lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2022-12-15 10:50 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2022-12-15 10:50 pm
[From Samhain to the Solstice]: Thou Shallt Have No Tournaments Before Me, gen, 1/5
Title: Thou Shalt Have No Tournaments Before Me
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Mostly gen, mentions of Ron/Hermione
Content Notes: Angst, present tense, humor, minor violence, AU after second year, “Lord Slytherin” Harry
Wordcount: This part 4200
Summary: Sequel to “Confusion Is Mine, Saith the Lord.” Harry has a great summer, but it seems fourth year is going to be more complicated, what with more people trying to be his minions, the Ministry intent on using him, Quidditch canceled, and revelations coming out about his personal life that Harry doesn’t care for. Oh, and the Ministry wants him to grant permission as Lord Slytherin to hold a death tournament at Hogwarts. Harry doesn’t see why he should do that.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” fics, chaptered stories being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. This will probably have five chapters or so. This is a sequel to “Confusion Is Mine, Saith the Lord,” as requested by several people, and part of “This Lordship Business” series. Read the first part, or this won’t make sense. Like that first part, the title here is a play on a Bible quote.
Thou Shalt Have No Tournaments Before Me
“Why do you put the slippery stuff on the broom handle? It makes it harder to hang on. The broom shines, though. Is that what you want? Do you want the broom to light up and show you the way at night? Can you not use spells? I thought you could use spells. Why do you put the slippery stuff on the broom?”
Harry laughs and spirals towards the ground. He and Oliver have been doing a wicked practice for the last hour, and every one of Harry’s muscles aches.
But Ahalam, the snake Sirius got him—Harry still can’t believe Sirius got him a snake—is making it more bearable, clinging to the broom as they fly and chattering.
“The slippery stuff is called beeswax,” Harry explains, as he lifts Ahalam off the broom and coils him on his shoulder. The snake settles himself with an excited little wriggle. He’s the most cheerful snake Harry has ever met (not that he has a lot of experience with snakes, and angry Slytherins probably don’t count). “It polishes the broom handle and makes it last better.”
“Oh. Are brooms in danger of dying? Do brooms die? Does wood die?” Ahalam extends his tongue in the direction of the Firebolt. “Do you think that it would last longer if you would talk to it?”
Harry laughs again. He’s been doing that more this summer than he can ever remember doing during a summer. In fact, he thinks that he might be laughing more now than he ever has in his life.
“Excellent, Harry!” Oliver hops off his own Nimbus and gives Harry a serious nod. “But you should remember that Bludgers in an actual game will be faster. And you need to remember to imagine the Chaser pattern.”
“I don’t have to imagine it, Oliver,” Harry points out. “You enchanted those branches to run the Chaser patterns.”
“For me, not for you. I wasn’t working seriously on distracting you. When I do, I want you to remember that you should focus enough on them to not bump into one, but not enough to distract you from the game. And you should think hard about who you want to be Keeper after me. McLaggen has potential, but he’s a prat. And—”
“I’m not the Captain, though, Oliver, remember? That’s Angelina.”
“She’ll need your help. You’re going to be good at running plays and putting together strategies after this summer.”
“I am?” Harry asks in confusion.
“You are. It’s another thing we’re taking on.”
Harry ducks his head to hide both his groan and his smile as Oliver launches into another Quidditch-focused lecture.
Still the best summer.
*
“Harry! Happy birthday!”
Harry hugs Hermione enthusiastically as she leaps out of the Floo with Ron right behind her. Ron laughs and hugs him, too, and then proceeds to drag him towards the table, where an enormous birthday cake is waiting.
“Blimey, mate, I think you have more gifts than you did at Christmas!”
Harry grimaces a little. He assumed that the presents he got on the train were early birthday ones, because most of his “followers” wouldn’t be seeing him over the summer hols. But no, it turns out they were, what, “thank you for acting like Lord Slytherin” gifts or something, because the table in the Woods’ kitchen is piled high with more of them.
It’s not that Harry’s not grateful. He feels warm inside when he looks at the gifts. But he’s not Dudley. He doesn’t need these, and it feels a little unfair that people are spending all this money on him just for something he would have done anyway.
“Sit down and stop pouting so we can eat the cake, Harry.”
Harry starts and looks at Ron, who winks at him and then pushes him towards the table. It seems that Ron knows exactly what Harry’s thinking, and sympathizes, and also has no patience for it.
The cake is a towering thing that Mrs. Wood baked. (Mrs. Weasley will also bake him one, but it’ll be at the Burrow. Harry will be going over there for a celebration in a few days, to be combined with Ginny’s birthday). It’s made of so much chocolate that Harry drools just looking at it, and cream, and has sweets festooned all over it, and just makes him smile as much as the gifts do.
“Thanks, Mrs. Wood,” he tells her.
“I told you to call me Melinda, dear.”
Harry gives her a tremulous smile—it’s still weird to know that Oliver’s parents are so welcoming to him—and then they sit down in front of the cake and the gifts.
The first few that he opens make Harry laugh. They’re from his Slytherin “followers,” and they’re all books on various aspects of language, history, and defensive magic. They so obviously think that Harry is going to die before he reaches adulthood. Or die because he doesn’t know history. Or something.
“I want to read them,” Hermione says.
Harry hands them across the table, and then reaches for the gift from Hagrid.
“That one smells of small animal!” announces Ahalam. He’s been coiled around Harry’s neck, asleep, for the past hour, which is the only reason that he hasn’t been talking Harry’s ear off so far. “I want to eat it! What is it? Open it, open it, open it!
“You’re the weirdest snake,” Harry tells him, and ignores the way that Ron and even Hermione flinch a little at the Parseltongue. The Woods have got used to it.
“I am not weird for caring about food. Open it, open it, open it!
Harry shakes his head and opens it. He’s not surprised when it turns out to be alive, since Ahalam did say it smelled like that, but he’s a little surprised that Hagrid would give him a pet. He already gave Harry Hedwig.
Harry lifts the cage and eyes the small creature inside. It immediately sifts up and reaches towards the side of the cage. It appears to be a mole, he thinks, at least at first. But it’s bigger, and the fur is blacker, and it has brighter, clearer eyes.
Hermione gives a little shriek. “Harry, that’s a Niffler!”
Harry laughs aloud. Trust Hagrid to get him a pet like this.
It doesn’t take him longer than a moment to notice that the Woods look less than thrilled. Mrs. Wood clears her throat. “Harry, dear…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him loose in the house,” Harry says, and carefully reaches into the cage, which is covered with humming charms. At least Hagrid got someone to help him with the magic that would keep the Niffler contained. He strokes the black fur, and the Niffler cuddles closer to his hand, a rusty rumble coming out of it. Harry can’t remember learning in Care of Magical Creatures that they purr, but he supposes they sort of do.
Then the Niffler reaches up and tries to bite at Ahalam, who has come down Harry’s arm to flick his tongue at it.
“I do not want to eat it. It is rude. Perhaps it would make me rude if I ate it. I do not like being rude. I like being polite. What is it? What does it eat? Does it eat snakes? If it eats snakes, then you should let it go outside so that it can—”
Harry tunes Ahalam out the way he sometimes down with Hermione or the twins, and says, “I think that he’s trying to bite Ahalam because of the shine to his scales. Does anyone know a charm to make him less shiny?”
Mrs. Wood nods and casts one, and Ahalam wriggles a little as his scales turn a darker green color and stop glinting so much. The Niffler loses interest and accepts a bit of cake that Harry gives it, breaking off a piece near the side where it won’t be as obvious.
“That thing gets to eat cake before we do?” Ron looks pained.
“He isn’t that thing, he’s a pet,” Harry objects. He can’t stop smiling. He knows Nifflers are destructive, but it’s not like he’ll let this one run around unsupervised, and he knows the perfect name for him. “His name is Salazar.”
Everyone at the table stares at him. Harry ignores them and feeds Salazar another piece of cake.
“Why that—name?” Mrs. Wood finally asks.
“Because I think Salazar Slytherin was probably just as destructive as he could be,” Harry says.
He has other, private motives that he isn’t going to name, although from the wise way Hermione glances at him, she might be catching onto them. Harry doesn’t intend to glorify the Slytherin legacy or act as though he thinks Salazar Slytherin was right for hating Muggleborns. Calling his cute, destructive pet by that name is a way of undermining the idea that Harry might agree with that.
“Salazar he is, then,” Oliver says, after exchanging a glance with his father and giving a bracing nod, as if he likes the notion once he gets used to it. “Go on, open this one. And don’t tell the Slytherins about it.” He nudges a package with his name on it towards Harry.
Harry chuckles a little as he tears the package open. Oliver is paranoid as hell about the Slytherins learning any Gryffindor Quidditch team secrets. It’s the reason that Theo and Daphne and the other Slytherins Harry is closer to aren’t over at the Woods’ house today.
But Harry will have plenty of chances to see them, and they can let him know at any time if they’re suffering because of their families or anything else. Harry has sternly told them that, and he’s pretty sure they listened.
He gasps a little when he finds a complete set of Quidditch balls in the package Oliver got him, with the box shrunken so that it wasn’t as easy to recognize. “Oliver! Oh my God! This must have been so expensive!”
“I paid for it,” Mr. Wood interjects. He beams at Harry. “You’re the most talented player my Ollie’s ever worked with, he tells me. We have to encourage that talent! I want Britain to win the Quidditch World Cup one of these days!”
Harry smiles and ducks his head as he listens to Hermione and Ron bicker about how irresponsible Hagrid was to get him Salazar. There are their gifts to come, and one from Sirius, and one from Professor Lupin, and others, and…
Harry has just never been as happy as he has been lately. It’s like learning to do it all over again.
*
“Harry, the Minister is here to see you.”
Harry thought for sure he must have mistaken what Mrs. Wood said, because he couldn’t think of why the Minister for Magic would come to see him. But no, it really is Minister Fudge, who met Harry at the Leaky Cauldron last summer, standing in the middle of the Woods’ living room and staring at a moving picture of Mr. Wood on a Nimbus when he played as a Chaser.
“Er, hi, Minister Fudge,” Harry says, blinking at him. “How are you?”
“Harry!” The Minister spins around and advances on him, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry lets his be shaken. He thinks trying to avoid it wouldn’t do him any good, anyway. “Very well, very well, thank you!” He winks at Harry as he herds him towards a chair in the corner of the Woods’ drawing room. He’s not as good at herding as Daphne or Theo. “Do excuse me not calling you Lord Slytherin, I feel that we’re such old friends that I couldn’t!”
“I don’t mind,” Harry says as he sits down on his chair and watches Minister Fudge sit on a huge wingback chair near the fireplace. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem quite real to me anyway.” He would have said it was silly with most other people, but he doesn’t trust the Minister enough to do that. He might try to treat Harry like a child if Harry said it, and that could hurt the people who depend on Harry for protection.
Minister Fudge chortles. “Yes, I can understand that. Coming into your Lordship so young!” He clasps his hands in front of him and sighs a little. “It’s a done thing now, of course, but I do wonder if you thought about it before you did it?”
Harry shrugs. “I didn’t think I had much choice, sir. There were too many problems at Hogwarts that needed fixing.”
“Ah, ah, yes, yes, I see,” Minister Fudge says, nodding his head, although Harry doubts that he does see. “It’s about Hogwarts that I’ve come to speak to you.”
“Sir?”
“Well, do you see, we at the Ministry intend to hold a little entertainment this year at Hogwarts.” Fudge winks at him and holds a finger to his lips. “Not something I can talk in detail about, not yet, it’s very hush-hush! But we think it’ll make a decent follow-up to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Did you catch the people who floated those Muggles around at the Cup, sir?” Harry asks. He and Oliver and the Woods of course went, but they left early, before any of the terrible things happened. Oliver was mad to get Harry back to the house and have him try out Wronski Feints.
“I’m afraid not, but you don’t have to worry about them, Harry! They’re just random malcontents, not real Death Eaters or the like. There’s none of those left.”
Harry feels like he knows better. But it wouldn’t do any good to say that to the Minister. He just nods, and Fudge looks satisfied.
“Now,” Fudge says, and leans forwards and beams at Harry, “there’s just a tiny little matter of needing your permission to hold the entertainment at Hogwarts. Or rather, Lord Slytherin’s permission. It’s a formality, nothing more, and I do believe that the last time there was a Lord Slytherin, he granted permission without stopping to think about it. But we need it.”
“I—what kind of entertainment is it, sir? And why do you need my permission?”
“Oh, because you’re an underage Lord Slytherin and at Hogwarts.” Fudge winks at him again. “It’s just like asking your permission to come and hold the entertainment in your home, you see. And a lot of your followers are there as well, which makes it a little more complicated. You see?”
Harry doesn’t think he does see, but he did notice that he didn’t get an answer to his first question. “What kind of entertainment is it, sir?”
“Oh, now, Harry, it’s very hush-hush—”
“I don’t think I can just give you permission without knowing, though, sir,” Harry says firmly. “What if it’s something dangerous and people can sneak in and hurt students the way they hurt that Muggle family?”
Fudge hesitates, searching his eyes. Harry looks back calmly. Fudge has nothing on Theo when he’s in a mood, or, for that matter, Oliver when he thinks Harry needs to practice more.
“Well, there are going to be lots of people coming,” Fudge says at last, forcing a smile. “That much is true. But I don’t think they’ll be spending a lot of time with your followers. I mean, not most of them. Some will. But they won’t be the dangerous ones. The dangers are entirely to people who willingly volunteer.”
“What is it, sir?”
“Now, Harry—”
“I won’t tell anyone else, sir. I’ll make a promise that I won’t if you want me to.” Harry knows even as he says that that it’s kind of a risky thing to say. He can think of at least five people, starting with Hermione, who would be furious with him. “But I need to know.”
Fudge straightens up and sighs as though Harry is being very stupid about all of this. “It’s the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry, as a matter of fact.”
“The what, sir? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” Fudge says, looking happy that he’s able to lecture Harry about something. Harry wonders idly if Fudge ever wanted to be a Hogwarts professor. “It was discontinued a few centuries ago. Only adults can participate in it, of course. The Tasks are dangerous, and the Champions go through three of them and the one who wins the most points also wins the Tournament. We’re going to have three magical schools competing in this one, of course—hence the name Tri-Wizard Tournament—”
The way he winks at Harry is really obnoxious. Ahalam, who is upstairs in the guest room right now because Harry doesn’t think he should bring a snake around the Minister, would have something to say about that.
“And those schools, besides Hogwarts, are going to be Beauxbatons, from France, and Durmstrang, the premiere school in Northern Europe. One Champion a school, of course. It’ll be great for building inter-school unity.”
“How dangerous are the Tasks, sir?”
“They used to be very dangerous,” Fudge says, and tries to look solemn for a second, which doesn’t seem to be a natural expression for his face. “But we’ve changed them so that they’re only moderately dangerous now. And we’ll have a magical artifact select the Champions, so no one can trick or bribe their way in and then fail because they’re not up to the rigors of the Tasks.”
“By fail, do you mean die?”
Fudge hesitates for a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose that would be right.”
Harry sighs. “Sir.”
“But we’ve changed the Tasks, like I told you! And from what I understand, all of your followers are far too young to participate in the Tournament anyway.”
Harry is sort of glad that Oliver won’t be at the school this year. “Sir, I need to know what the Tasks are. That’s the only way I would feel comfortable giving my permission for the Tournament to be held there.” Harry feels sort of strange thinking they need his permission at all, but this sounds like another thing that being Lord Slytherin can protect students from, so he’ll do it.
“Well, Harry…we want it to be a surprise…”
“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone, sir.”
Fudge bites his lip and fidgets in his chair. Harry thinks of the way that Sirius looked more dependable and trustworthy when he was fidgeting in the Healers’ custody and wonders idly how Fudge got elected.
“Well,” Fudge says at last, with a huge sigh and a nod at Harry to signal that he’s giving him an equally huge concession, “the first Task is traditionally having the Champions face some sort of dangerous beast. One Tournament in the past used Nundus. That, of course, is completely unacceptable. The expense alone! We’ll be using dragons instead.”
“Dragons,” Harry says faintly. All he can think of is Norbert, grown up.
“That’s right.” Fudge nods eagerly. “And the second Task is a situation in which the Champions need to seek and find someone lost. We’ll take a person dear to each of them and hide them at the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts. Of course, they’ll be completely safe.
“And for the Final Task, we’ll have a maze that they have to get through. Hagrid—the groundskeeper at Hogwarts, I’m not sure a Lord would associate with him, of course—has already promised us a few Acromantulas for that one.”
Harry takes a deep breath. He’s thinking of how he and Ron barely escaped from the Acromantulas in the forest their second year. And he’s thinking of how both basilisks and dragons are XXXXX creatures in the Care of Magical Creatures book.
Facing a dragon would probably be less dangerous than facing a basilisk, of course. But that doesn’t matter. What does is that it would be horribly dangerous.
“Sir, I can’t in good conscience do this.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be required to help with set-up of the Tasks, Harry, of course not! We understand that you have classes. We might ask for a bit of funding from Hogwarts for—”
“I can’t give permission for the Tournament to be held there, sir. I just can’t.”
Fudge gapes at him. Harry looks resolutely back. Fudge’s face turns red, and Harry shifts in his seat. He hates people being upset with him, and he hates the way that Fudge looks like Uncle Vernon right now, but he’s still resolute.
“But that’s—that’s—” Fudge splutters. “What are we going to tell people? The Headmistress of Beauxbatons and the Headmaster of Durmstrang are already preparing their students to spend most of the year at Hogwarts!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry says, which is sort of true. He doesn’t want the Tournament to happen, but he’s sorry that it will upset people. He’s going to do it anyway, though. “Maybe you can hold some other event for international magical cooperation at the school.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Harry,” Fudge says, and he tries to sound gentle, but the impatient tone in his voice ruins it. “Very much a child. I told you, we’ve moderated the Tasks! There won’t be any danger!”
“Dragons are still dangerous.” Harry’s certain of that. Less certain about the other two Tasks, which might be all right, but dragons are the first one, and he can’t allow that.
“You don’t understand,” Fudge practically wails. “We’ve spent all this money on it—”
“But you said it was hush-hush, sir. So people won’t be disappointed if you never announce it. They’ll never know.”
“The other magical communities will be very disappointed that it was the will of a stupid little boy that kept the Tournament from happening,” Fudge snarls.
Harry lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t need to listen to that from you, sir.”
“Why? Because you’re Lord Slytherin?”
“No, because it’s rude,” Harry says. He stands up. “If you think that you can just go ahead and do it anyway, then do it. You said that this was just a formality. But you don’t have my permission, and if you go ahead and do the Tournament at Hogwarts anyway, then I’ll tell people how much I hate the idea.”
Fudge’s eyes bulge out. “Don’t say that!”
“Then don’t hold the Tournament.”
They stare at each other for a minute or so, and Fudge looks away first. Harry sighs and goes upstairs.
*
“What did the stupid man want? Was it something very stupid? Are you going to agree to it? I don’t think you should agree to it, because it’s probably stupid.”
Harry smiles and bows his head over Ahalam, who’s curled up in the corner of Harry’s pillow that he likes lying on. “Yes, it was stupid. It would have involved putting students in danger and bringing dragons to the school.”
“I would like to see dragons. But do they eat snakes? I would want to know that before I went near one. Do you have a sinew-thing about dragons? Could you show me the images and explain them to me?”
Harry chuckles a little, stroking Ahalam’s scales. Ahalam insists on calling books “sinew-things” because of the sinew that he can smell binding some of them, and he claims that he likes to look at the pictures, although he always wants Harry to tell him what they mean. “Yes, I have a book with pictures of dragons. Let me pick it up.” He rolls over and reaches for a book that Marcus Flint, of all people, sent him. Harry sent a polite thank-you note, but he’s not really sure why Flint would bother. He finally managed to pass his NEWTS and won’t be at the school anymore, either, so he can’t have any need for Harry.
“Dragons! They are very beautiful. Could you tame one? Could you get a small one that would breathe just enough fire to warm me up? Can you do the Warming Charm on the blankets? The last one you made has faded.”
Harry draws his wand and casts the charm. It still feels weird to do magic in the summers, but the whole Wood house is exempt from the Trace, so it’s all right.
As he explains the pictures to Ahalam, he turns the idea of the Tournament over and over in his head, as well as Minister Fudge thinking he has to get permission from Harry. It’s strange, the whole thing, everything from Fudge taking the “Lord Slytherin” business seriously enough to ask permission to wanting to have a Tournament that students can enter in the first place.
Harry kind of thinks his refusal won’t matter, and the Tournament will go ahead, anyway. But he’ll object and tell people he had nothing to do with it if it does.
And if his refusing to give permission really does keep the Tournament from going ahead…
Harry narrows his eyes. No one should be in danger. And I know that people like Fred and George would try to enter even if they aren’t supposed to.
No, I won’t allow it. It’s stupid.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Mostly gen, mentions of Ron/Hermione
Content Notes: Angst, present tense, humor, minor violence, AU after second year, “Lord Slytherin” Harry
Wordcount: This part 4200
Summary: Sequel to “Confusion Is Mine, Saith the Lord.” Harry has a great summer, but it seems fourth year is going to be more complicated, what with more people trying to be his minions, the Ministry intent on using him, Quidditch canceled, and revelations coming out about his personal life that Harry doesn’t care for. Oh, and the Ministry wants him to grant permission as Lord Slytherin to hold a death tournament at Hogwarts. Harry doesn’t see why he should do that.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” fics, chaptered stories being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. This will probably have five chapters or so. This is a sequel to “Confusion Is Mine, Saith the Lord,” as requested by several people, and part of “This Lordship Business” series. Read the first part, or this won’t make sense. Like that first part, the title here is a play on a Bible quote.
Thou Shalt Have No Tournaments Before Me
“Why do you put the slippery stuff on the broom handle? It makes it harder to hang on. The broom shines, though. Is that what you want? Do you want the broom to light up and show you the way at night? Can you not use spells? I thought you could use spells. Why do you put the slippery stuff on the broom?”
Harry laughs and spirals towards the ground. He and Oliver have been doing a wicked practice for the last hour, and every one of Harry’s muscles aches.
But Ahalam, the snake Sirius got him—Harry still can’t believe Sirius got him a snake—is making it more bearable, clinging to the broom as they fly and chattering.
“The slippery stuff is called beeswax,” Harry explains, as he lifts Ahalam off the broom and coils him on his shoulder. The snake settles himself with an excited little wriggle. He’s the most cheerful snake Harry has ever met (not that he has a lot of experience with snakes, and angry Slytherins probably don’t count). “It polishes the broom handle and makes it last better.”
“Oh. Are brooms in danger of dying? Do brooms die? Does wood die?” Ahalam extends his tongue in the direction of the Firebolt. “Do you think that it would last longer if you would talk to it?”
Harry laughs again. He’s been doing that more this summer than he can ever remember doing during a summer. In fact, he thinks that he might be laughing more now than he ever has in his life.
“Excellent, Harry!” Oliver hops off his own Nimbus and gives Harry a serious nod. “But you should remember that Bludgers in an actual game will be faster. And you need to remember to imagine the Chaser pattern.”
“I don’t have to imagine it, Oliver,” Harry points out. “You enchanted those branches to run the Chaser patterns.”
“For me, not for you. I wasn’t working seriously on distracting you. When I do, I want you to remember that you should focus enough on them to not bump into one, but not enough to distract you from the game. And you should think hard about who you want to be Keeper after me. McLaggen has potential, but he’s a prat. And—”
“I’m not the Captain, though, Oliver, remember? That’s Angelina.”
“She’ll need your help. You’re going to be good at running plays and putting together strategies after this summer.”
“I am?” Harry asks in confusion.
“You are. It’s another thing we’re taking on.”
Harry ducks his head to hide both his groan and his smile as Oliver launches into another Quidditch-focused lecture.
Still the best summer.
*
“Harry! Happy birthday!”
Harry hugs Hermione enthusiastically as she leaps out of the Floo with Ron right behind her. Ron laughs and hugs him, too, and then proceeds to drag him towards the table, where an enormous birthday cake is waiting.
“Blimey, mate, I think you have more gifts than you did at Christmas!”
Harry grimaces a little. He assumed that the presents he got on the train were early birthday ones, because most of his “followers” wouldn’t be seeing him over the summer hols. But no, it turns out they were, what, “thank you for acting like Lord Slytherin” gifts or something, because the table in the Woods’ kitchen is piled high with more of them.
It’s not that Harry’s not grateful. He feels warm inside when he looks at the gifts. But he’s not Dudley. He doesn’t need these, and it feels a little unfair that people are spending all this money on him just for something he would have done anyway.
“Sit down and stop pouting so we can eat the cake, Harry.”
Harry starts and looks at Ron, who winks at him and then pushes him towards the table. It seems that Ron knows exactly what Harry’s thinking, and sympathizes, and also has no patience for it.
The cake is a towering thing that Mrs. Wood baked. (Mrs. Weasley will also bake him one, but it’ll be at the Burrow. Harry will be going over there for a celebration in a few days, to be combined with Ginny’s birthday). It’s made of so much chocolate that Harry drools just looking at it, and cream, and has sweets festooned all over it, and just makes him smile as much as the gifts do.
“Thanks, Mrs. Wood,” he tells her.
“I told you to call me Melinda, dear.”
Harry gives her a tremulous smile—it’s still weird to know that Oliver’s parents are so welcoming to him—and then they sit down in front of the cake and the gifts.
The first few that he opens make Harry laugh. They’re from his Slytherin “followers,” and they’re all books on various aspects of language, history, and defensive magic. They so obviously think that Harry is going to die before he reaches adulthood. Or die because he doesn’t know history. Or something.
“I want to read them,” Hermione says.
Harry hands them across the table, and then reaches for the gift from Hagrid.
“That one smells of small animal!” announces Ahalam. He’s been coiled around Harry’s neck, asleep, for the past hour, which is the only reason that he hasn’t been talking Harry’s ear off so far. “I want to eat it! What is it? Open it, open it, open it!
“You’re the weirdest snake,” Harry tells him, and ignores the way that Ron and even Hermione flinch a little at the Parseltongue. The Woods have got used to it.
“I am not weird for caring about food. Open it, open it, open it!
Harry shakes his head and opens it. He’s not surprised when it turns out to be alive, since Ahalam did say it smelled like that, but he’s a little surprised that Hagrid would give him a pet. He already gave Harry Hedwig.
Harry lifts the cage and eyes the small creature inside. It immediately sifts up and reaches towards the side of the cage. It appears to be a mole, he thinks, at least at first. But it’s bigger, and the fur is blacker, and it has brighter, clearer eyes.
Hermione gives a little shriek. “Harry, that’s a Niffler!”
Harry laughs aloud. Trust Hagrid to get him a pet like this.
It doesn’t take him longer than a moment to notice that the Woods look less than thrilled. Mrs. Wood clears her throat. “Harry, dear…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him loose in the house,” Harry says, and carefully reaches into the cage, which is covered with humming charms. At least Hagrid got someone to help him with the magic that would keep the Niffler contained. He strokes the black fur, and the Niffler cuddles closer to his hand, a rusty rumble coming out of it. Harry can’t remember learning in Care of Magical Creatures that they purr, but he supposes they sort of do.
Then the Niffler reaches up and tries to bite at Ahalam, who has come down Harry’s arm to flick his tongue at it.
“I do not want to eat it. It is rude. Perhaps it would make me rude if I ate it. I do not like being rude. I like being polite. What is it? What does it eat? Does it eat snakes? If it eats snakes, then you should let it go outside so that it can—”
Harry tunes Ahalam out the way he sometimes down with Hermione or the twins, and says, “I think that he’s trying to bite Ahalam because of the shine to his scales. Does anyone know a charm to make him less shiny?”
Mrs. Wood nods and casts one, and Ahalam wriggles a little as his scales turn a darker green color and stop glinting so much. The Niffler loses interest and accepts a bit of cake that Harry gives it, breaking off a piece near the side where it won’t be as obvious.
“That thing gets to eat cake before we do?” Ron looks pained.
“He isn’t that thing, he’s a pet,” Harry objects. He can’t stop smiling. He knows Nifflers are destructive, but it’s not like he’ll let this one run around unsupervised, and he knows the perfect name for him. “His name is Salazar.”
Everyone at the table stares at him. Harry ignores them and feeds Salazar another piece of cake.
“Why that—name?” Mrs. Wood finally asks.
“Because I think Salazar Slytherin was probably just as destructive as he could be,” Harry says.
He has other, private motives that he isn’t going to name, although from the wise way Hermione glances at him, she might be catching onto them. Harry doesn’t intend to glorify the Slytherin legacy or act as though he thinks Salazar Slytherin was right for hating Muggleborns. Calling his cute, destructive pet by that name is a way of undermining the idea that Harry might agree with that.
“Salazar he is, then,” Oliver says, after exchanging a glance with his father and giving a bracing nod, as if he likes the notion once he gets used to it. “Go on, open this one. And don’t tell the Slytherins about it.” He nudges a package with his name on it towards Harry.
Harry chuckles a little as he tears the package open. Oliver is paranoid as hell about the Slytherins learning any Gryffindor Quidditch team secrets. It’s the reason that Theo and Daphne and the other Slytherins Harry is closer to aren’t over at the Woods’ house today.
But Harry will have plenty of chances to see them, and they can let him know at any time if they’re suffering because of their families or anything else. Harry has sternly told them that, and he’s pretty sure they listened.
He gasps a little when he finds a complete set of Quidditch balls in the package Oliver got him, with the box shrunken so that it wasn’t as easy to recognize. “Oliver! Oh my God! This must have been so expensive!”
“I paid for it,” Mr. Wood interjects. He beams at Harry. “You’re the most talented player my Ollie’s ever worked with, he tells me. We have to encourage that talent! I want Britain to win the Quidditch World Cup one of these days!”
Harry smiles and ducks his head as he listens to Hermione and Ron bicker about how irresponsible Hagrid was to get him Salazar. There are their gifts to come, and one from Sirius, and one from Professor Lupin, and others, and…
Harry has just never been as happy as he has been lately. It’s like learning to do it all over again.
*
“Harry, the Minister is here to see you.”
Harry thought for sure he must have mistaken what Mrs. Wood said, because he couldn’t think of why the Minister for Magic would come to see him. But no, it really is Minister Fudge, who met Harry at the Leaky Cauldron last summer, standing in the middle of the Woods’ living room and staring at a moving picture of Mr. Wood on a Nimbus when he played as a Chaser.
“Er, hi, Minister Fudge,” Harry says, blinking at him. “How are you?”
“Harry!” The Minister spins around and advances on him, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. Harry lets his be shaken. He thinks trying to avoid it wouldn’t do him any good, anyway. “Very well, very well, thank you!” He winks at Harry as he herds him towards a chair in the corner of the Woods’ drawing room. He’s not as good at herding as Daphne or Theo. “Do excuse me not calling you Lord Slytherin, I feel that we’re such old friends that I couldn’t!”
“I don’t mind,” Harry says as he sits down on his chair and watches Minister Fudge sit on a huge wingback chair near the fireplace. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem quite real to me anyway.” He would have said it was silly with most other people, but he doesn’t trust the Minister enough to do that. He might try to treat Harry like a child if Harry said it, and that could hurt the people who depend on Harry for protection.
Minister Fudge chortles. “Yes, I can understand that. Coming into your Lordship so young!” He clasps his hands in front of him and sighs a little. “It’s a done thing now, of course, but I do wonder if you thought about it before you did it?”
Harry shrugs. “I didn’t think I had much choice, sir. There were too many problems at Hogwarts that needed fixing.”
“Ah, ah, yes, yes, I see,” Minister Fudge says, nodding his head, although Harry doubts that he does see. “It’s about Hogwarts that I’ve come to speak to you.”
“Sir?”
“Well, do you see, we at the Ministry intend to hold a little entertainment this year at Hogwarts.” Fudge winks at him and holds a finger to his lips. “Not something I can talk in detail about, not yet, it’s very hush-hush! But we think it’ll make a decent follow-up to the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Did you catch the people who floated those Muggles around at the Cup, sir?” Harry asks. He and Oliver and the Woods of course went, but they left early, before any of the terrible things happened. Oliver was mad to get Harry back to the house and have him try out Wronski Feints.
“I’m afraid not, but you don’t have to worry about them, Harry! They’re just random malcontents, not real Death Eaters or the like. There’s none of those left.”
Harry feels like he knows better. But it wouldn’t do any good to say that to the Minister. He just nods, and Fudge looks satisfied.
“Now,” Fudge says, and leans forwards and beams at Harry, “there’s just a tiny little matter of needing your permission to hold the entertainment at Hogwarts. Or rather, Lord Slytherin’s permission. It’s a formality, nothing more, and I do believe that the last time there was a Lord Slytherin, he granted permission without stopping to think about it. But we need it.”
“I—what kind of entertainment is it, sir? And why do you need my permission?”
“Oh, because you’re an underage Lord Slytherin and at Hogwarts.” Fudge winks at him again. “It’s just like asking your permission to come and hold the entertainment in your home, you see. And a lot of your followers are there as well, which makes it a little more complicated. You see?”
Harry doesn’t think he does see, but he did notice that he didn’t get an answer to his first question. “What kind of entertainment is it, sir?”
“Oh, now, Harry, it’s very hush-hush—”
“I don’t think I can just give you permission without knowing, though, sir,” Harry says firmly. “What if it’s something dangerous and people can sneak in and hurt students the way they hurt that Muggle family?”
Fudge hesitates, searching his eyes. Harry looks back calmly. Fudge has nothing on Theo when he’s in a mood, or, for that matter, Oliver when he thinks Harry needs to practice more.
“Well, there are going to be lots of people coming,” Fudge says at last, forcing a smile. “That much is true. But I don’t think they’ll be spending a lot of time with your followers. I mean, not most of them. Some will. But they won’t be the dangerous ones. The dangers are entirely to people who willingly volunteer.”
“What is it, sir?”
“Now, Harry—”
“I won’t tell anyone else, sir. I’ll make a promise that I won’t if you want me to.” Harry knows even as he says that that it’s kind of a risky thing to say. He can think of at least five people, starting with Hermione, who would be furious with him. “But I need to know.”
Fudge straightens up and sighs as though Harry is being very stupid about all of this. “It’s the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry, as a matter of fact.”
“The what, sir? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” Fudge says, looking happy that he’s able to lecture Harry about something. Harry wonders idly if Fudge ever wanted to be a Hogwarts professor. “It was discontinued a few centuries ago. Only adults can participate in it, of course. The Tasks are dangerous, and the Champions go through three of them and the one who wins the most points also wins the Tournament. We’re going to have three magical schools competing in this one, of course—hence the name Tri-Wizard Tournament—”
The way he winks at Harry is really obnoxious. Ahalam, who is upstairs in the guest room right now because Harry doesn’t think he should bring a snake around the Minister, would have something to say about that.
“And those schools, besides Hogwarts, are going to be Beauxbatons, from France, and Durmstrang, the premiere school in Northern Europe. One Champion a school, of course. It’ll be great for building inter-school unity.”
“How dangerous are the Tasks, sir?”
“They used to be very dangerous,” Fudge says, and tries to look solemn for a second, which doesn’t seem to be a natural expression for his face. “But we’ve changed them so that they’re only moderately dangerous now. And we’ll have a magical artifact select the Champions, so no one can trick or bribe their way in and then fail because they’re not up to the rigors of the Tasks.”
“By fail, do you mean die?”
Fudge hesitates for a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose that would be right.”
Harry sighs. “Sir.”
“But we’ve changed the Tasks, like I told you! And from what I understand, all of your followers are far too young to participate in the Tournament anyway.”
Harry is sort of glad that Oliver won’t be at the school this year. “Sir, I need to know what the Tasks are. That’s the only way I would feel comfortable giving my permission for the Tournament to be held there.” Harry feels sort of strange thinking they need his permission at all, but this sounds like another thing that being Lord Slytherin can protect students from, so he’ll do it.
“Well, Harry…we want it to be a surprise…”
“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone, sir.”
Fudge bites his lip and fidgets in his chair. Harry thinks of the way that Sirius looked more dependable and trustworthy when he was fidgeting in the Healers’ custody and wonders idly how Fudge got elected.
“Well,” Fudge says at last, with a huge sigh and a nod at Harry to signal that he’s giving him an equally huge concession, “the first Task is traditionally having the Champions face some sort of dangerous beast. One Tournament in the past used Nundus. That, of course, is completely unacceptable. The expense alone! We’ll be using dragons instead.”
“Dragons,” Harry says faintly. All he can think of is Norbert, grown up.
“That’s right.” Fudge nods eagerly. “And the second Task is a situation in which the Champions need to seek and find someone lost. We’ll take a person dear to each of them and hide them at the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts. Of course, they’ll be completely safe.
“And for the Final Task, we’ll have a maze that they have to get through. Hagrid—the groundskeeper at Hogwarts, I’m not sure a Lord would associate with him, of course—has already promised us a few Acromantulas for that one.”
Harry takes a deep breath. He’s thinking of how he and Ron barely escaped from the Acromantulas in the forest their second year. And he’s thinking of how both basilisks and dragons are XXXXX creatures in the Care of Magical Creatures book.
Facing a dragon would probably be less dangerous than facing a basilisk, of course. But that doesn’t matter. What does is that it would be horribly dangerous.
“Sir, I can’t in good conscience do this.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be required to help with set-up of the Tasks, Harry, of course not! We understand that you have classes. We might ask for a bit of funding from Hogwarts for—”
“I can’t give permission for the Tournament to be held there, sir. I just can’t.”
Fudge gapes at him. Harry looks resolutely back. Fudge’s face turns red, and Harry shifts in his seat. He hates people being upset with him, and he hates the way that Fudge looks like Uncle Vernon right now, but he’s still resolute.
“But that’s—that’s—” Fudge splutters. “What are we going to tell people? The Headmistress of Beauxbatons and the Headmaster of Durmstrang are already preparing their students to spend most of the year at Hogwarts!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry says, which is sort of true. He doesn’t want the Tournament to happen, but he’s sorry that it will upset people. He’s going to do it anyway, though. “Maybe you can hold some other event for international magical cooperation at the school.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Harry,” Fudge says, and he tries to sound gentle, but the impatient tone in his voice ruins it. “Very much a child. I told you, we’ve moderated the Tasks! There won’t be any danger!”
“Dragons are still dangerous.” Harry’s certain of that. Less certain about the other two Tasks, which might be all right, but dragons are the first one, and he can’t allow that.
“You don’t understand,” Fudge practically wails. “We’ve spent all this money on it—”
“But you said it was hush-hush, sir. So people won’t be disappointed if you never announce it. They’ll never know.”
“The other magical communities will be very disappointed that it was the will of a stupid little boy that kept the Tournament from happening,” Fudge snarls.
Harry lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t need to listen to that from you, sir.”
“Why? Because you’re Lord Slytherin?”
“No, because it’s rude,” Harry says. He stands up. “If you think that you can just go ahead and do it anyway, then do it. You said that this was just a formality. But you don’t have my permission, and if you go ahead and do the Tournament at Hogwarts anyway, then I’ll tell people how much I hate the idea.”
Fudge’s eyes bulge out. “Don’t say that!”
“Then don’t hold the Tournament.”
They stare at each other for a minute or so, and Fudge looks away first. Harry sighs and goes upstairs.
*
“What did the stupid man want? Was it something very stupid? Are you going to agree to it? I don’t think you should agree to it, because it’s probably stupid.”
Harry smiles and bows his head over Ahalam, who’s curled up in the corner of Harry’s pillow that he likes lying on. “Yes, it was stupid. It would have involved putting students in danger and bringing dragons to the school.”
“I would like to see dragons. But do they eat snakes? I would want to know that before I went near one. Do you have a sinew-thing about dragons? Could you show me the images and explain them to me?”
Harry chuckles a little, stroking Ahalam’s scales. Ahalam insists on calling books “sinew-things” because of the sinew that he can smell binding some of them, and he claims that he likes to look at the pictures, although he always wants Harry to tell him what they mean. “Yes, I have a book with pictures of dragons. Let me pick it up.” He rolls over and reaches for a book that Marcus Flint, of all people, sent him. Harry sent a polite thank-you note, but he’s not really sure why Flint would bother. He finally managed to pass his NEWTS and won’t be at the school anymore, either, so he can’t have any need for Harry.
“Dragons! They are very beautiful. Could you tame one? Could you get a small one that would breathe just enough fire to warm me up? Can you do the Warming Charm on the blankets? The last one you made has faded.”
Harry draws his wand and casts the charm. It still feels weird to do magic in the summers, but the whole Wood house is exempt from the Trace, so it’s all right.
As he explains the pictures to Ahalam, he turns the idea of the Tournament over and over in his head, as well as Minister Fudge thinking he has to get permission from Harry. It’s strange, the whole thing, everything from Fudge taking the “Lord Slytherin” business seriously enough to ask permission to wanting to have a Tournament that students can enter in the first place.
Harry kind of thinks his refusal won’t matter, and the Tournament will go ahead, anyway. But he’ll object and tell people he had nothing to do with it if it does.
And if his refusing to give permission really does keep the Tournament from going ahead…
Harry narrows his eyes. No one should be in danger. And I know that people like Fred and George would try to enter even if they aren’t supposed to.
No, I won’t allow it. It’s stupid.