Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Following the Quidditch World Cup incident, the Daily Prophet is awash with wild rumors and flagrant accusations, primarily penned by one Rita Skeeter, apparently.

"She makes it sound like you're the second coming of the Dark Lord," Sirius mutters. "Vile woman."

"Eh, she's not saying anything I haven't seen before," I say.

"Does it even bother you what people think of you?" Sirius asks.

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" I say. "Why, yes, I am a dark wizard intent upon taking over the world, but I'm not evil, really."

Sirius gives me an odd look, and then snickers. "I think you're the only dark wizard in the world who I'd actually believe isn't evil, Stormseeker."

"Still, I wish she wouldn't try to start rumors like this," I say. "Nobody was hurt, but she mentions vague comments about bodies being removed from the woods?"

"Personally, if I were you, I'd try to stay out of the paper," Sirius says. "You're not a wanted fugitive, and you don't want to be, trust me."

"I don't exactly try to get in the paper, but it just kind of happens sometimes," I say.

Sirius chuckles. "You don't exactly keep a low profile on the best of days, though."

"You sure you'll be alright by yourself?" I ask Moony as on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Padfoot barks excitedly and hops around wagging his tail, looking up at Moony.

"I'll be fine," Moony says. "Don't you worry about me."

"I'll be sure to write," I say.

"Professor Lupin!" says Hermione, approaching us. "Are you coming back to teach us another year?"

"I'm afraid not, Hermione," Moony says. "And I'm not your professor anymore. You can just call me Remus, please."

"I wonder who we're actually having," Neville says.

"I hope it's someone competent," I say. "And if they're evil, to be a competent sort of evil that's willing to teach properly and have the good grace to finish out the year before committing their evil schemes."

"Harry..." Moony says.

"I'd personally hope them not to be evil at all," Hermione says. "But maybe that's a bit much to ask for."

We climb onto the train, and I take a compartment with Draco, Blaise, Hermione, and of course, Padfoot. The dog hops around excitedly and pokes his head out of the window, tongue lolling about.

"How long have you been waiting for a chance to do that?" I say with a smirk, scratching Padfoot behind the ears. The dog just barks happily.

"You'd better stay close to me, Hermione," Draco says. "I'll protect you from any nasty Death Eaters that might show up."

"I'd hope Death Eaters don't attack the Hogwarts Express," Blaise says.

"Death Eaters?" Hermione says, raising an eyebrow. "Did something happen?"

"You didn't see what happened at the Quidditch World Cup in the Daily Prophet?" Draco asks.

"Probably just as well, if not," I say. "Rita Skeeter exaggerated things a little anyway."

"What happened?" Hermione asks worriedly.

"Death Eaters were having a little fun," Blaise says. "Tormenting Muggles and setting tents on fire."

"Was... was your father there, Draco?" Hermione asks quietly.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Draco replies. "In happier news, have you guys heard what's coming up this year?"

"I have not," I say.

"They're bringing back the Triwizard Tournament," Draco says. "Sadly, they're only going to be letting students who are of age enter it. I wonder if you'll be able to get around that little detail, Stormseeker."

"I'm not of age, no matter what measurement you use," I say.

"The Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione repeats. "Oh, I read about that. It was supposed to be really dangerous. People died!"

Padfoot is looking at me plaintively with big, liquid eyes.

I grin at him. "Yeah, I think I have quite enough attention as it is. But perhaps I will try to enter."

Padfoot whimpers at me pathetically, putting his head in my lap.

"Don't go giving me those eyes, Padfoot," I say, smirking at him. "It'll be fun, I'm sure."

"You can't seriously be thinking of signing up, are you?" Hermione says.

"Why not?" I say. "It's not like I can actually die, right?"

"That's not the point!" Hermione admonishes.

"Well, I think you should go for it if you can," Blaise says.

"See?" I say. "Blaise agrees with me!"

Padfoot lets out a dog-like sigh, shaking his head, and turns his attention back to the window.

We arrive at Hogsmeade Station in due order. There's a lovely storm going on outside, whipping up the lake like a sloshing bowl of punch.

"Oh, I don't envy the first years, going out on the lake in that," Hermione says.

We climb into the thestral-drawn carriages and head up to the castle. All of us can see the thestrals now, between witnessing or committing the various deaths that have been occurring the past couple of years. It still just makes me wish that there hadn't been any need for any deaths at all. It's been better than the last lifetime I spent here, at least. But I still can't help but regret many of the things that have happened, and the sight of the thestrals acutely reminds me of that.

We file into the castle and into the Great Hall. Along the way, McGonagall says, clearly directed at me and my group, "It would be appreciated if you would sit with your own houses, at the very least for the Opening Feast." She frowns disapprovingly at Padfoot. "And do please make certain that your dog behaves, or I will be forced to care about what sort of pets you bring in."

I chuckle softly and grin at McGonagall. I've been spending so much time with the Slytherins that poor McGonagall must have gotten the impression that I hate what house I wound up in or something. Which I certainly don't, as I know that it suits me perfectly well, it's just a few of the people in it that grate on me. I go over to sit at the Gryffindor table with Neville and Hermione, and Padfoot takes a seat on the bench between Neville and me.

Ron peers over at the dog, and says, "Oh, look, it's the Stormseeker thinking that the rules don't apply to him again. I don't think dogs the size of horses are on the list of allowed pets!"

"Neither were rats, Ron," I point out.

"Scabbers was small, and didn't eat much!" Ron protests. "But I haven't seen him since the middle of last year. I swear, that awful cat of Hermione's must have eaten him! Poor Scabbers."

I snicker softly. Padfoot sounds like he's making a canine equivalent of laughter as well.

"I wonder where the new Defense professor is," Hermione says, peering up at the staff table. "I don't see anyone new up there."

The Sorting Ceremony proceeds, and then the feast, still with no sign of anyone new showing up. Following the feast, Dumbledore stands up to address the crowd.

"May I have your attention, please?" Dumbledore says. He starts off with the usual notices about banned objects and forbidden areas, and then adds, "I also regret to inform you that Quidditch and Dueling Club have been canceled for this year."

"What?" I cry.

"This is because of an event that is being hosted at Hogwarts, that will be taking place throughout the year, and will absorb much of the teachers' time and energy," Dumbledore goes on. "I am certain, however, that you will all enjoy it. It is my pleasure to announce--"

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall bang open, revealing a weather-beaten man leaning on a staff and covered in a heavy traveling cloak. An ominous crack of lightning silhouettes him in the doorway. He steps forward through the hall and pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his face.

One look at the strange, magical eye swiveling about, and I immediately recognize who this is, despite only having seen him briefly once before, in another lifetime.

"It's Mad-Eye Moody!" I say. "He's going to be our Defense teacher this year? Oh, this is going to be awesome."

"I've heard of him!" Neville says. "I thought he was retired."

"What happened to his face?" Hermione wonders.

"I'd like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore says. "Professor Moody."

Although new teachers are usually greeted with applause, the students seem too stunned by Moody's appearance to do more than gape at him. Dumbledore and Hagrid applaud, and I stand up and clap loudly. "Woohoo!" I call out. "Welcome, Moody!" Neville and Hermione quickly join in the applause, and across the hall, former Storm Army members follow my lead. The new professor pauses to stare at me disconcertingly for a minute.

Once the applause dies down, Dumbledore continues. "As I was just saying, this year Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, which has not been held in over a century. This will prove to be a very exciting year. I'm certain that many of you have not heard of it, so allow me to explain. This was established as a competition between the three largest magical institutes in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion is selected to represent each school, and the champions take part in three events. Unfortunately, the death toll caused the competition to be discontinued."

"This is a terrible idea," Hermione whispers.

"So, in the interest in the safety of the participants, we have imposed some necessary precautions and restrictions upon this year's tournament," Dumbledore goes on. "We have agreed to impose age limitations upon the contenders. Only those students who are of age, that is, seventeen years or older, will be permitted to submit their names for consideration."

The Weasley twins boo aloud at that announcement.

"In October, the delegations from the other two schools will be arriving, and we will be playing host to them for the better part of the year," Dumbledore says. "I'm sure you will all extend them every courtesy while they are here."

I think it'll be fun meeting some new people. I ran into a lot of unfamiliar faces at the Quidditch World Cup, but I didn't really have much opportunity to talk to many of them long.

I head up to my dorm, absently cast a Revulsion Curse over my bed, pop a Dream Sweet in my mouth, and go to sleep, thinking excitedly about classes starting up again and all the things I might learn this year.

Classes start up the following day, starting with an exciting period of Herbology involving some nasty substance called bubotuber pus, extracted from what must be the most hideous plants in the multiverse.

For Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid has brought in some horrible creatures he calls Blast-Ended Skrewts. Rispy comes up to my group and says sympathetically, "I apologize for this lesson. I tried to dissuade him from this, but he would not be swayed."

"At least they aren't very big," Neville says.

"They'll get bigger," Rispy says, sighing. "And I fear he'll be spending the entire year on these ridiculous monstrosities."

"But what's the point to these things?" Draco says.

"Making Hagrid happy, I suppose," I say, sighing.

"If I can't find a way to make some convenient accident happen to these creatures, I think I'll be looking for something more productive to do with my time," Rispy says.

"I thought you were a big advocate for the rights of magical creatures!" Hermione says. "Don't these skrewts have as much a right to live as anything else?"

"They're artificial, magically bred abominations," Rispy says. "They'd never have been born naturally, and they probably won't survive as it is anyway."

"I really have to question Hagrid's taste in creatures sometimes," Neville says. "Just once I'd like to see him bring in something that isn't likely to maul people."

"Like flobberworms?" Draco sneers.

"Maybe not," Neville says.

"Well, if he keeps it up, we can always practice Dueling Club in Care of Magical Creatures," I suggest.

"Rotten of them to cancel Dueling Club and Quidditch," Draco moans. "What's the point in doing that? Only one student is going to be able to compete in the Triwizard Tournament anyway! What are the rest of us going to do?"

"Eh, let's start our own," I say. "We can practice the spells in our spare time, and without Quidditch and Dueling Club, we've got more spare time."

"That's a great idea," Hermione says.

In Arithmancy, we're dealing with magic number squares that hurt my head trying to figure out. Perhaps this wasn't quite what I was looking forward to for the first day of fourth year classes. I'm sure tomorrow will be better, though.

Down at dinner, I intend to go eat at the Slytherin table as is my usual habit, with my actual friends.

"How was Arithmancy?" Draco asks.

"It was good," Hermione says. "But Professor Vector didn't even give us any homework!"

Ron approaches us. "Hey, Stormseeker. You should have heard what Trelawny was saying about you in Divination today!"

"Oh?" I say. "How am I going to die this year?"

"She predicted that you'd be killed by our Defense professor," Ron says. "Which would just figure, considering he's a former Auror, and you're a dark wizard! I hope he does get you!"

"She's probably right," I say, shrugging.

Draco confronts Ron with an issue of the Daily Prophet. "Hey, Weasel! Did you see your father made the news?"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron demands.

"Hear this," Draco says. "Arnold Weasley, heh, they couldn't even get his name right. Arnold Weasley was involved in an incident with several Muggle law-keepers over a number of rather aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley seems to have rushed to the aid of 'Mad-Eye' Moody, who had retired from the Ministry when he could no longer distinguish between a handshake and attempted murder."

"Perfectly understandable," I say. "I hate handshakes."

Everyone in earshot turns to look at me strangely for a moment before Draco continues, "To no one's surprise, Mr. Weasley found, after arriving at Mr. Moody's heavily defended home, that Mr. Moody had raised a false alarm once again. Mr. Weasley had to modify the memories of a number of Muggles before he was able to escape from the policemen, and refused to answer questions about why the Ministry was involved in such an embarrassing scene."

"Is there a point to this, Malfoy?" Ron asks.

"Oh, look, here's a picture of your father standing in front of his house," Draco says. "If you can call it such. And look, your mother--"

"Draco," I interrupt in a warning tone.

"What?" Draco says, looking at me in confusion.

"I think 'your mum' jokes are a bit beneath us, aren't they?" I say.

"Oh, I suppose," Draco says, snickering.

"What about your mother, Malfoy?" Ron sneers.

I glance over at Ron, and tell Draco, "Never mind, he's fair game."

Draco casts me a broad grin. "Hey, Weasley, is this your mother in this picture, or a cow? It's no wonder you can't afford a proper house or clothes, given how much she must eat!"

Ron starts fuming, clenching his fists furiously.

"Your mum, Ron," I say. "Your mum is a very sweet woman who is excessively judgmental of people who associate with those she doesn't like. Your mum believed that I was evil already even when I was eleven years old, and turned me away before even giving me a chance. Your mum cost me the friendship of your entire family for no reason other than that I happened to run into the Malfoys first. How do you think that looked to me? I say, your parents are no different from the Malfoys, they just hate different groups. And that's all I have to say on the subject."

I turn away. Then, I feel something whoosh past my face, and hear someone screaming. I snap my wand up into my hand and spin around, but before I can cast anything, Ron is replaced with a small fuzzy weasel.

"No you don't, laddie!" says Moody, coming down the stairs.

There's a heavy silence in the hall, and I stare at the weasel. I have to admit, he's a lot cuter this way. I'm impressed at Moody's transfiguration skills.

"Did he get you?" Moody asks me.

"No," I say. "Shouldn't have turned my back on him, I suppose. I hope canceling Dueling Club doesn't make my reflexes rusty..."

"Constant vigilance!" Moody says. Seamus is about to bend down to pick up the weasel, but Moody snaps, "Leave it!"

The weasel squeaks in terror and tries to run up the stairs, heading for Gryffindor Tower.

"Oh, no you don't!" Moody says. He waves his wand, and the weasel bounces into the air, and proceeds to strike the ground repeatedly. "I don't like it when people attack when their opponent's back is turned! Slimy, cowardly thing to do! Never do that again!"

I'm gaping at the sight. Isn't this a bit much? But I don't dare to say anything. I can admire Moody's skill, but this just seems to me to be bullying.

"Professor Moody!" says McGonagall's appalled voice as she comes down the stairs. "What are you doing?"

"I'm teaching," Moody says.

"What?" McGonagall says. "That's not a student, is it? Moody, I don't know if Dumbledore told you, but we don't use transfiguration as a punishment!" She waves her wand, and the weasel becomes Ron again, sitting terrified on the stairs.

"He might or might not have mentioned that," Moody says, shrugging. "But I think my method is more effective."

"We give detentions or take house points, or speak to the offender's head of house!" McGonagall goes on.

"I'll do that, then," Moody says. "You're his head of house, aren't you?"

"I am," McGonagall says. "Now, what did Mr. Weasley do to deserve such a thing?"

"Attacked another student from behind in a most cowardly manner," Moody says.

"Mr. Weasley, is this true?" McGonagall asks Ron.

"Yes, ma'am," Ron murmurs sheepishly.

"Why?" McGonagall asks.

"He insulted my mother," Ron says.

"And your mother insulted me," I add. "I think we're even."

"Enough," McGonagall says. "You've already been punished more than enough for this, Mr. Weasley. But I must warn you not to do it again. Run along, now." McGonagall continues on her way.

Moody looks at my wand, and says, "Wand chains, huh? A crutch, they are. Try not to rely on them too much. Best not to get disarmed at all."

"Yes, sir," I say, putting my wand away. I've been wearing that chain ever since Neville gave it to me. Have I been leaning on it too much? I haven't seen anyone else using them. There must be some reason for that.

Once Moody is gone, Draco says, "That was completely awesome."

"Are you kidding?" Hermione says. "It's good that Professor McGonagall arrived when she did. He could have been hurt!"

"That was terrifying," I agree quietly.

"You guys are no fun," Draco says.

"What if you had been transfigured, into a ferret or something?" I ask. "What would you think of that, then?" I shake my head. "There was no point to that other than to torment him."

Draco looks at the floor. "Yeah, you're probably right," he says reluctantly.