This work is a parody of J.K Rowling's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and it is not endorsed by either J.K. Rowling or her publishers. As a parody, this work is protected under the Fair Use Doctrine.
The characterizations in this work deviate significantly from the original, and this does not imply these characterizations exist in the original work. The author received no financial compensation or endorsements for the production of this work.
All characters in this story are fictional. This story depicts sexual acts between consenting minor males. This story is meant for entertainment purposes only and in no way reflects reality. Please be aware of local laws or ordinances that may prohibit the reading of such material.
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Despite the amazing time he spent with Ass Cleft and Diktor, Harry told no one. He wanted to savor the memories on his own without others asking for sordid details, details he grandly remembered, or making unnecessary and unwanted commentary. The two tournament champions, he understood, gave him a special gift for special reasons. He viewed not as something to be worn out in the open like a medal where time and weather would tarnish it.
A week later a note arrived from Foul stating Ass Cleft told her about the devious conditions of the challenge, and that Ass Cleft told her he informed her at Harry's behest. It never thanked him, but Harry knew it to be such a note. It did not matter, Ass Cleft and Diktor provided more than enough thanks.
Another week passed and life resumed it's normal monotony, although the students started to talk about the upcoming challenge with greater frequency. Early excitement began to mount. In the meanwhile, Ron carried on with dating Diktor over the objections of both Albus Dumbledore and Igor Krackhead. Dean switched boyfriends yet again. Séamus updated his secret list of sexual liaisons. He managed to keep it secret by writing it in a mishmash of English, Gaelic, and Latin, and then using a confundus spell on it. Neville and Harry continued to share meals together and time on their beds studying or talking. Only when no one seemed likely to interrupt them did they haul out their tadgers and whack them about. They never touched one another for reasons neither expressed. However, Harry loved the feel of Neville's body next to his.
"See this plant here?" Neville said and pointed to a picture in his book one afternoon. "It's called the mudskipper's wart."
The picture showed a nasty looking, irregularly shaped green tendrils covered over with what appeared to be small clumps of mud. Harry made a face at it.
"Some fish eat this so they can climb up on land to forage or go find another body of water. It somehow gives them oxygen in the blood to help them survive out of water," Neville told him and never mentioned Harry's expression. "This says a person who catches a fish on land that ate mudskipper's wart and then eats the fish raw will be able to breath underwater for hours. It's a reversal effect."
Harry scanned the text, grinned, and asked: "Oh, and where can we find the fish crawling around on land?"
"Says here... in Tanzania at Lake Rukwa. Not very close, is it?" Neville read and commented.
"Not really."
The normally shy young man threw him a fake frown.
"Think you might be up for some fugu, Harry? Puffer fish?"
"Why?" Harry cautiously inquired.
"Well, I read once that Japanese mahōtsukai..." Neville said the word in an effortless manner, and Harry's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Oh, quit it. It's what the Japanese called their witches and wizards."
"Right, yeah, because everyone knows that and how to pronounce it in Japanese like they've been speaking the bleeding language all their lives," Harry sarcastically replied through a smirk.
"You're jealousy is showing, Harry," Neville teased him in return.
Harry bumped his shoulder against his friend and fought back the urge to pin him to the bed and cover Neville's face with kisses.
"Anyway, a mahōtsukai can make sushi out of fugu, leaving in the poison, and then make you a zombie for a short while that can survive under water."
"And afterwards? Do they bring me back to life?"
"Can't quite remember if the book said they did," Neville mumbled as he focused on some invisible spot.
"I think I might need to be alive to be declared the winner. And why'd you think of that anyway?"
Neville shrugged and said: "Just thought the Merscots might not attack you if you're already dead... or at least mostly."
Harry thought about the answer for a moment and started to laugh.
"Come on, Harry, I'm trying to think of something to help you," the quiet Gryffindor exclaimed.
Harry leaned in a little harder against Neville, and Neville seemed to subconsciously respond in kind. A myriad of dirty thoughts ran through Harry's head that made his pants uncomfortable.
"I think it just goes to show how tricky of problem this is if it forces you off the runners," Harry responded through his chuckling.
"You can say that again. Every time I think of a new tactic, I immediately find five reasons why it won't work. It always comes down to, one, there's too many of them; two, working underwater is rough and a lot of spells dissipate in water; and three, you've got to both fight and hold onto something... in case whatever your heart's desire is is big. There's no single simple solution for this. At least not like you found with the dragon."
"Trust me, Neville: that was not a simple solution," Harry said. "There were a lot steps involved."
"I keep trying to break down this challenge, but I never know if I'm right. Get one thing wrong, and you're Merscot chum," Neville stated in a dour manner. "It just won't do to have anything happen to you... or any of the champions. Dumbledore can be such a git sometimes."
While he liked to hear Neville list him first, the studious young man also raised and interesting notion: "Neville, that's it! All we have to do is think like Dumbledore to solve this."
"That's not going to easy, Harry. Dumbledore is a genius, and he also completely mental. I think his brain works like twisting a corkscrew through Swiss cheese: it's full of turns and holes."
Harry burst out laughing at the analogy because he thought it rang absolutely true.
Neville snickered as well, but then added: "Simple and Dumbledore just don't go together."
That subdued the amusement since it held more truth than the first statement. Harry shifted around on the bed. His mind kept showing him images of Neville naked with an erection even though Harry never witnessed that specific combination; just the individual pieces at different times. It caused his willy to be in a constant state of various degrees of stiffness. Furthermore, the improbable notion they could outwit the headmaster dimmed his spirits. Facing off against a crazed genius would be daunting, and it proved the reason why the ancient wizard made a good foil for Lord Holdequart.
"Maybe we don't have to out-think Dumbledore," Harry mumbled. "Maybe we just need to see where his game is leading and bend the rules a little.
"You mean cheat?" Neville inquired in a semi-caustic fashion.
"No, I mean... look, we got called before the committee to answer questions about the dragon butt-plug, and Dumbledore got pretty bent out of shape that George helped me crack it."
"I don't care what anyone says about Fred and George: they're bleeding brilliant," the intelligent teenager intoned. "Ron seems to be the odd man out in that regard... not that I'm knocking your best mate, Harry, but... well, consider Charlie and Percy. I heard Bill was quite a good student, too."
"And so is Giney. Don't forget her," Harry remember the youngest of the Weasley clan. "But you know something, Ron's got other qualities his brothers and sister don't have. He's a great bloke to have around in a pinch when things go really, really sour. He panics in the most amazing ways, and it's usually pretty helpful."
"You just can't see anything bad in people, huh?"
"Ask me about Malfoy or Holdequart. Neville, I know bad when I see it, I just don't dwell on it. People like that usually dig their own graves after a while. You just have to give them room, a shovel, and time to do it," Harry explained his thinking.
Neville let his head lean over against Harry's and said: "I really could've used a friend like you when I was younger. My Gran, she's good to me, but... she never saw much in me. Thought I was a squab for the longest time. Then the whole breeder thing."
"You are no squab, Mister Longbottom. A late bloomer, sure. I mean, look at you now compared to when we first got here. You're turning into a fine piece of man! The boys are starting to look at you in a different way," Harry said in a low voice.
"Shut it, Harry. No one looks at me like that. I'm just that kid who hangs out at the greenhouses or sitting in the corner. I'm nothing special," Neville said and lifted his head.
Harry turned his face and saw a slightly sad expression on his friend. Once again he fought the urge to pull Neville to him and kiss him until he thought differently, but he still could not get a read on what Neville actually felt toward him. Once again, the friendship seemed too precious to waste on an ill-timed advance.
"That's where you're wrong, Neville. That's where you're very wrong," Harry said instead.
In potions class at the end of the week, Harry decided to call in more reinforcements. Professor Snape tended to start the weekend early, normally on Thursday morning, and by Friday he would crumple into a corner to get ready for the evening. Thus, the class found their assignment written sloppily on a blackboard and an unconscious professor lying half way into the supply closest.
"The git was probably drinking petrol," Ron commented as he wrote down the exercise for the day and page number where they would find the recipe in the textbook.
"Probably not strong enough for him. Bet he was sucking the poison from the basilisk fangs down in the Chamber," Hermione rumbled.
Harry and Ron started giggling at the nastiness of her remark.
"For someone who couldn't see straight and could barely write the assignment down, he sure picked wicked potion for us to brew. Look at the ingredients and steps!" The smartest of the three griped.
When they finally did look at the recipe, their faces fell. The recipe called for sixteen separate ingredients, and each needed to prepared in a specific and unique manner. It also included a rare incantation to be spoken over the brew while it boiled. None of them thought they could finish by the end of the class. However, Hermione cracked her knuckles, popped her elbows and shoulders, and glared at her friends to get them start working. Harry and Ron divided the ingredients list and began to hunt for them along with the rest of students.
"Ugh, this is disgusting," Ron whined when he began to grind leprechaun toenails into a fine powder.
"Just don't inhale the dust. The books says it can cause toadstools grow in your sinuses," Hermione warned and then gave a glare at Susan Bones who also ground toenails for their team.
"Say, Hermione, speaking of leprechauns, did you give any thought to the Merscots I told you about?" Harry inelegantly changed the subject.
"I told you about them. Plus, you're the champion, so it's your task and not mine," she rebuked him.
He nodded his head and said in the bland voice: "I supposed you're right. Silly me for thinking you like tricky puzzles. Guess you're not up for this one."
The growl that drifted out of Hermione would scare a werewolf, Harry thought, but he maintained his composure and continued to rub the kudzu leaves into little pills. Susan backed up a step and grabbed the laddle.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" She asked, or rather demanded.
"Nothing. I thought this was one of those times where you'd really like to prove yourself. But I suppose if you're not actively involved, you probably don't think you need to measure up to the test."
Across the table Harry saw Ron's eyebrows creep ever northward until he looked like a dahu falling down the side of mountain after a misstep. Harry let the edge of his mouth twitch into a smirk to show he spoke as did with intention. Ron shook his head a little.
"I know what your doing, Harry, and it won't work. I've got my studies to attend to and not your stupid challenge. Go and read your own books about the history of the Merscots and why they went down there in the first place!" Hermione stated in an increasingly tense voice.
Harry, however, realized he got what he wanted. She gave him a place to re-start his planning. Unfortunately it meant going back to the library. When he left off pestering her, Ron appeared more than relieved. They spent the rest of the class trying to finish their potion. Someone sent around the deadpool sheet on when Séamus would cause an explosion. Harry bet a half a galleon it would happen right when the potion started to boil and Séamus forgot the incantation.
Twenty minutes later while adding fermented swamp water, Séamus cauldron blasted across the room and hit the wall with incredible force. It also sounded like a gong, and that woke Snape. The students immediately ducked down under their desks. They all knew the more knackered the professor, the better his aim with very heavy objects. Once the barrage of flying potion supplies ended and Snape fell back into his stupor, Padma Patil collected her winnings.
Following the careful transfer of their potion to a vial and attaching a label with their names at the end of class, Harry did not travel with Hermione and Ron. He asked them to apologize to Neville for him and headed for the library. Along the way he stopped in the boys restroom to relieve himself only to find Dennis Creevey and Jimmy Peakes in the midst of stripping off their clothing.
"Want to join in, Harry?" Dennis offered with a hopeful note in his voice.
Jimmy dropped his trousers and then to his knees, and all but inhaled Dennis' swelling member. Harry stepped up to a urinal, unzipped his pants and hauled out his penis, and sighed a little as he started to pee. Then he looked over at Dennis who stared directly at his organ.
"I love to, but can't. Got tournament research to do... unless you want to spend the rest of the afternoon with me looking up the history of the Snogwarts' loch!" Harry cleverly declined.
"Ah, no," Dennis declined the counter-offer while he placed his hands on either side of Jimmy's head. "Already sort of started, see, and I'd hate to disappoint Jimmy."
"Come on, Dennis, it'll be loads of fun. We can ask Madam Pince to find the books for us and watch her get all upset and call us lazy," Harry started to tease the young Gryffindor who began to thrust his hips forward. "And we can talk real loud and get the shushers to shush us. Plus there will be oodles and oodles of reading we'll get to do. It'll keep us busy `til midnight!"
"You've been hanging out with Granger and Longbottom too often," Dennis said in a slightly disappointed tone. "You'd rather do that than let Jimmy clean your sausage?"
"I like dick," Jimmy mumbled from below.
"We all do, kid... well, most of the boys at any rate. Sorry, but I really can't join you. You just enjoy yourselves," Harry gamely responded while shaking the last drops from his willy and putting it away.
"Oh, we will. Gonna try that position you showed me. Jimmy don't know what he's in for," Dennis cackled in merry voice.
"Yes, I do," Jimmy yelled from below.
"No, you don't! You weren't even there..." Dennis rounded on the second-year working on his erection.
Harry finished washing his hands, chuckled at the inane argument because he knew what Jimmy faced, grabbed a paper towel, and headed out of the lavatory. A burst of laughter from Dennis followed him. Harry never understood why first and second years enjoyed using the bathrooms for sex. He smirked at the memory of the countless trysts he carried out in all the boy's bathrooms, two of the girl's bathrooms, and the teacher's loo by the end of his second year. In his third year, empty classrooms and the common room became all the rage. It made him wonder what caused the change in tastes over time.
"Madam Pince, would Merscots be listed under magical creatures, magical beings in general, or specialized races?" He asked the woman when it became his turn.
"Mister Potter, you are aware of the catalog system and the catalog books, are you not?" She hissed at him, and he thought for good reason.
"I know, I know. I forget because you are so knowledgeable about every volume in the library. And I must say you keep one of the neatest libraries I've ever had the pleasure to visit," he laid the compliment on thick.
"Been to many libraries, have you?" Madam Pince asked and clearly doubted him.
"Actually, I have. Grew up with muggles and went to a muggle primer school with one. We had a local branch of the Oxford system in Little Whinging where we lived. I got sent there a lot. Plus my aunt and uncle would often drop me off at a library wherever we were so they could spend more time with Dudley. So I've seen my share," he told her the truth.
Madam Pince appeared absolutely stunned by his response.
"Ever been to a muggle library?" Harry inquired of her when she continued to blink at him.
"Once, near the Ministry of Magic. Can you believe the books don't sort and rack themselves in those places? It must be like slave labor for those muggle librarians!" The woman stated and did not hide her disdain.
"Can you believe I once thought that was normal?"
The librarian and the student regarded one another for a long moment.
"Specialized races, non-fiction, non-spell reference, row K, right side, third shelf up, the author is Liliput Lougates," Madam Pince rambled at him. "It's one of the better volumes containing information on rare species hardly any student ever checks out."
"Thank you," Harry sincerely replied.
"Normal you say? Poor child," the head library witch said before he walked away.
"I'm getting over it."
Her face broke into a rare grin for two seconds, and then vanished as if it never existed.
The Snogwarts library looked and smelled exactly like Harry thought a magical library should. The racking shelves, made ages ago of dense wood stained dark by time, rose high above the floor for at least six meters. A ladder that would move to the correct section when asked stood at the ready. The air veritably hung heavy with dust, stray magic, and the smell of aged and rotting leather and parchment. Some books got chained to the shelves so they would not escape. Hermione once told him the library actually connected to hundreds of thousands if not millions of other libraries through something called the el-space, and a hyper-intelligent primate oversaw the main focal library. She tried to explain the pan-dimensional nature of the el-space, but it became too complicated for Harry to absorb. Instead, he learned only what he needed to navigate through the school library.
Harry went to to the section specified by the librarian, and crouched down a little to scan the third shelf on the right side. The books got ordered by author for some reason, and he traveled backward through the alphabet until he got to the Ls. It did not take much to find the tome.
"On Races Unseen and Unknown," Harry whispered aloud the title, then he bristled. "If they're unseen and unknown how the bloody hell can you write about them?"
Sometimes witches and wizards tried to be too clever, and Harry included himself in that regard. He grabbed the book and headed for a table. Along the way eyes followed him. He could tell the students owning the eyes wanted him to make some sort of sound offensive to the library rules. It apparently acted as sustenance for them and gave their lives purpose.
"Get a life," he mumbled to one of the shushers.
"Shh!"
He grinned at the absurdity of the exchange, found a table, and sat down. Fear always greeted him when he deigned to open a volume he never touched before. Books regarding magic and the wizarding world tended to follow no prescribed order. Indices and table of contents often proved unreliable at best. Harry once saw a table of contents that used the lyrics of children's song as the entries. Hence, he expected the worst when he opened the cover and moved past the fontispiece.
"He... she actually used a map of Salzburg from sixteen-ten," Harry muttered at the page with a label stating table of contents. Beneath that he saw a publication date of nineteen-twenty-eight.
As he studied the map, he noticed the street names did not appear normal. He bent his head down and squinted. Inside the lines of the streets, the author actually listed the contents of the book and the corresponding page numbers. It took Harry over fifteen minutes to scan the entire map and find the chapter he wanted. He flipped to the section and began reading. Harry read and he read, and he never dreamed he did not fib to Dennis earlier in the afternoon. Hours slipped by as he tried to find some bit of information he could use. A single paragraph suddenly leaped out at him.
As true for most land-bound Scots, Merscots are wildly sentimental. This has nothing to do with taking refuge in the waters to fend off the Britons, Gaels, Norse, or Romans; for therein lay the reason regarding their terrible disposition. They do not hold sentiment for the loss of their legs since those would serve no purpose under the waves. Like all Scots, Merscots pin to their hearts their family, their clan, and their heritage. It is within the food they share at a table. It is found in the water they breathe with kith and kin. It lies within the hardships and triumphs common among them. Play for them on the bladderpipes My Ass Done Grown Wide on the Bounty of Thy Hearth in All the Months of the Year that Tarries and Passes as I Lay Weeping and Remembering All and they will pause -- man, woman, child, young, or old -- to wipe a tear from their eyes (if indeed they can cry at all) and lose themselves in a moment of reverie.
"There's no song titled that!" Harry loudly declared to himself.
He got severely shushed from several corners.
Ten minutes later he sat looking at the sheet music. Madam Pince also told Harry a recording of the song resided in the stacks, and he could play it whenever he chose so long as he played it far away from the library. By looking at the music, he could see why. Far too many notes lined the staves. It seemed to be written for several people to play at once on numerous instruments, or perhaps by a magicked orchestra. The song itself ran for twenty-seven pages of music, lyrics included below the bar graphs. As he scanned the words, Harry felt his gorge rise. It surpassed sentimentality by leaps and bounds. The song read as if someone attempted to make a literal musical translation of treacle.
"This is awful!"
"Shhhh!"
"Stuff it," Harry replied in a knee-jerk reaction.
He got a giggle in response.
Harry then went about using a duplication spell, allowed for books and existing works, to create a copy of the relevant passages from On Races Unseen and Unknown and the song, My Ass Done Grown Wide on the Bounty of Thy Hearth in All the Months of the Year that Tarries and Passes as I Lay Weeping and Remembering All. Once he returned the book to the shelf where he found it, a habit borne of his muggle days, Harry went to Madam Pince to get the recording. She brought back what appeared to be a regular vinyl record in a jacket, but a closer inspection showed it be something else. Harry signed out the recording with a dire warning to never play the record within one hundred feet of library. Harry agreed, and then abruptly got asked to leave.
As he started his trek back to the Gryffindor tower, he paused in a hallway, looked at his notes and copied sheets, and then asked himself a very pertinent question: "What are bladderpipes?"
Fortune toyed with him the next day as he sat in Professor Flitwick's charms classes and waited for it to end. They worked on a new spell, and the sight of Séamus wearing muggle fire-resistant gear on his head constantly distracted him. Of course, it saved Séamus eyebrows and hair. Fourth year charms seemed to Harry at least three times more difficult than third year. Moreover, Flitwick displayed more of his real nature. Students often left his class in a distressing state that often took hours to remedy. Harry waited for the class to end and did not depart with Hermione; Ron took the course during a separate period. When the class emptied, he watched as the stubby little man glanced around, stick a hand down the back of his pants and fart like a centaur. He then smelled his hand.
"Ew, awful," Harry muttered.
"Ah!" Flitwick shouted and pointed his wand at Harry.
"Sorry, professor, but I I need you advice," Harry told the man.
Flitwick glanced around as if checking for other students and said: "You, ah, didn't see much of anything, did you?"
"No, nothing," he lied.
"Good. Now what is it that you need?"
"I've got this record and I need some help making it... usable for me."
"Let me see."
Harry left the student gallery and walked down to the tiny man. Flitwick lifted a hand and made it appear accidental when he grabbed Harry's crotch. Harry did not respond. Once the tiny wizard got a good feel, the man took the pages.
"Ech!" The professor made a retching sound. "Where'd you find this old lay?"
"In the library while doing some research. I've got a recording of it if you want..."
"No, Potter, I do not want to hear it. I listened to it once as a child, forced by my father, and that was enough for me. Still can't get that sickening tune out of my head, and thank you very much for bringing back one of my worst memories," the little person rounded on him. "Why'd you want to hear it? Bladderpipes sound like a whole troll tribe suffering from runny butt!"
"Never heard them before," Harry said with a shrug.
"Count yourself lucky. Dumbledore may not be all there, but at least he had sense enough to ban the bladderpipes when he became headmaster. Headmaster Dippet, his predecessor, thought they represented an import part of the Snogwarts' cultural heritage. McGonagall says Dippet used to make all the staff and students attend a concert in the lake once a year where they'd play those ruddy things. Can't stand `em."
Pieces started to click together in Harry's mind.
"Why in the lake?" He asked since that part baffled him.
"Bladderpipes sound best underwater from what I'm told. Above water they only sound like the next morning after we get served Elf Surprise for dinner."
Harry shuddered. It only took one sampling of the heinous dish to make him swear it off forever. The next day he missed two classes as the stuff liquefied everything in his intestinal track. Even Madam Pomfrey could not entirely stem the explosive diarrhea. Some first year students routinely got hospitalized for a couple of days if they ate too much when it appeared on the menu. Elf Surprise only got served once a year.
"Oh, well, that's... unpleasant," he replied to both the professor and his memories. "So, ah, can I have a couple of sound balloons, professor?"
"Ha! You think if you capture the recording and play it underwater it'll sound better than it looks on paper or what I told you?" Professor Flitwick expertly second-guessed part of his plan.
"Well, yeah. I'm sort of curious to hear what it's really like," Harry told the partial truth. "I also thought I could give a couple sound balloon captures as gifts."
"You must really hate those people."
"One's for Malfoy."
Flitwick's rather large eyes grew even more so and he replied: "Meet me here Saturday morning after nine bells. Bring the recording. I'll allow you to make three sound balloons from it. That's all, and you have to promise to listen to it in the washroom in your tower."
"I promise!" He swore the oath.
Harry left the charms classroom feeling pleased and bit smug. Not only did he discover some truths about the Merscots, and he suspected Dumbledore waged low-level hostilities with the aquatic race, but he also managed to accidentally forge a plan on how to survive the challenge. He felt smug because he discovered it all on his own, except the part where Hermione gave him a clue and Flitwick gave him a more recent historical account regarding Merscots.
By Saturday morning Harry felt antsy. He toyed with his breakfast while Dean, Neville, and Ron argued about the upcoming spring fappitch season. It surprised Harry to learn Neville wholeheartedly supported the Belgian Swishing Swishtails and knew quite a lot about the sport. Dean and Ron also appeared taken aback by his very expansive knowledge, especially when he called Ron out on a number of false statements. Hermione ate between bouts of snogging with her Boobbeatons beau and said very little. He remained in the great hall when breakfast ended at eight bells. He resisted all urges to reveal his plan and would not discuss what he carried in his bookbag. His three male counterparts took their fappitch argument to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione and Sabine slid under the table. Harry departed for the charms classroom just before nine bells.
"Here, put these on," Flitwick instructed him and held out earmuffs when they set up the magical record player, installed the sound capture device, and attached the three balloons. It became clear why the professor would only allow for three captures since it meant he only would endure a single playing of the song.
"Will these float in water, professor?" Harry shouted his question since the earmuffs they used came from Madam Sprout. She used them during mandrake replanting.
"Not really. They're... I think they call it buoyant neutral: they don't float or sink. It's not air we're putting into the balloons," the professor yelled in return, yet to Harry it sounded like a faint whisper.
The principle behind how sound balloons operated depended on very complicated and technical magic, most of which Harry did not understand. Professor Flitwick seemed to understand how it operated and gave Harry a simple explanation. The recording, similar to but very unlike muggle records, faithfully captured and reproduced every sonic detail. When played through a special player, the listener would fully experience the live sound. Sound balloons, when attached to the capture mechanism, only caught the vibrations and not air itself. Harry did not understand how one could separate the two facets, but the magic managed to do it. Thus, a normal length song would inflate the balloon to about the size of a small orange. Flitwick predicted the Merscot song would produce something roughly the size of a muggle football, what the Americans called soccer, if not a little larger.
"Try not to listen or you might lose your breakfast," Flitwick yelled just before he lowered the sound extraction arm.
Even at one percent of what he could hear, the song managed to reach Harry's ears and brain. Flitwick did not lie about the quality of the instruments: it did, indeed, sound like a herd of centaurs after a feast of beer, legumes, and hard-boiled eggs. The music literally passed through Harry's gut and made him feel nauseous. The words of the song, however, nearly drove him out of the room. He compared it to a lament mixed with a funeral dirge and a disjointed beatnik elegy. It recalled each emotion mentioned in repulsive detail and acted as if each one felt would be the last. The section on love and longing became vomitous. The experience proved even worse since the song lasted for over nineteen minutes. The balloons filled, and Harry felt sorry for the inanimate objects.
"Alright, take these horrid things out of my sight and be gone, Potter," Professor Flitwick ground the words out between his teeth as he snatched the earmuffs from Harry's head. "And ten points deducted from Gryffindor for making me go through that."
The little man's entire frame shuddered, and Harry could not in good conscious argue about the point deduction. The sound balloons hung from the capture tubes, and Harry felt loathe to even touch them. Whoever designed the objects thought ahead: the end of the balloons snapped shut when pulled from the tube. Harry would need to squeeze the metal clasp to release the vibrations at the appropriate time. When he picked them up, they weighed next to nothing or perhaps just the weight of the physical balloon itself. It stunned Harry as he expected them to come in at least two kilos each.
Once free of the charms room, Harry returned the recording to Madam Pince, and she did not appeared to be pleased he did so. She also eyed the sound balloons in a leery manner and asked him to leave once she canceled his check out of the record. Harry slunk through back halls in returning to the Gryffindor tower to avoid as many awkward questions as possible. The slightly flesh-toned balloons begged for an explanation. Harry sneaked through the common room where his friends continued to argue about fappitch and made it the dorm room. Once there he carefully wrapped the balloons in a spare blanket and secreted them under his bed behind unwanted clothing and shoes (for Harry tried to replenish his wardrobe any way he could during the school year).
"What are you doing down there?" Neville's voice called out.
Harry banged his head on the bottom of the bed when he startled.
"Sorry, mate," Neville sheepishly muttered.
Harry crawled out from under the bed. The curious expression on Neville's face put him in immediate conflict with his peripheral plans regarding the balloons. He vowed to tell no one, but Neville seemed outside the consideration. He got up, went to Neville's bed, and sat down. Neville joined him. They sat next to one another like the normally did.
"Okay, you have to swear to me that what I'm about to tell you you'll take to your grave," Harry dramatically and solemnly requested.
"Harry, it can't be..." Neville began.
"Swear to me, Neville!" Harry loudly interjected.
Neville gave him a long, searching look. Harry met it with stoic resignation. He could see his friend debating within himself. It lasted for over a minute.
"All right: I give you my word I won't tell a soul," the shier, somewhat taller teenager swore in a dire tone.
"It's my solution to the challenge," Harry simply stated when he felt assured by the vow.
"What?" His friend yelped. "You didn't tell me you figured something out!"
Harry held up his hands as if to ward off Neville's mild indignation and said: "It just came together over the past couple of days. To be honest, I didn't even know it was a plan `til I seriously thought about it."
"Explain it to me," Neville demanded.
Of late only Neville could get away with a commanding demeanor aimed at Harry. He quickly detailed his research into Merscots, finding out about the song, getting the recording, and making the sound balloons now hid under his bed. He then explained that he planned to play the songs under the water when he got near the Merscot stronghold and hoped it would lull them into inaction as he freed whatever the tournament committee would take from him. The three balloons would give him nearly an hour to work. Harry still could not determine his heart's desire. All the while Neville listened without saying a word. Sometimes his head bobbed.
"Well?" Harry asked when he broke off.
"That's a good plan, Harry. Really, an amazingly good plan," Neville said in a serious voice.
"I'm not a complete idiot," he reacted to the tone.
"No, I didn't mean it like that."
Harry snorted a little bit and said: "I know, I know. This whole just has me so worked up."
Neville nudged him with his shoulder and said: "So do you believe Hermione and me now that spending time in the library is useful?"
"I always did," Harry laughed through his admission. "It just seems like so much work."
"What about the time you spend playing on the fappitch team and all the practices?"
"Not the same now, isn't it... and you're going to tell me to go get stuffed, aren't you?" He replied and adjusted his answer to meet Neville's expression.
"Right in one."
They grinned at one another. Harry felt better at telling at least one trusted person about his plan. The fact Neville approved of it went a long way in calming Harry's fears he overlooked some vital aspect. As the serene feeling settled over him, he decided to chance a risky conversation.
"You know what? This is some of my favorite time of the day sitting around with you. I look forward it, you know?"
"Same here. I never did have a friend close enough to talk about... well, just about anything. It's nice," Neville replied in s gentle tone. "I'd hear my Gran talk about when she was a student here and how much it meant to her, and the people she got to know she still keeps in contact with. I never felt that way `til this year when I started banging around with you."
"It sort of makes me feel bad about the last three years and how much we didn't include you. Wasn't fair, and I get that now. Makes me look at people a lot different," Harry confessed and it brought him a different sense of relief.
"I don't know, Harry. Maybe it wasn't supposed to happen `til now. Can't say I would've known how to react before this year. Seeing you go up against that dragon gave me a real clear picture of what your life must be like at times, and made me glad it's not happening to me. Does that make me a bad person?"
"No. It means you're not thick or mental, Neville. I remember when I was younger how I used to want all sorts of exciting adventures because things were so rotten in Little Whinging. Big adventures aren't all they're cracked up to be. Most of the time I don't feel like I'm in control. That's what made finding the solution to the Merscots so... pleasing," Harry crammed a lot into one response.
"Bet it does. It's a solid plan, Harry. I've been rolling it around in the back of my head, and it looks like about the only way to deal with them. Wonder if you're right about what Dumbledore might actually feel about those underwater blokes. Sounds like he did it on purpose... the whole stopping the concerts and now using the Merscots to get to the champions," Neville added his own dense reply.
"Well, like you said, he's a loony genius, and simple and Dumbledore don't got together. He probably didn't know at the time what he was going to do with Merscots, but he had `em in reserve. I think that's part of his genius: he doesn't forget what he's done in the past and figures out ways to use it later on."
Neville nodded his head at Harry's assessment. Then he nudged Harry. Harry nudged him back. They settled into a companionable silence. Harry liked it when he could be simply be still with someone without any expectations. He enjoyed that Neville appreciated and knew how to use quiet periods. It calmed Harry. He glanced at his friend.
"Feel like a toss off?" Neville asked.
Harry answered by unzipping his pants.