Sweet Revenge

The Second Task

Professor McGonagall was sitting in the stands, staring at the dismal gray lake, trying to look interested. 

The Second Task consisted of abducting those closest to the champions and putting them under stasis charms at the bottom of the Black Lake. 

The champions were to find a way to retrieve said persons and return to the surface with them within the course of one hour. 

Unfortunately, this left the spectators staring at a seemingly empty lake for an hour and some, depending on if the champions managed to get themselves physically harmed or not. 

She herself had asked Albus, 

          "Albus, are you saying we will be staring at a vacant lake for an hour?"

Said Headmaster had calmly responded with a,

          "Yes, of course Minerva."

Several students had got out their homework and were proceeding to write their essays in the freezing cold (she knew she'd have to deal with the consequences of shaking hands later when she graded them) while others simply gathered together to gossip. 

It was then that Minerva noticed something rather strange: The Lake, which had previously been rippling in the wind, was still as glass. 

          "Albus? Is it natural for the Lake to look like that?" she asked. 

What she failed to think of was removing the Sonorous charm she had placed on herself. 

The consequence was the whole student body dropping their work and clambering over one another to get a good look at the Lake. 

The murmuring started. 

A pearly sheen covered the water's surface, spreading as fast as Magiked ice, the tendrils reaching until it covered every square inch of the Lake. 

Minerva watched with bated breath. All was silent until the sharp cry of a blackbird cut like a well-placed Diffindo through the tense air. 

And then, all erupted into inferno.  

----------

          "Harry!!! Do not tell me you cast Fiendfyre on the Lake! It could have killed you!!!" Pansy shrieked as she threw herself at Harry. 

Harry grinned and nodded to Barty as the man passed. 

          "Professor."

The corners of Barty's eyes crinkled. 

          "Potter."

He moved along with the stream of students. 

Harry had, in fact, cast Fiendfyre on the Lake and he did not regret it one bit. 

He loved the feeling of the energy erupting out of the tip of his wand as the flames shot out and began to dance to a tune he composed on the spot.

It was exhilarating and made him feel light-headed just thinking about it. 

Oh, how Auntie Bella would be proud that he'd done his first bit of public Dark Magic! He'd be writing to her this evening, of course. 

Tom would probably hound him with questions tomorrow, but it would be worth it. 

          "Nice one, Harry," Draco gave him an imperialistic impressed look, copied from his father. 

A few moments of silence until he cracked and, cackling, he clapped Harry on the back and congratulated him throughly. 

The others joined after only a few moments while Harry thought about how Draco's cackle sounded disturbingly like Auntie Bella's. 

Maybe it had to do with the Black genes in him. 

----------

          "Yeah, well, I, um, sorta kinda lit the lake on fire and, well, it seems that I got a bit carried away and I might have maybe madetheflames'basesixfeetdeep..."

Harry plastered on his best fake cheerful smile. 

Silence. 

           "YOU WHAT???!!!" Tom burst out. 

It wasn't as though Harry had not expected it but he really had been hoping Tom would remember what he had said the day before. 

          "I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST THE SURFACE, YOU BUMBLING, OBNOXIOUS, DREADFUL EXUSE FOR A HUMAN!!!"

Harry blinked. 

          "...What?"

          "Do you realize that you could have burned Moraska had she been perusing about the Lake?!"

          "...Um...."

          "Obviously not!"

          "So...you're not mad about me lighting the Lake on fire?"

          "Oh no, why would I be?" Tom said flippantly and opened his mouth to continue his rant before Harry cut him off. 

          "You're mad about Moraska's possibly burnished scales?"

Harry was schooling his expression into his best unimpressed look even if he was just waiting to burst into laughter on the inside. 

          "Well, yes!!! Moraska's scales are precious to her!"

          "...Couldn't you just bring her to a Magical Menagerie?"

          "Oh, yes, of course. I just have to walk in and say, 'oh hey, here's my pet Basilisk that could possibly kill you if you look it in the eyes and -oh- her scales need to be polished, especially the ones around her head, oh and did-you-know that her eyes are in her head?!"

The sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice. 

          "...You've got a point there."

          "Of course, I'm always right."

Tom went back to examining his nails as a rather awkward silence suffocated the room (he seemed oblivious to it). 

          "So!" Harry said loudly, "how exactly do you plan on letting your followers know you're back? Other than Auntie, Uncle, and Stan, I mean?"

Tom sat back in his chair and crossed his right leg over his left, hooking his ankle over his knee. 

Lacing his fingers, he started on about a ritual he'd created requiring bone, flesh, blood, or something or other and how he'd have to have a powerful glamour ring that he'd be re-glamouring as a part of his finger and on and on like that...

Harry zoned out until Tom came to the spot where he was detailing the Azkaban escape,

          "....and since the locks face to the right on Cell 777's side and the left on the opposite wall, then the spell will have to hit the North face, six hands up the wall, at an angle of exactly 64.659 degrees-"

          "How the hell did you manage to calculate all this?"

          "Arithmancy. You'd be able to do it too if you were paying attention for the past five minutes," Tom deadpanned. 

Harry flushed and attempted to tuck his face away in the couch's cushions. He failed when Tom lifted him and, murmuring something that sounded like "I'm sure you're tired darling," brought him up the stairs and laid him on the bed. 

A wave of a wand and a drowsy feeling set in. 

He only vaguely registered that his room held far more silver than this one.