Fishy Cat
Harry found that he didn’t hate the Yule Ball as much as he thought he would. He actually had a pretty good time with Cho Chang. Sure the Viktor Krum thing was kind of annoying, but even that wasn’t all bad, because the Polyjuice Potion in the punch was exactly the thing Ron and Hermione needed to finally believe him that maybe Malfoy was impersonating Cedric.
Two days after the ball, a very odd sight greeted Harry when he woke up.
Despite the fact that the Polyjuice wore off for everyone two whole days ago, a Viktor Krum look-alike was sitting on top of Ron’s bed, staring at himself with a hand-held mirror.
“Uh, Ron?” Harry asked, confused. “Is that you?”
The Viktor Krum look-alike startled, clearing his throat and throwing the mirror behind his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, face red.
"Did you steal extra punch from the Ball?”
“No, no of course not why would you ask that?”
“...because you’re Viktor Krum.”
“No I’m not,” Ron lied.
Harry stared at him for several seconds, but decided to drop the subject. Clearly, Ron wasn’t going to talk about it.
“Right,” said Harry, moving towards the door. “Well, I assume you’ll be missing breakfast today?”
Ron slyly went to pick the mirror back up. “I’m taking a sick day.”
“Taking a page out of Malfoy’s book, then?”
“You could say that,” said Ron, who was already back to admiring himself as Viktor Krum. Harry shuddered inwardly, and left the room.
As much as he didn’t want to think about Ron’s actions too hard, as surely thoughts like that would turn weird quick, he couldn’t help the gleam of triumph that arose in him when Ron didn’t deny the Malfoy thing.
Small steps.
***
Defense Against the Dark Arts was Harry’s favorite class without doubt. And Mad Eye Moody was the second best teacher they’ve ever had. This was, of course, not a very high bar, seeing as the the other two tried to kill him or at least erase his memory. But Mad Eye Moody didn’t seem like the type to do either of those things. Or, at least if he did, Harry would be moderately surprised.
However, a week before the second task and no closer to figuring out the egg clue, Harry couldn’t find it in him to enjoy the class very much. So Harry, instead of listening to Moody lecture, stared off into space, thinking of solutions.
Maybe if he hit the egg as hard as he could with a hammer…no, that wouldn’t work. But perhaps if he used a screwdriver…yes, he was definitely on to something now…
“Pay close attention, class,” said Moody, but Harry didn’t hear him. “Today we are going to learn about ways to breath underwater. The first of these ways is…”
Maybe if he used a screwdriver and a hammer at the same time he would get the best results. But just where was he going to find either of these things in a school of magic? The accio charm, again?
“But the most effective of all would be the usage of Gillyweed,” said Moody.
At the mention of Gillyweed all of the Hufflepuffs in the room twitched.
“You can always…Potter are you paying attention?” Moody’s magical eye swiveled around to face Harry. “Potter!”
Harry startled. “What? Yes, I’m listening.”
“Yeah? Then what did I just say?”
Harry’s heart dropped. “My name.”
Moody’s eye narrowed. “Before that, Potter.”
“...you asked if I was paying attention?”
Moody threw him the dirtiest look Harry had ever received. “We are learning about underwater breathing, Potter, and believe me you’ll want to listen.”
Harry barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He didn’t see how learning how to breath underwater would get him any closer to figuring out what the second task was!
When the bell rang, Harry sprung from his seat instantly, ignoring Moody’s lingering voice shouting the name, “Gil E. Weed.”
Now, Harry didn’t know who Gil Weed was, nor why the Hufflepuffs twitched whenever he was mentioned, but Harry didn’t think he mattered very much.
In the corridor it was just Harry’s luck that he happened to pass by Cedric Diggory...and by Cedric Diggory he of course meant Draco Malfoy.
“Potter,” Draco sneered, before his expression cleared. “I mean, hello Harry.”
“Malfoy,” Harry shot back.
Draco looked affronted. “Potter, I am offended you don’t know my name by now! It’s Cedric. Say it slowly with me now, Ced-ric.”
“Oh spare me, Malfoy. I’ve known it was you for months now, there’s no need to pretend anymore.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harry inhaled deeply through his nose. “Okay then, Cedric, if it’s really you, you wouldn’t mind telling me if you’ve figured out the second task yet, right?”
Draco’s Cedric-face dropped. Harry knew he was now struggling internally with the choice of pretending to be Cedric and helping Harry Potter.
To Harry’s deep dread, Draco's mouth morphed into a sickeningly sweet smile. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s a hint. Set the egg on fire.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds less like a hint and more like you encouraging arson.”
“No, no trust me,” Draco said, nodding seriously. “If you set the egg on fire it plays a song that describes the second task.”
Harry looked at Draco skeptically. “Why fire?”
Draco scoffed. “It’s a dragon egg, Potter. Why wouldn’t it be fire? What, did you think you’d have to, I don’t know, put the egg under water or something? Now that would be truly preposterous, don’t you think?”
“I guess that makes sense,” Harry said slowly, thinking over Draco's words. As much as he didn't trust Draco Malfoy, Harry was also very desperate for any clue he could get, regardless of the reliability.
“I’m glad you agree, now I best be off. I’m very busy, you know,” Draco said, pushing past Harry roughly.
“Busy with what? Kidnapping more people?”
“Don’t be silly, Potter,” Draco said with a huff. “I just have some…Hufflepuff things to attend to.”
With a shudder that Harry could not even begin to decipher, Draco carried on his way.
“Fire,” Harry muttered to himself. “I’m going to regret this.”
***
Later that night, on the floor of his dorm room, Harry was already regretting it. With the egg lying in front of him, and Ron waiting a few feet away with a giant bucket of water in case something went wrong, Harry held his wand tightly in his hand.
“Alright, you ready?” Harry whispered. Their other roommates, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all sleeping soundly, and Harry didn't want to wake them.
“Yeah, I’ll count you off,” said Ron. “One…two…three…four…”
“How high are you counting?”
“I was going to five.”
“Five? Why five?”
“What’s wrong with five? It’s a solid number.”
“Yeah but it’s a weird one to count to. Most people go to three.”
“Well if you’re the number expert, then why don’t you count yourself off?”
“Fine,” Harry said, growing annoyed. “One…two…”
“Five,” Ron blurted, interrupting Harry’s counting. Harry glared at him, but Ron wore a face of perfect innocence.
“One…two…”
“Five!”
“I’m going to murder you,” Harry said fiercely. “Fine, forget the counting! I’m just going to do it. Incendio!”
Instantly, flames shot from Harry’s wand, licking the surface of the golden egg. Harry opened the egg then, careful not to touch the fire, and waited with bated breath for something to happen.
Crazily enough, something did happen. Music began to blare from the egg; loud, piercing, heavy metal. Harry had to strain his ears to hear the singer over the sounds of drums and electric guitar. Although calling it a singer would be a stretch, seeing as it was more screaming than anything else.
“IN THE LAKE!” the singer growled. “IN THE LAKE! IT’S NO FAKE, FOR HELL'S SAKE! THE WORLD’S UNFAIR, I WANT TO DIE, THE GOVERNMENT’S CORRUPT! BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO FIND A TREASURE IN THE LAKE BEFORE THE TIME IS UP!”
Ears bleeding, Harry slammed the egg shut, unable to take anymore. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all awake by this point, confused and agitated. Most terribly of all, however, the fire was dangerously close to enclosing the entire egg and spreading to the carpet.
“Ron, quick, the water!” Harry said, gesturing wildly.
Ron thrusted the bucket forward, and Harry was instantly met with a face full of ice cold water.
Wet and shocked, Harry gave Ron a mean look that turned even meaner when he realized that Ron had missed the fire entirely.
“Nice going, Ron!” Harry yelled, furious, as the flames only grew higher, the heat nearly searing off his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” Ron said, properly ashamed. Their other roommates were now roaring with laughter at the scene of a sopping wet Harry frantically trying to put out a fire.
Thinking fast, Harry pointed his wand at the fire and roared, “Aguamenti!”
A jet of water hit the egg, extinguishing the flames. In the struggle, the egg reopened by accident and, oddly enough, a new, much softer song played, detailing the second task much more eloquently, but Harry didn’t care to listen, closing it once more.
“Ron,” Harry said once everything was under control. “I hate you.”
***
“Wow, your friend sounds awful,” Cho said the next day at lunch after Harry recounted the story to her.
“Yeah tell me about it,” Harry said, turning his fork over in his hand. He decided to have lunch at the Ravenclaw table, since he didn’t have much time to talk to Cho any other time during the day, seeing as they didn’t have any classes together.
“Okay I will,” said Cho. “Your friend sounds awful.”
Harry felt his lips quirk up into a small smile.
“I mean he seriously can’t do anything right,” Cho went on. “He’s useless, ugly, and not to mention poor.”
Harry’s smile dropped. Cho sounded like she hated Ron something personal. And making fun of his wealth? That was low, something only one person would do-
“That was my Malfoy impression,” Cho said quickly.
“Oh,” said Harry. While the Malfoy impressions were accurate, he found the novelty of them had worn off. Cho seemed to do at least one of them every time they spoke! It was getting a little old. “You sure know a lot about Malfoy, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Cho asked. “I mean he is pretty popular…and handsome.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
“That was my Pansy Parkinson impression.”
“Ah,” said Harry, unimpressed. Cho sure talked about Slytherins a lot, didn’t she?
Speaking of Slytherins and growing bored of the conversation, Harry felt his eyes wander across the Great Hall in search of Malfoy. When he didn’t find him, he looked towards the Hufflepuff table.
Oddly enough, Cedric wasn’t there either.
Viktor Krum wasn’t either, he noticed a minute later. If all his alter-egos were gone, where could Malfoy be?
“What are you thinking about?” Cho questioned, taking a sip of..well, Harry wasn’t sure what she was drinking, but it was something pink.
“I was just wondering where Malfoy was,” Harry said.
“Oh, I think he’s sick,” said Cho.
Harry gave her a look. “Well, Cedric’s not here either. They can’t both be sick.”
Cho shrugged. “Maybe he’s…impersonating someone else,” she said vaguely.
“Maybe,” Harry said slowly as a very strange thought hit him. “Say Cho...what are you drinking?”
“This?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly. “Um, it’s pink lemonade.”
“Is it?” he asked, the strange thought solidifying in his mind as a hollow feeling grew in his chest. “I really like pink lemonade, do you mind if I have a sip?”
Harry reached out towards the goblet but she jerked it away from him roughly, a few pink drops spilling out onto the table. A few nearby Ravenclaws stared at them, but Harry paid them no mind. Instead he just met Cho's eyes, and in that moment Harry was uncomfortably aware of a fundamental truth that he should have realized a long time ago.
This was not Cho Chang.
“What’s the matter? Can’t I have just a small sip?” he pressed, staring at the drink.
“Uh, no,” Not-Cho said. “I wouldn’t want to exchange…germs.”
“I can just pour some in my own glass,” Harry offered, making a grab for the goblet once more. She quickly moved it further out of reach.
“No, no, that’s not a good idea,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I have…terrible backwash,” she said.
Harry’s gaze turned cold. “You aren’t Cho.”
Not-Cho laughed, nervously. “Gee Harry, does schizophrenia run in your family or did it just start with you?”
A storm of anger and hurt swirling inside him, Harry stood abruptly. “Whatever, Malfoy.”
He swiftly fled the area, ignoring the odd looks the Ravenclaws were throwing his way, and heading straight for Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, frowning, as Harry sunk into the nearest chair without uttering a word.
“Cho is Malfoy too,” he said, his voice hard.
Hermione’s frown deepened, brown eyes glittering with worry. “Are you sure?”
“What, still don’t believe me?” Harry snapped, glaring at the table.
Hermione flinched, and shared a look with Ron.
“Mate, you know we wish we would’ve believed you earlier, but you have to admit it did sound mental," Ron said.
“Whatever,” Harry shrugged, a hot flush of humiliation burning the back of his neck as he tried not to think about the situation at hand, all the time he wasted with Malfoy thinking he was Cho. “I can’t believe I thought Malfoy was funny!”
He groaned and hid his face in his hands.
“It’s alright,” Ron patted his back, consolingly. “If Malfoy looked like a pretty girl all the time, I would probably like him more too.”
“He wasn’t even good at hiding it! Everything he said was followed by, ‘That was my Malfoy impression’ - he was just being himself!”
“Again - pretty girl - you couldn’t have known.”
Harry exhaled loudly, trying to empty himself of all his frustrations. “I’m done with him. We need to stop him once and for all.”
“How?” Hermione asked, looking half-intrigued half-wary. “You know we can’t go to Dumbledore, or else Hogwarts will be eliminated from the competition-”
“Does the competition really matter that much?” Harry interjected, voicing the same thought he had ever since Hermione gave him that stupid reason not to tell.
“Not to mention all three of us will be chucked into St. Mungos’ Ward for the Insane,” Ron pointed out. “I mean it’s not like anyone will believe us!”
Harry supposed that was a bit better of a reason.
“All we have to do is find the real Cedric, Cho, and Viktor and then we can stop him,” Harry said, seriously. “We’ll finish what Cho and I - well, the real Cho and I - started and sneak into the Slytherin Common Room. What do you think?”
Hermione and Ron looked at Harry with conviction.
“We’d follow you anywhere,” said Ron, and Harry was never more grateful to have the pair of them as his best friends.
***
That night they all cramped under the Invisibility Cloak, standing outside of the Slytherin common room. They snuck out in the middle of the night in order to search the place while everyone was asleep. The only problem was that they had no clue what the password could be.
They decided to take turns guessing.
“Green,” Harry guessed.
“Pureblood,” Hermione guessed.
“Snakity snake snake,” Ron guessed.
“Evil," Harry guessed.
“Salazar," Hermione guessed.
“Really evil," Ron guessed.
Hermione gave Ron a look. "Ron, could you actually try?"
Ron looked offended. “I am trying!”
"Voldemort," Harry guessed.
Hermione and Ron flinched, though Harry could not imagine why. He thought it was a perfectly valid guess.
"Uh…You-Know-Who?" Hermione guessed after recovering.
"Giant Squid!" Ron guessed.
Hermione shot him a fierce glare.
"What, that's a good guess!"
"Murder," Harry continued.
"Ambition," Hermione tried.
"Incest," Ron guessed.
Hermione went to yell at Ron again, but to everyone's surprise, the wall opened.
Harry's jaw dropped. "Unbelievable," he breathed. "That’s completely unbelievable. Ron - I love you."
Ron threw Hermione a gloating look. “Well, it looks like someone owes me an apology.”
"Shut up, Ron," she huffed, and without further ado, the three of them walked inside the Slytherin common room.
The room was devoid of any students, thankfully. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, where it seemed that there was always at least one student passed out on an armchair, the Slytherins appeared to all go up to their beds. As far as the interior went, nothing had changed since the last time Harry and Ron had stepped foot into the Slytherin’s lair. The room still had a slight green tint to it, due to the light coming in from the lake, and the shelves were still cluttered with tacky snake and skull decor.
As one, they moved to the staircase on the right side of the room that surely would lead them to the boy’s dormitory.
Walking up steps under the invisibility cloak was a difficult task, and Ron almost broke his neck on several occasions, but they did somehow manage it. They pushed open the door to Malfoy’s room.
All five beds had the curtains closed, and the sounds of snoring were softly echoing around the room. Harry took off the cloak and turned to Ron and Hermione.
“Alright, let’s search. And remember to be quiet,” he whispered.
They each chose a bed and knelt beside it so they could see if Cedric was being held captive underneath.
Harry, naturally, searched under Malfoy’s bed first, but he didn’t find much. Mostly it was just rubbish - old quills, old parchment, or even a few old letters from his parents. The only thing worth looking at was a small black book with Draco’s name written on the front.
Did Malfoy own a diary?
Despite Harry’s previous bad experiences with diaries, he couldn’t help but take a little peek inside.
Regrettably, the diary looked rather old. There hadn’t been a new entry since their second year. But it was still fun to read… Harry skimmed over the last entry.
Dear Journal (not a diary,)
I have had it with Potter. He thinks he’s so clever, and special, and perfect but he’s not. Today, my father informed me that Potter has FREED OUR HOUSE ELF! What kind of horrible person would do something like that?? It was really none of his business, but of course he had to butt his big, stupid, ugly head in and mess everything up. Mother wrote to me saying that this summer I would have to clean up after myself. How is that fair?? I hate Potter so much. He is ruining my life!! I hate his stupid ugly scar and his stupid ugly glasses and his stupid, ugly, soft lips! Alright, I have to go now journal, because the Weasley just passed by and I want to call him poor.
With Love, Draco Malfoy
“Harry are you even looking?”
Harry jumped at the closeness of Hermione’s voice. He smiled sheepishly at her stern look.
“Yeah, of course I am…” He stuffed the diary back under his bed and moved on to the bed next to Malfoy’s.
The bed next to Malfoy’s seemed to belong to Blaise Zabini. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Cedric Diggory under it either. Harry did, however, find a large stack of letters, all addressed to Madame Pomfrey.
That was…weird.
Looking over his shoulder to ensure that Hermione was preoccupied, Harry snuck a glance at one of the letters.
Poppy,
Your eyes make my heart stop! No one is as beautiful as you, and I especially dig your Healer robes…if you know what I mean. I did notice a small pain in my neck the other day, maybe you could stop by and fix me, baby.
Harry took a short break from reading to prevent himself from vomiting. Why on Earth was Blaise coming onto Madame Pomfrey? Morbid curiosity getting the best of him, Harry continued to read.
But on a more serious note, do you think there’s any way you could send me more Sleeping Draught with your next letter? I’m running low.
I have attached a picture of myself to return your favor…I hope you like what you see.
Love, Buckbeak
Buckbeak? Harry squinted at the writing to make sure he hadn’t misread it. Harry might not know everything there is to know about magic, but he’s pretty sure Hippogriffs can’t write letters. So why would Blaise be signing his love letters with Buckbeak’s name?
Equally scared and intrigued, Harry looked at the photo attached to the letter. He wished he hadn’t. On it was a Hippogriff staring very seductively at him, even throwing him a wink here and there.
Everything about this situation was absurd. Harry made to put the letters back and just forget they ever happened, when something else caught his eye underneath the bed.
It was a spreadsheet with one column keeping track of the names of at least fifty Hogwarts students, and the other two columns listing the amount of Galleons they owe and amount of Potions bought.
Why would Blaise…oh.
Harry reread the letter, focusing on the part requesting Madame Pomfrey to send him another Sleeping Draught. Suddenly it all made sense. Blaise must be conning Madame Pomfrey into giving him potions so that he could sell them illegaly to other students.
Harry wasn’t sure if he was more outraged at the fact that Blaise was taking advantage of poor little Madame Pomfrey, or the fact that he was never told that if he needed a Sleeping Draught he only needed to ask Blaise.
Shaking his head, Harry put everything back under Blaise’s bed. As much as he would like to dwell on the weirdness that was Slytherin students, Harry was there to find Cedric. Though even as he tried to forget this ever happened, he still couldn’t brush off the biggest question nagging at his mind.
Why would Madame Pomfrey be interested in a Hippogriff?
“Have either of you found anything?” Harry asked standing up.
Ron and Hermione both shook their heads, dejectedly.
“Nothing at all?” Harry asked, feeling desperate.
“I found a liter of blood under Crabbe’s bed,” Ron added, unhelpfully. “But I don’t think that’s what we wanted.”
“I found a fibula,” Hermione piped up, just as unhelpful.
“Well that’s great,” Harry said, frustrated. “Where else is there to look?”
“We could check in there,” Ron said, pointing to a trunk lying next to Malfoy’s bed.
Harry scoffed. “Nobody could fit in there Ron.”
“It couldn’t hurt to check…”
“Do you seriously think Cedric, Cho, and Viktor are all hiding away in Malfoy’s trunk?”
Ron frowned. “It was just a suggestion, you don’t have to get all angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Harry said, feeling very angry indeed. “It’s just- where could Malfoy possibly be hiding three whole people?”
“At least three,” Hermione corrected. “I haven’t seen Fleur around lately either, and she was acting a bit odd at the Yule Ball. Don’t you think maybe he’s gotten her too?”
“Great - four people then. At least,” Harry huffed. “Well, there’s no point hanging around in here any longer. Let’s go.”
Silently, Hermione and Ron came to stand beside him. Harry threw the cloak over top of them and they left, no closer to finding their kidnapped classmates.