Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 9 Goblin Sport

Harry threw himself violently to one side, fighting for control of the crippled broomstick he was riding, narrowly avoiding a long blast of dragon fire. The goblin spectators hissed excitedly and waved their arms.

They'd seemed to come out of nowhere, pouring out of the narrow alleyways of the old city, he hadn't stood a chance. The next thing he knew, here he was, on a jinxed broomstick, fighting for his life against a huge dragon. They were in a hidden amphitheatre open to the sky. Charred black streaks on the ground below showed it had been used for this purpose many times before. By these goblins, roaring encouragement, shouting out the odds...

Probably betting on how long I survive before the dragon gets me, Harry thought, then firmly put aside all thoughts except how to outwit his fiery opponent. A searing blast of flame shot out of the dragon's nostrils. Harry soared up, just in time, and then swooped round in a tight circle, trying to confuse his opponent. The dragon's reach was restricted, which was just as well. One of its hind legs was encircled by a wide metal band with a heavy chain fixed to it, tethering the creature to an iron ring sunk into the very centre of the arena. And that just might, Harry thought, give him a chance ...

He flew temptingly close to the dragon, veering away at the last moment, flying in a tight spiral which the creature clumsily tried to follow. "Come on," Harry whispered to it. "Have a go ... over here ... no, here ... " There were angry shouts from the goblins as they realised what was happening; the dragon was getting hopelessly entangled in its tethering chain ...

Harry gulped, any minute now the goblins might decide to take a hand themselves, and then where would he be? But then he realised that a strange thing was happening ... the goblins appeared to have lost interest in their sport; they were looking up into the sky, and some of them were pointing upwards. Harry instinctively looked up as well, though still taking wary glances at the dragon. At first he couldn't see what the goblins were finding so interesting, then he spotted a black speck in the distance, getting larger as it got nearer, getting very familiar in fact, surely it was –

"Buckbeak!" Harry gasped. What was going on? Surely Buckbeak was in Romania; Charlie Weasley had volunteered to take him after Hagrid's death ... was Charlie –? Yes! As the hippogriff slowly circled above him, he caught sight of two people on its back – Charlie, holding Buckbeak tightly round the neck, and behind him, Ron, holding on to Charlie. Harry knew what he had to do: he hauled up on the broomstick and, fighting its jinx every inch of the way, rose higher and higher, as far as he could before the broomstick finally came to a juddering halt.

Ron leaned over Buckbeak's side and grabbed Harry's hand. The hippogriff narrowly avoided another gout of flame from the enraged dragon and flew high above it as Ron managed to haul Harry up behind him. The abandoned broomstick fell clattering to the ground, narrowly missing the goblins who ran to their dragon, trying to calm it. One of them looked up, shaking his fist at the trio as they made their escape, carried swiftly away by Buckbeak's strong wing beats.

"Phew, that was close," Harry said. "Thanks guys. How did you find me?"

"Just luck, mate," Ron said, still looking shaken. "Charlie heard rumours about 'unregistered dragon activity in a built up area' near here, and as it was close to the last place you'd been seen, he volunteered to fly over from Romania and have a look."

"Don't know about you two, but I could do with a drink," Charlie shouted over his shoulder. "There's a wizard inn I know just over the border, we'll take a break there."

Soon the trio were sitting in a cosy little inn, holding large earthernware tankards of beer, a big dish of snacks on the table in front of them.

"So, Harry," Charlie said, putting his mug down on the table with a loud thunk, and scooping up a handful of snacks. "What happened?"

"Yeah, and where's Snape? Did you break up with the greasy git?" asked Ron, looking hopeful.

"Nah, he went off, said he had business at Durmstrang – said I could stay with a mate of his, this Oskar Hinzel bloke, I'd be safe there till he got back."

"Safe!" Ron chortled. "This is some new definition known only to Snape, yeah?"

"Yeah, well, this mate of his turned out to be a right nutter; part Kobold, or something," Harry said.

"Kobolds!" said Ron. "I've heard of them. Sort of like house elves aren't they?"

"Better not let HIM hear you say that," said Harry, looking a bit apprehensive.

"Part Kobold ... and what was the other part?" asked Charlie.

"I dunno – must've been something pretty aggressive ... and horny," Harry said.

"So what happened, mate?" asked Ron.

Harry fumbled in his pocket and produced a small jar. "It was all down to this, really," he said, putting it down on the table. "Severus made this arse ointment for me – and it makes everywhere pong like a brothel, well ..."

Ron looked at him sideways. "Please don't tell me why he made it for you," he begged.

"Uh, no, it was to carry on healing me, uh, there, after, well, after he was a bit over enthusiastic one time ... anyway, I remembered Severus told me to put some in every day for another week ... trouble was Oskar walked in and got the wrong idea, so he, err, tried to jump me ..."

"How did he get the wrong idea?" Charlie asked interestedly.

Harry went bright red. "Well, it's a bit embarrassing – I was putting the stuff in with my fingers, and, uh, remembering how Severus did it ... I was sort of fantasising about him so I was hard and everything ..."

He smiled reminiscently, tilting back his chair and gazing at the ceiling, thinking ... How contrite Severus had been when he realised how his violent love-making had torn Harry's passage ... how he'd made the healing potion ... how gentle and loving the touch of his fingers had been the first time he'd applied it ... then the next day, under the big oak, rhythmically thrusting his potion-covered fingers in and out of Harry's arse in time with the movement of their cocks ... Harry abruptly crashed his chairlegs back onto the floor and crossed his legs. He caught sight of Ron and Charlie exchanging amused glances.

"Er, sorry, I was miles away. So anyway, there I was sticking my fingers in my arse, smelling like a tart with the scent Severus put in the potion, rock hard cock –"

Ron hooted with laughter. "This Oskar character must've thought Christmas had come early ..."

"Yeah, well, until I punched him on the nose."

Charlie stretched out his arm and picked up the little jar of ointment. Unscrewing the lid, he held the jar to his nose and sniffed cautiously. "Wow, that's really ... erotic. Old Snape sure knows how to brew an enticing potion." He sniffed again. "I could almost fancy you myself, Harry, if you had this up you. You can't really blame Snape's mate for trying it on."

Ron scowled at his brother. "You'd better be joking," he muttered. "Things are complicated enough."

Charlie grinned lazily. "So what happened next, Harry?" he asked.

"Um, I stormed out – I was furious – I wandered around for hours, wondering what to do. I got lost in some really dodgy part of town, looked a bit like Knockturn Alley but of course the signs weren't in English; I'd no idea where I was." He took a deep gulp at his tankard. "Next thing I know, this bunch of goblins come running and surround me. They took me to that place you rescued me from, said I had to fight the dragon or they'd just let it kill me. They gave me a broomstick, but it was pretty crap – and jinxed so it couldn't leave the arena. Oh, and the place was enchanted so wands wouldn't work there, and you couldn't Disapparate from it. Those goblins had it all worked out, they'd obviously used the place loads of times."

Charlie frowned. "Yeah, well, we're going to have to report them – dragon baiting is seriously illegal."

Harry snorted. "It seemed more like wizard baiting to me," he said. "Mind you, it was sort of fun – scary, but fun. But I'm glad you turned up!" He grinned at the Weasley brothers. "So, how are you? How's things at Hogwarts, Ron?"

"Oh, same old," Ron said, shrugging. "Oh, yeah, Hermione said to tell you – Dobby reckons he's got some news for you. Wouldn't tell her what it was, though."

****************************

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione was carrying on her normal routine while waiting for news of her friends. One morning not long after Ron's departure she was walking over to the greenhouses to help Professor Sprout with a class of first years. Suddenly a small tabby cat came streaking towards her across the windswept grass, ears laid back, Crookshanks in hot pursuit. Just before it reached Hermione, the cat sprang into the air. Hermione automatically held her arms out to catch it, but the cat Transformed in midair into a dishevelled Professor McGonagall. Hermione took a step back, her mouth falling open in surprise.

Crookshanks skidded to a halt, swishing his bushy tail from side to side in frustration. Professor McGonagall regarded him, thin-lipped. "If you can't control that cat of yours, Miss Granger," she gasped, twisting her hair back into its usual bun and replacing her pointed hat, "I'll have to ban him from Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned at Crookshanks, who hiked a hind leg into the air and began nonchalantly licking his privates. "He's been acting very strangely lately," she said. "I'm sorry, Professor, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

Professor McGonagall sniffed. "Very well, Miss Granger, we'll say no more about it." She tidied a few stray wisps of hair away under her hat and smoothed down her cloak. "Have you any news of Harry Potter?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron and Charlie Weasley are looking for him, but I've not heard anything yet. I'm worried ..."

"So am I," said Professor McGonagall. "And have you noticed the nasty little articles that have started appearing in the Daily Prophet lately? Hinting about wizard vice rings and former heroes going wrong – even the odd snide comment about The-Boy-Who-Lived. You, know, the sort of thing Rita Skeeter used to do."

At the mention of Rita Skeeter, Crookshank looked up, cross-eyed, and gave a loud miaou.

Later that day, Hermione was walking along the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. She'd been visiting Hagrid's grave, something she often did when feeling worried and upset. It calmed her to spend time there, thinking of her old friend and how good he'd been to them all. Suddenly Crookshanks appeared, chasing a small animal across the grass towards her. For one horrible moment she thought it was Professor McGonagall in cat form again, then realized it was a small squirrel.

Hermione frowned at it. It looked like the one she kept seeing in the oak tree; it seemed more ... flamboyant ... than ordinary squirrels, somehow.

The squirrel came to an abrupt halt in front of her, then tried to backtrack. Crookshanks batted at it with his paw and miaowed impatiently. Staring at them, Hermione felt things suddenly falling into place. Professor McGonagall's cat – Rita Skeeter's beetle – this squirrel – the oak tree – Crookshanks' strange behaviour –

"You clever cat," Hermione whispered. "You've been trying to tell me something all along, haven't you?"

Crookshanks purred loudly, and nudged the squirrel towards her.

Hermione pointed accusingly at it. "OK," she said. "So who ARE you?"

The squirrel glanced around apprehensively and then scuttled into the Forbidden Forest, closely followed by Crookshanks. Hermione hurried after them. At last the squirrel stopped, apparently feeling it was safe from prying eyes here amongst the trees. It flirted its tail and presented its arse to Crookshanks, who spat angrily.

"You're wasting your time," said Hermione with a smile. "He's only interested in who you really are – and so am I. Come on, show yourself!"

The squirrel gave a very human shrug, and Transformed. Hermione stared blankly. "Quercus!" she gasped. "But I thought you were dead!"

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

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