andrew’s division, the American number one was mixed with the Asian number two, the African, Canadian and South American three and the European fourth. This pattern continued. So Harry was set to duel Andrew in the second round if they both won. With thoughts of horrible embarrassment two rounds into the tournament, Harry headed off to bed. Tye and Andrew followed; apparently they were staying in the Gryffindor rooms. Harry opened the portrait of the Fat Lady for them and headed off to bed. The werewolf curled up on a chair next to the fire, and Andrew sat in a couch next to it. Neither seemed to have anything to unpack, nor did they have any intention of sleeping. Harry said goodnight and headed off to bed. He could not sleep that well. He tricked himself into believing that having a werewolf downstairs was freaking him out, but he knew he was worried. Two Americans? The first one would be tough enough, then he would face certain defeat at the hands of the best in the world.
“What the..?”
“Rise and shine, Gryffindor, it’s six thirty in the morning!” The voice was way too cheery and simply too awake for Harry’s liking.
“We wake up at eight at Hogwarts! Turn the music off!” As he said this, Brian Johnson began wailing: We’re out tonight/to the guitar bite!/ Stand up and be counted/For what you are about to receive!/Hail Hail to the good times!”“Yeah, well, some people have to deal with a time change. First match is in an hour.”
Much groaning ensued in the Gryffindor dorms. At seven thirty nobody was normally awake. Now they were supposed to be outside! Dueling!
“You’ve got until the cannons. Hurry up.” He left on this cryptic note. Everyone but Seamus got up and started drearily moving around the room, putting on clothes inside out, two socks on each foot, or mistaking the front and back of their pants. The music did seem to wake people up quickly, and Harry, the only Muggle-raised in the room, recognized it as AC/DC’s hit “For Those About to Rock.” As he recognized it, the lyrics came back in For those about to rock-fire! The twenty-one gun salute sounded, and the door shot open. Water flooded the room, coming up to knee height. Seamus flew out of bed, grabbed some random clothes and ran downstairs with the rest of the Gryffindors. Once they hit the common room though, they instantly dried off. Seamus ran back up the stairs to get dressed. Hermione came downstairs, looking totally calm as opposed to the boys, who were tired and disheveled looking. She looked around the common room and was beginning to ask a question when she gave a small shriek, and shrank back. Ron rushed across the room to see what was the matter and stopped midway there, staring at something directly behind Andrew.
“Oh. You’ve found Tye.” _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
I really like this!! More soon please, like I said, I like the whole international-tournament thing _________________ Draco Malfoy and *sniff...sob* Fred Weasly ♥
banner made by Kino
Ron just nodded wordlessly, looking half interested, half horrified. Harry moved over to his friends and saw a huge, huge black man. He was leaning in the corner, half hidden in the shadows. He moved forward and Hermione gave another little squeal. Before she had just noticed the scar that went all the way around his neck, now she was able to see the slash that traveled down most of the left side of his face, continuing down his jaw line until it met up with the middle of the scar on his throat.
“See, man, I told you they wouldn’t react badly,” said Andrew sarcastically. Tye let out a huge, booming laugh that traveled the same perplexing distance that Andrew’s voice did. He was a half foot taller than Andrew who was easily as tall as Ron, if not taller. He was imitating Andrew’s style of baggy sweatpants and a tight sleeveless shirt. Gloves hung out of one of his pockets, and a twenty inch wand stuck out of the other pocket.
“When’s the last time you got a reaction like that, Tye? First day at school?”
“Yeah. I remember who it was too; some girl’s mother looked at me and started flipping out. Then the girl looked at me. I think she passed out on the spot. The dad started yelling at Professor Campbell about something or another, and then you walked over and said—“
“What’s everybody staring at? Haven’t you ever cut yourself shaving before?” No one laughed.
“Well, I expect it was funnier when we were five.”
Hermione apparently had found her voice again. “You started school when you were five? But in all of Europe we start when we turn eleven, you don’t have enough control over yourself when you are too young.”
“Nah, we didn’t start when we were five. It’s a long story, and we’ve been standing here for long enough. Let’s go down to breakfast.”
The Great Hall was packed with sleepy looking students. The Gryffindors seemed to be the last group down.
“So, what are some differences between the schools here and in America? I mean, there’s only so much you can read about because everybody’s so secretive about their schools, but I’ve always been kind of curious about the different schools. I mean, Durmstrang puts a lot more emphasis on the Dark Arts than we do, we focus on the defense. And Beauxbatons puts so much emphasis on charms. I mean, do you guys put a lot of emphasis on potions, or Herbology?”
“Me and Andrew aren’t really the people to ask. I hate to say it like this, but me and him are so good at everything it’s hard to get a feel for what the school best prepares us for. I mean, Andrew has always been a ridiculously talented wizard, and I’ve got my strengths and weaknesses, but I ain’t sure if that’s because of the school or it’s just us. Oh, and the school teaches us modesty too, just in case you were wondering.”
Hermione laughed a little at this. “I’m really sorry about the way I reacted to your face. It was just a huge shock. Can I ask how that happened?”
“Well, you can ask, but I won't tell ya. See, it’s not really a topic I like to dwell on.”
“I’m sorry for bringing it up then. I hope to talk to you later,” she said. Then she walked to her own table as Tye and Andrew walked to their own. When they got there, another American, the three seed, found them quickly.
“You guys checked the board lately?” Peter asked. Tye and Andrew hadn’t; they turned around and checked it quickly. The name of the number two Asian team had finally been filled in. Andrew swore loudly enough for half of the students to stare at him. Tye just looked furious.
“Sidorov? Sidorov? How the hell did Sidorov get in? I thought you fixed that, Andrew!”
“I told you, it can’t be done. I couldn’t word it right to where it isolated him. I had to find the hardest lineup I could for him in the regional tournament, but Sidorov’s a damn good wizard. I don’t think Smirnov had to even get in but one match, against Yuan. They just rolled through.”
“I told you what would happen if they showed up. I don’t stay in the same building as them. That’s it.”
“I know, Tye. They walk in, we walk out.”
“And leave two bodies in our wake.” Andrew nodded. He hadn’t expected anything to keep Sidorov and Smirnov from this tournament. If he’d been able do it in the entrance contract, it could have worked, but he couldn’t find a way to word it. Werewolf obviously didn’t work, and the word dangerous would’ve been a lot of trouble since the incident at school. He would’ve gotten himself, Tye, and a couple other great wizards kicked out.
Dumbledore stood up to give what Andrew, Tye, and most of the Americans knew to be bad news.
“Please, settle down. I would like to introduce the Asian team that will be the second seed in their bracket. Please, give a warm welcome (he glanced at the Americans) to Afanasii Sidorov and Kazimir Smirnov, of Russia.”
The pair walked through the front door. Sidorov, on the left, looked a little worse for wear, but still splendid in his black robes. The pair were both tall and wiry, with brown hair and high cheekbones. They walked down the aisle at a slow pace, looking up and down the competitor’s table. They found who they were looking for nearly immediately. Tye and Andrew hopped right over the table and walked briskly at the oncoming pair. Before most students had realized what was going on, wands had been drawn and spells were flying across the Great Hall. The pairs closed the gap to about twenty feet. Some Americans blocked shield charms from being set up in between the pair. It worked, until Dumbledore cast his own. The shield was so powerful that the chairs and tables of the Great Hall were forced apart. This time Tye cursed at the top of his lungs.
“Excuse me! This is a school!” McGonagall was shocked at the behavior of the foreigners. She saw where the Americans got their reputation from, and no matter what Dumbledore said, she did not much like Tye or Andrew Johnson.
Andrew stared at Dumbledore with a look of contempt. It looked as though they were communicating nonverbally, occasionally using facial expressions and hand signals. Dumbledore shook his head in a final sort of way, and the American pair pushed through—over, really—the Russians on their way out the door.
“It seems that our American one seeds refuse to sleep and eat in the same building as our late arrivals. It has nothing to do with our hospitality and they are very sorry for disrupting our meal.” He sat down, looking surprisingly nonchalant in dealing with such an awkward situation.
Harry leaned over to Ron and Hermione and nodded toward the door the Americans had just walked out of. His friends gave nods of agreement and followed through the front door. They saw two figures heading toward the lake. The trio followed. They watched as Andrew drew a tent from nowhere as Tye created a fire pit full of flames. Trunks flew into the tent, along with a few long boxes that nobody recognized.
“You know, y’all should’ve stayed at breakfast.” Neither of the trio had known that Andrew even realized they were following. He didn’t even look at them as he said it.
Harry was the first to speak. “What happened in there? Why do you and Afanasii and Kazimir hate each other so much?”
“Long story. And their names aren’t Afanasii and Kazimir. They re-named themselves. See, in Russian, their names mean something. Afanasii means ‘immortal.’ Kazimir means ‘famous destroyer’ or ‘great destroyer.’ Their real names are Klavdii, which means ‘lame’ and Sergey, which means ‘servant.’ I mean, I get why they changed, but how hard would it be to make it something normal? You change it to something like that and you come off like an egotistical prick, or prat as y’all say. And Harry, your name is floating above the forest.”
Harry turned around and indeed, his name, Ron’s name, and two American’s names were floating above the Forbidden Forest.
“John Davidson and Daniel Evans? Who are they?”
Andrew and Tye shared an exasperated look. “Look,” Andrew said, “you’ve got five minutes so I can’t do a lot for you. He’s a jack of all trades, master of none. He’s not an animagus, he’s not extremely powerful. He’s just your bog-standard flat out good duelist who can beat you in any conventional duel. If you stay with your two spells, he’ll rip you up. So you’ve got to switch it up and try to get an advantage in any way you can. Your wand skills aren’t as good as nearly anyone else in this tournament, so you’re gonna have to add some extra firepower to all your matches.” He looked Hermione in the eyes. “Fire-power. You get it yet?”
“Oh! That’s a really good idea.” She made jars appear and filled them with her signature blue flames.
“Close enough to what I was thinking. Y’all need to get moving, you start in five minutes." By this point Tye had set up a tent, gotten a fire going, set up a couch around it and was putting the finishing touches on an outhouse complete with air conditioning and a vent. He looked at Andrew and nodded off to where their names were floating, directly above the Great Hall.
“Hey, check out where Yuan is,” said Tye, indicating his name and another name floating above the lake.
“But how are they dueling on the lake? They can’t stand there, can they?” Ron asked.
“Ron, I’m pretty sure they would figure to put an island out there,” Harry said curtly.
“Nervous, Harry?” Andrew laughed. “I don’t envy whoever gets Yuan out there, if there’s one duelist that you want room when you’re fighting, it’s Yuan. He’s just gonna cook that guy slow.”
“Like Sunday chicken. Speaking of which…”
“We’ll figure food out later. And Harry, you still need to take Ron and go. You’re down to three minutes. Me and Tye need to go anyway, but we’re about fifty yards away.”
The group separated, the foreigners heading off towards the lake and the Hogwarts students walking towards Hagrid’s hut.
The was a small cheering section of Irish people grouped around two men in their thirties. What appeared to be either a large family or a small town was there, decked out in the national colors, singing and causing a general ruckus. Andrew could not help but laugh. Tye would finish up in less than a minute, and the losers would be watched by all of these supporters. He stood there with Tye at his side, laughing until the entire Irish delegation was staring at him. Tye strapped on his gloves and walked up to where the duel would begin. Andrew was stretched out on the ground, looking totally uninterested in the proceedings. His wand was within arm’s reach, but he was not holding it. He looked like he was just enjoying a nice sunny day, not at all like forty thousand Galleons were on the line. He barely even noticed that the events leading up to the match were beginning, that Tye and his adversary were bowing to each other. A referee checked the wands of all competitors, along with giving each contestant a drop of Veritaserum to ensure that neither had taken any potion or undergone any magical transformation that would give them an advantage. When both passed, the duelists stood at the ready ten yards apart from each other. The judge called for the beginning of the match and shot sparks from his wand. The first duel of the competition had begun. _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
Youre boasting a bit to much about the andrew johnsen character , imo. I'm sure it reflects you and i have no problem with that . But dueling in the middle of the great hall isnt what you call best manors in the world . And saying you're the best wizard in the world is just plain arrogant , so in that way he doesnt resemble harry at all . (while you say he does)
Also I would think it would be a anticlimax if harry or andrew one , its just predictable . I would like a clash of them both in the semis but not the decisive battle .. (just my two cents , youre doing an excellent job imo) _________________
Youre boasting a bit to much about the andrew johnsen character , imo. I'm sure it reflects you and i have no problem with that . But dueling in the middle of the great hall isnt what you call best manors in the world . And saying you're the best wizard in the world is just plain arrogant , so in that way he doesnt resemble harry at all . (while you say he does)
Also I would think it would be a anticlimax if harry or andrew one , its just predictable . I would like a clash of them both in the semis but not the decisive battle .. (just my two cents , youre doing an excellent job imo)
I'm probably going to psot later tonight, but just to dispell some of your uneasiness: Andrew Johnson is about to enter the world of serious, serious psychological and emotional issues.
And naturally, I can't tell you who wins yet, because I don't know that yet, but it won't be Harry. And the Great Hall duel will be explained. It's taken me a while to get into the meat of the story, so most everything is going to be explained in the next couple installments. _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
Youre boasting a bit to much about the andrew johnsen character , imo. I'm sure it reflects you and i have no problem with that . But dueling in the middle of the great hall isnt what you call best manors in the world . And saying you're the best wizard in the world is just plain arrogant , so in that way he doesnt resemble harry at all . (while you say he does)
Also I would think it would be a anticlimax if harry or andrew one , its just predictable . I would like a clash of them both in the semis but not the decisive battle .. (just my two cents , youre doing an excellent job imo)
I'm probably going to psot later tonight, but just to dispell some of your uneasiness: Andrew Johnson is about to enter the world of serious, serious psychological and emotional issues.
And naturally, I can't tell you who wins yet, because I don't know that yet, but it won't be Harry. And the Great Hall duel will be explained. It's taken me a while to get into the meat of the story, so most everything is going to be explained in the next couple installments.
I like the explanation youre giving me . It's not that I don't like youre story because i really do . I just said the things that bothered me . _________________
“Sectumsempra!” shouted the Irish boy. Tye used a nonverbal disarming spell as he dodged. The cutting curse flew by Tye’s face as he caught the defeated wand. While Tye threw the wand to the judges, he readied himself for another duelist. After the three second waiting period, Tye shot one spell at his opponent. He was quicker than the Irish duelist, who never even got a spell out of his mouth. But being hit by the spell did not seem to faze him. He stood there, perfectly normal for a second, before turning his wand on himself. Tye swept the wand off the ground and threw it to the judges. Without looking back, he took off towards the tent, with Andrew in tow.
“Tye, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you use the Imperius Curse. Not bad at all. There was a small delay while he fought you, and you shouldn’t have used it if you didn’t know for a fact that you could pull it off. But not bad.”
“I figured if I was gonna get control of it, now would be the time to practice. I got a couple birds earlier this morning, but I should have found someone to practice on. You wanna go check out the Potter duel?”
“Sure. Wait, I think it’s over,” he said, motioning to the colored sparks above the forest, which were floating through a cloud of smoke. “And he used the fire too. I was thinking Molotov cocktails, but they didn’t figure that out.”
“Why didn’t you just tell them? Would it have been that hard? The alcohol keeps them burning, instead of just going out on the ground.”
“Man, have you been in those woods? There’s dead wood all over the ground, that’ll keep it burning better than anything. And they won, so it doesn’t matter. Check out the spark color.” Red and gold sparks were flying in the air instead of red, white, and blue, which are the flag colors for both America and Britain.
“Cool. Time to crash. I haven’t slept in five days.”
“I know. I was there, Tye.” And without another word, they made it to their tent and collapsed inside, utterly exhausted.
Lunch for Ron and Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors was a merry affair. They were now the only Hogwarts pair left, Cedric and Davies had been bested in just a few minutes. McGonagall and Flitwick had had a surprisingly tough time with the sixteen seed they were facing. Flitwick was in the hospital wing with a burn and McGonagall had needed to transform a small sapling into a full grown Whomping Willow to win. Both opposing duelists were now in St. Mungo’s. After lunch though, Dumbledore called Harry, Ron and Hermione up to his office to speak with them. Harry was looking forward to the party in the common room, but he was more curious to see what Dumbledore had to say that couldn’t be said in just a few minutes. Harry and Ron covered the match while they walked to Dumbledore’s office, recounting how they had thrown the fire around the Americans, preventing them from dodging out of the way. Eventually, the first duelist’s robes caught on fire, and he threw his wand, then Harry stunned the second one while he tried to put out his partner. Dumbledore led him past the gargoyles and into his office. He sat behind his desk, where he always looked thoughtful, and drew up three comfortable chairs for his pupils to sit in.
“Sometimes,” he said, leaving Harry and his friends curious as to whether he was talking to them or to himself, “I feel that I was wrong to invite Mr. Johnson here. Now that you have been around him, what is your impression of him?”
Hermione, Ron and Harry exchanged puzzled looks. Hermione was the first to find an adequate answer. “Well, he’s supposed to be brilliant, isn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed he is. Andrew Johnson, the fifteen year old animagus, potions master, champion duelist. He has extensive knowledge of Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and could probably best many of the professors in Europe. He is also a Legilimens, albeit a bad one. Anyone with any training in Occlumency could shut him out.”
“Is he an Occlumens too?”
Dumbledore shook his head. “Andrew will never be an Occlumens. That is the reason I am nervous about having him here. He cannot become an Occlumens because his brain is constantly at war with itself. The first time I spoke to him, he was polite, humble, and willing to accept anything I decided. The last time I saw him he was dueling to maim and argued with me when I stopped him. There is a huge discrepancy between the person he was born as and the person his past has made him, and the two are constantly clashing, which results in an unpredictability that, when paired with his considerable skill, makes him extremely dangerous.”
“Well, if he’s such a genius, why can’t he just control himself? Is he as powerful as he says if he can’t even figure out who he is, or is that just his insane side talking?” Ron asked. He was becoming impatient with people exclaiming over the American.
“Powerful wizards happen. And he’s one of them. Even though he lacks my natural skill, he probably is better now than I was at his age. Part of this is the obsessive way he attacks his studies, and I would venture to say that he is terrified of what would happen if he was ever shown to be inferior to anybody.”
“Why is he afraid? What’s so bad about being second best?” asked Hermione.
“It is just what he was taught, or the way he was taught, I should say. Or was it the person that taught him more than even that? Alas, simply talking about him is confusing. Can you imagine what goes on in his head? It’s a shame, really. A horrible shame, that one of the most polite, charismatic, and yes, powerful wizards of the day should be reduced to a person with one true friend, just waiting to be destroyed by a mind at war with itself. Yes,” he said, noting the puzzled look on everyone’s faces. “One friend, just Tye. Only the person who has been around him long enough to understand him. After all, what friendship can there be if there is no understanding? I shudder to think what would be the results if Andrew lost Tye. Have you ever seen Andrew in a duel? I daresay you haven’t, and hope that you never will. Because when Andrew Johnson enters duels, they become violent. If anyone hurts Tye, he will make them feel pain. He will make them feel as much pain as he possibly can, it is something he’s been doing since he was five. And not long ago he took it to such a level that he was thrown out of school, which earned him comparisons to Grindelwald. And the fact that he can turn his charm on one second and be vicious the next has earned him comparisons to Tom Riddle. What scares me is just how accurate these comparisons have become, even if I know for a fact that he has no intention of becoming such a person. I have studied his mind extensively, and there is no reason to believe that he would ever intentionally hurt someone. But he has not learned to love easily, and does not trust those that have not completed heroic deeds or those with an intellect equal to his own. So Harry and Hermione, I would like you to try as hard as possible to talk to him, to get inside his head, and try to draw out some of the feelings he has harbored. His reliance on his lifelong friend as someone to dump his emotions into is not healthy for either of them, and if he has two more people whom he can talk to it greatly reduces the risk of him lashing out if something were to happen to Tye. It is imperative that he has people to talk to, and Hermione, with your brains, he can meet someone who matches him. And Harry, I am sure he will be fascinated by some of your stories, and will probably relate to you because of your childhood.” He turned to Ron. “Ron, I’m sorry to say this, but Andrew may just become more uncomfortable around you. He will not view you in the same way that he views your friends. Not that you are not as important as either of them. You are the glue that holds your group together, the complement to the group that makes it perfect. You are the consummate friend, but he already has one. And he will not take to speaking openly as the group gets larger, so when Harry and Hermione speak to he and Tye, try your best to distance youself. This will be hard, but it is necessary. I bid you goodnight and a good party. It is sure to be legendary.” _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
Tye and Andrew were not seen again until Monday morning. The tent was on the grounds, but there was no fire lit and nobody saw them. The Marauder’s Map, which Harry checked out of curiosity, showed that they were in the exact same spot in their tent for two days. Harry and his friends went down to check on them once, but couldn’t get close to the tent. There was some sort of spell on the tent, every time the trio got close to the tent, it would move away a couple hundred yards. If they got close to the new spot, it would move back. If Harry went close to the tent until it moved, then went to the second spot while Ron stood where the tent used to be, it would go somewhere else. After a while it became a game for the first years, they would try to catch the tent on broomstick, and every time it would move someone else would stand in that spot. Eventually it moved onto the island in the lake, where it stayed.
Andrew opened the door to the Great Hall and found that breakfast was under way and that the competitor’s table had been moved. The duelists were now seated at either the Head Table or the House tables. The Russians had a small table to themselves, and most people could hear distant classical music floating from that direction. Andrew and Tye found space next to Harry, Hermione and Ron, and immediately started grabbing food from nearby platters and eating with their hands. Hermione found this funny and strange.
“Isn’t that a bit unsanitary?”
Tye just shrugged it off and said “Pobab-by through a mouthful of sausage. After a minute they calmed down and even began using plates. Tye and Andrew exclaimed over something like porridge that they called grits, but lamented the absence of cheese. As soon as they started, some cheese appeared right in front of them.
“I’m never leaving this place,” said Andrew. Tye nodded in agreement. “Of course, it’s not like I can go anywhere else, so I actually might not. Anyway, what classes do y’all have today? We’re probably coming with y’all.” Ron once again had to stifle a laugh at Andrew’s accent, for the last two words had come out ‘witchall.’
“Erm, this morning we’ve got double potions with Slytherin,” began Harry, “then Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms and Transfiguration. Not a bad day once we get past the first class.” A few minutes later they packed up and headed off to the dungeons with Andrew and Tye, each of whom grabbed a stack of toast on the way out. The dungeons didn’t seem to faze them at all, and nor did the Slytherin’s rude comments about the way they were dressed. “What decent wizard would be caught wearing Muggle clothes?” Harry was not surprised to hear Draco Malfoy’s voice attatched to this jibe, but he was surprised to hear Andrew’s calm response.
“It’s a matter of opinion,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see the sense in adding a robe over an outfit that I’m already wearing, and Muggles make better normal clothes than us. So I grab a couple Muggle shirts and bewitch the letters to say whatever I want.” In the midst of this conversation Snape had walked in, and was sizing up his guest. His greasy hair and hooked nose seemed more prominent today than usual, and the paleness of his skin gave him the appearance of glowing in the dim light.
“Before we begin with our cooling solutions today, let’s see what our special guests have to say on the subject of Potions. What do you know about the art of potion-making?”
“I know my way around a cauldron, but I think it’s more of a science than an art. It’s a subject governed by rules and principles, which makes it a science. If you mix newt’s tongue and moonstone, you know what’s going to happen. There’s a set amount of variables. If you mix green and red, you can do hundreds and hundreds of things. I guess it’s the way you approach it I guess, that determines whether it becomes an art or science. I approach it as a science.”
“Then you can never become a great Potions master, because this is a field that values creativity as opposed to the brute force of dueling. I daresay you have a good understanding of Potions, but I do doubt that you have ever pushed the limits and gone beyond what anybody has done before you. I assume that you are as arrogant as the Potter boy you have befriended, and probably equally without a cause.”
“Oh, I’ve pushed the boundaries plenty. I’ve been doing a mapping project for a while now, going through every combination of elements and marking their affects on various potions, and how they react together. This has lead to increasing the effectiveness of or simplifying many potions, but I’m not nearly done yet. For instance, the cooling solution you are about to put up on the board will probably have thirty-seven ingredients, involve fifty-nine steps, and just generally be complicated. It’s a complex potion no doubt intended to show off your ability and the ability of your students. I can make a better one using eight ingredients, and can do so in five minutes. I found three different combinations that created a cooling sensation, and when mixed together with a couple other things, they make the most effective cooling solution on the planet. So, put my solution up against yours, or your best pupil’s. Let’s see who wins.”
“That doesn’t mean you pushed any boundaries. That just means you have a lot of spare time on your hands, and you can do that. Have you invented anything new, or have you simply written down what has long been established?” Snape was losing ground, and didn’t like it one bit. Andrew was egged on a little by the edge in Snape’s voice, and withdrew a number of small, grey pills from his pocket and placed them on the table. He held one up to show Snape.
“This,” he said, “is eight hours of sleep. Rather, I should say a simulation of eight hours sleep. You take one of these, once a day, and you can keep going and going and going. The only downside to it is once you’re done, you re-gain all that sleep at once. So I took this for five days straight in the last week and crashed Saturday. So five nights of eight hours of sleep was forty hours, and on top of that I got another night’s sleep. So I’ve been sleeping for forty-eight hours now. That’s the only downside or side-affect. You can go for as long as you want as long as you’ve got a couple months to spare later. I you insisted on it, you could take these for four years of your life, then lose one when you stop taking them.”
Snape’s interest in the pill overcame his aggressiveness towards Andrew. “That’s not a bad little potion. How, exactly, did you come up with this pill?”
“A mixture of a waking draught, a Muggle methamphetamine, and some werewolf hair. That’s the key, werewolf hair is a largely unexplored area, it’s pretty useful in potion making, but it’s tough to get. Luckily, since Tye’s Animagus is a werewolf, we can get it anytime we need it.”
“But how did you figure that out? To use the hair, I mean,” asked Hermione. She too, was impressed. “And how did you test it? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“We were just screwing around during our mapping project, and figured that werewolf hair must have some magical qualities, so we added it to one potion. It literally exploded in our faces, so we knew we had something good. The methamphetamines we just had laying around, we were using them for a while in place of this pill, but once we found this, we’ll never need those again. And then we just tested them on ourselves.”
“Well, that’s stupid. If it exploded once it could do it again, but it might be inside you when it does.” Ron was happy to have something to harp on.
“We’re still here,” interjected Tye. “And to be brutally honest, it’s not like either of us care about living and dying.”
“How do you just not care about your life? How do you think, ‘I could die, but it doesn’t matter at all?’ You’ve got to care just a little, or else why do you even try while you’re alive? Why not just sit there and wait to die?”
“Harry, I don’t care about death. It’s going to happen eventually, it could happen tomorrow, today or yesterday. And I don’t have anything in my life I couldn’t walk away from in thirty seconds. Why not just sit and wait to die? Because that would be ridiculously boring. I would have nothing to do but think about what happened earlier in life, which would mainly be me sitting there. Might as well do something.” Harry didn’t think he was getting the whole truth, and was right in thinking so. He heard a voice in his head. And more. Meet me and Tye outside tonight. Whenever you can. Hermione received the same message, and they didn’t talk again about it for the rest of the day. _________________ "If you're going through hell, keep going."
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