The same but different

Chapter 18 Consequences

Everyone seemed a little on edge after the second task. There were no awe-filled retellings of events like there had been after the dragons - for anyone except the champions themselves, there were no events to retell. Several people had pestered the three Hogwarts hostages for their version of it all, but considering none of them woke up until they were above water, it wasn't like they had much to say.

Fleur was withdrawn, keeping her sister close and her friends at her shoulders like bodyguards, having quiet conversations in French and rarely acknowledging anyone outside of her immediate social bubble. A bubble that now included Harry, to his astonishment. Viktor was even gruffer than usual; he'd yelled at a pair of fifth years who were harassing Hermione for details about the lake in the library, getting all four of them kicked out by Pince. People stopped asking after that, giving the champion a wide berth. Giving all the champions a wide berth.

Harry was glad for it, having stopped himself from hexing a few people going after Luna and Neville - they still saw it all as a fun spectator sport, something to make up for the lack of quidditch in their lives. They didn't know what it was like, getting thrown into that lake knowing that the life of someone you loved could be at stake. The tournament was known for its high death count, there was no guarantee that the hour-long deadline hadn't been exactly that.

The champions had bonded, that day in the lake. They had all - except for Harry - consented to putting their own lives in danger for the sake of the tournament. They had never agreed to others being endangered on their behalf. The Ministry officials might not know it yet, but they had crossed a line, and they would regret that.

Several days after the task, they were all sat down for breakfast when all of a sudden the doors slammed wide open, and an enraged voice called out "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!"

Beside him, Harry felt Neville tense. The entire hall went dead silent - the sharp click of the woman's heels as she stalked between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables echoed off the stone walls. Harry watched Dumbledore turn a shade paler up at the staff table.

He only knew who the woman was because of the rather distinctive hat perched atop her head - a hat involving a stuffed vulture, that he had seen once before, on the head of a boggart version of Snape in the staff room. He turned to Neville, who looked both impressed and horrified. "Is that..." he whispered, and the taller Gryffindor boy nodded.

"Yup. Gran got my letter."

Before Harry could ask anything further, Augusta Longbottom reached the staff table, glaring daggers at the headmaster. "How dare you put the students of this school at risk! You had absolutely no right to send my grandson, the only remaining heir to the Longbottom line, mind you, to the bottom of the lake for the sake of your blasted tournament! He is underage, and yet I was not asked nor informed of his involvement. Even he was not informed! You summoned him to your office and drugged his tea."

A collective gasp ran through the hall at her words. Even several of the teachers looked vaguely ill; McGonagall looked furious. "Albus, you insisted you had sent out permission slips!" she hissed, loud enough to be heard clearly in the hall's stunned silence. The headmaster's expression was largely hidden by his beard, until he offered a kindly smile to the furious woman in front of him.

"Now, Augusta, my dear-"

"Don't," Mrs Longbottom cut him off sharply, eyes flashing. Harry could feel the enraged magic pouring off her in waves, and knew that despite her formal robes and elderly frame, she could and would have Dumbledore strung up by his ankles with a few short spells if he gave her reason. Harry loved her already. "I have yet to hear back from Mademoiselle Delacour's parents, but Miss Lovegood's father had also received no such communication, and poor Miss Granger's parents didn't even know what the tournament was!" She turned, offering a stern look to the bushy-haired girl at the Gryffindor table. "They're expecting a letter from you shortly, Miss Granger. If I were you, I would be generous with the details." The way her eyes darted pointedly to the Durmstrang contingency across the hall made her meaning abundantly clear, and Hermione blushed bright red.