Smoke & Mirrors

Disclaimer The characters and sheer genius belong to J K Rowling. Any smut is mine, but I don't make a penny/eurocent/cent from my warped imagination.

Chapter Eleven Hangover Cures

Harry woke slowly, his mouth parched, his head thumping. Oh God, that mead of Hagrid's was like being hit over the head with a honied brick. He flung out a hand, then stiffened as it made contact with a warm, naked body. His heart skipped a beat. Had Severus - ? He forced his eyes open and blearily tried to focus on the dark blur next to him, then reached out for his spectacles. A loud groan came from beside him, then an incoherent mumble. Harry found himself staring into a familiar, beetle-browed face. The two men gave simultaneous gasps of horror, looking at one another with dark suspicion.

Viktor Krum scowled. "Ve haff not - you did not - ?"

"No," Harry said firmly. The young men took stock, each secretly wondering exactly what had happened the previous night, and how they'd ended up together, naked, in Hagrid's enormous bed. Fortunately at that moment Dobby arrived, with a loud popping noise which made them both wince. The house elf carried a silver tray laden with a stack of toast wrapped in a napkin, a steaming coffee pot, cups; and two glasses, each containing a dark purple, faintly hissing liquid.

"Harry Potter and his friend should drink these, sirs," he said, rotating the tray to present the glasses to the two wizards. "Dobby has brought a potion to cure hangovers and some breakfast."

"Err, ta," croaked Harry, taking one of the glasses in a shaking hand and gulping its contents despite a sudden lurch of nausea. "Um?"

"Dobby put Harry Potter to bed last night," squeaked the house elf. "Dobby is used to dealing with drunks, because of Winky, sir." He balanced the tray on the bed between Harry and Viktor.

"Oh... right. Well, just bugger off now, okay?" Harry groaned. Dobby looked at him reproachfully and disappeared. Harry and Viktor got out of opposite sides of the bed and dressed in awkward silence, their backs to each other. Viktor picked up the tray from the bed and carried it over to the table.

Several cups of strong black coffee and a couple of slices of toast later, Harry began to feel a bit better. Never again! he vowed to himself, frowning at the mead barrel standing innocently beside the fireplace.

Viktor Krum seemed to be recovering, too; he looked marginally less surly as he got ready to leave. "I vill go and see Hermy-own-ninny before I travel to Durmstrang," he said. "Vot is your message to Professor Snape?"

"Tell him... " Harry paused. There was so much he wanted to say, but he had to be careful. "Just tell him to contact Professor Flitwick as soon as he can. And... to watch out. Better not let anyone else see him here."

Krum nodded and slouched off.

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"I'm just so confused, Harry," Hermione said, smiling at him across Hagrid's huge wooden table. "I really enjoyed being with Viktor, but I couldn't help thinking about Ron. When's he supposed to be getting back from Charlie's, anyway?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "I sort of got the impression he wasn't in any hurry."

"Well, he'll be in trouble if he's not back soon," Hermione snapped. "It's his mother's birthday on Monday."

"I'm wondering when Severus will come back here... if he ever does," Harry said gloomily. He was in a dark mood, trying hard not to feel hurt and rejected again.

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," Hermione said. "From what Viktor said, that wizarding moot at Durmstrang will be over in a week or two, then Professor Snape is bound to come looking for you."

"I suppose." Harry rubbed his forehead. He was finding it very difficult to concentrate.

"You know, Harry, you really ought to have that talk with Quercus," Hermione said earnestly.

"Yeah, yeah..." Harry had been putting this off; he felt both embarrassed and furious whenever he thought of the wizard photographer and his degrading spell. "Dunno where he's hiding, though."

"Oh, Crookshanks will be able to hunt him out for you," said Hermione, looking affectionately down at her pet cat, who was busy sharpening his claws on a table leg.

Harry reluctantly pulled his winter cloak down from its peg and accompanied Hermione and Crookshanks outside. "Do you want to come too, Hermione?"

"I'd better not. He seemed to want to talk just to you, Harry. I'll go back to the library for now and come to see you later." Hermione bent down and stroked Crookshanks' rough fur. "Take Harry to find that nasty squirrel, there's a clever cat!"

Dobby's potion and breakfast notwithstanding, Harry still felt woozy as he walked away from the hut. The chilly wind made him gasp, but at least it helped revive him a bit. Harry could see the black outlines of tree branches tossing about against the cloudy sky. He wrapped his warm cloak firmly around him and set off into the Forbidden Forest, following Crookshanks. Hermione's cat led him along narrow, hidden tracks deep into the Forest. Harry was vaguely worried about meeting the centaur herd, but there was no sign of them. The wind had dropped now and it was eerily quiet. Fallen leaves made a thick carpet underfoot. That, together with the cottonwool-stuffing feeling lingering in his head, made Harry feel oddly disconnected.

He noticed several old nests in the leafless trees they passed, but none showed signs of life. At last Crookshanks came to a halt at the foot of a big oak. Looking up, Harry saw a ball of twigs, moss and dead leaves high up in the fork of a branch: a squirrel's dray. Crookshanks climbed up the trunk and sat on a branch beside the dray, swishing his tail and hissing. He reached in an exploratory paw and an angry chattering sound came from inside. Eventually a dishevelled squirrel emerged, rubbing its front paws over its face with a very human gesture. Catching sight of Harry, it gave an excited chitter, ran down the tree trunk and Transfigured into a small wizard with rumpled fair hair. "Harry Potter! Nice to see you, ducky," he exclaimed.

"Hello, Quercus," Harry said dully.

The little wizard licked his lips and looked slily at Harry. "Of course, you weren't wearing that silly big cloak last time I saw you."

Harry felt a hot wave of rage surge through him. He seized Quercus by the throat and slammed him up against a tree. "Why the fuck did you use my photo like that, you little shit?" he demanded.

"Oooh, temper, temper," Quercus said breathlessly. He smirked at Harry. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy those dreams, ducky, cuz I know different."

Harry pulled out his wand and thrust it into Quercus's face. "Tell me what the hell this is all about," he snarled. "Or I'll hex you so you never enjoy sex again." He tapped the wand threateningly on the other wizard's nose. "Or watching other people doing it, either."

The smirk slid from Quercus's face. "No -" he said anxiously. "No, don't do that! It wasn't my idea! They made me do it..."

"Who made you do it?" Harry asked.

"Put that wand away, and I'll tell you," Quercus said. He licked his lips nervously. Harry tucked the wand away and glared at him. "Well?"

Quercus's story was rambling and confused. Harry had difficulty making sense of it. As far as he could make out, the wizard photographer had been approached by Corvid Simonides, on behalf of a third party. Quercus wasn't sure who, exactly, but thought it was someone in the Ministry of Magic. Someone who was able to threaten him with exposure for - well, never mind. Anyway, at that time he'd still got the negative of Harry's photo – Harry growled - and so, well, so the plot was hatched. It took some tricky spells - Quercus seemed quite proud of this - although he did have help from Corvid and his cronies.

"And it worked..." Quercus said breathlessly. "Oooh, you were so hot ducky... do you remember the one where you played with your nipples till you came, while five wizards gave it you up the arse one after another?"

"No, I don't," Harry said shortly, then went scarlet as he remembered another dream - the one Severus had woken him from.

"And then there was that one where you tied that red ribbon round your cock..." Quercus broke off his enthusiastic reminiscences as Harry made a convulsive movement towards his wand.

"...but I'm surprised you didn't already know why I did it," Quercus continued petulantly. "Your gorgeous lover choked it out of me before he set fire to my studio. Oooh, he was so masterful, ducky; I quite envy you!"

"So why did you tell Hermione you had to talk to me?" Harry demanded.

"Well, there's more." Quercus licked his lips again. "There was another spell... while we still had the negative of your photo, we managed to extract a memory of one of your hottest dreams... oooh, we were all in it, so like the real thing... and..."

"And what?" Harry asked, his heart thumping.

"The idea was to sell viewings of it to interested parties..." he faltered to a stop at the look on Harry's face. "I don't think they've done it yet," he said placatingly. "They need a Pensieve for that, and they're ever so rare..."

"WHAT!" Harry bellowed. "You mean I'll be featuring in - in - the wizarding equivalent of - INTERNET PORN!!?"

"What's that?" Quercus asked, his eyes avid.

"Never mind, you fucking little creep," Harry growled, and jabbed his fist at the other wizard's face. But Quercus was too quick for him; Transfiguring back to his squirrel form he scuttled off into the depths of the forest. Harry's fist hit the tree with a sickening crunch.

"Bugger!" Harry gasped, and, cradling his fist against his chest, followed Crookshanks back to the hut. In spite of the pain in his hand, he felt envigorated. The encounter with Quercus seemed to have dispelled the lingering aftereffects of Hagrid's mead, but it had left him with a lot to think about. What would Severus say when he found out Quercus and co had produced a recreation of one of Harry's most lurid wet dreams? Who had it now? Would he be able to find it and destroy it before the gang managed to get hold of a Pensieve? Was this why the Daily Prophet had been going on about wizard vice rings? Who had been dropping hints to them? Who was really behind all this? And why? So many questions...

Harry was still mulling things over as he let himself into Hagrid's hut, hung up his cloak and kindled a fire. Would Severus help him track down the culprit? What if Severus was still determined to kill the wizards responsible for those dreams of his? When was his lover coming back, anyway? Would Viktor get the message to him soon?...

The wind had risen again and Harry could hear it howling around the little hut, rattling the window panes so loudly that it was some time before he realised he could hear another sound as well; an impatient tapping. He opened the door and was surprised to see Professor McGonagall outside, looking at him gravely.

"Professor! Come in. Is anything wrong?"

The headmistress stepped inside and stood warming her hands by the fire. "Yes, Mr Potter, I'm afraid there is. I have some worrying news for you."

Harry stared at her, an icy clutch of fear cramping his guts. "About Severus?" he asked.

"No, Mr Potter. About your house elf. About Kreacher."

TBC >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A/N Sorry it's been such a long time since the last update. Still, now Christmas and everything is out of the way, I'm hoping to update more frequently (specially if I get feedback, nudge nudge).