The Girl Who Lived

Deciphering the Egg

"Hey — Heather!"
It was Cedric Diggory. I could see Cho waiting for him in the entrance hall below.
"Yeah?"  I said as Cedric ran up the stairs toward him.
"Listen . . ." Cedric lowered his voice. "I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Well . . . take a bath, okay?"
"What?"
"Take a bath, and — er — take the egg with you, and — er — just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think. . . . Trust me.
I stared at him.
"Tell you what," Cedric said, "use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh.' Gotta go . . . want to say good night —"
He grinned at me again and hurried back down the stairs to Cho.
I walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone. That had been extremely strange advice. Why would a bath help me to work out what the wailing egg meant? Was Cedric pulling my leg? Was he trying to make me look like a fool?
The Fat Lady and her friend Vi were snoozing in the picture over the portrait hole. I had to yell "Fairy lights!" before I woke them up, and when I did, they were extremely irritated. I climbed into the common room and found Ron and Hermione having an argument. Standing ten feet apart, they were bellowing at each other, each red in the face.
"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" yelled Hermione; her hair was coming down out of its elegant bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger.
"Oh yeah?" Ron yelled back. "What's that?"
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"
Ron mouthed soundlessly like a goldfish out of water as Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls' staircase to bed. Ron turned to look at Harry.
"Well," he sputtered, looking thunderstruck, "well — that just proves — completely missed the point —"
I didn't say anything. I liked being back on speaking terms with Ron — but I somehow thought that Hermione had gotten the point much better than Ron had.
~*~*~
Not much happened within the next few days.
Okay, that was a lie.
Hagrid got replaced as a teacher and was now ignoring us. Mr. Bagman offered me help with my egg, which I declined.
I was sitting in the Three Broomsticks with Harry, Ron, and Mione when Rita Skeeter walked in.
". . . didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights . . . what nonsense . . . he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman . . .' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo — we just need to find a story to fit it —"
"Trying to ruin someone else's life?" I said loudly.
A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.
"Heather!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join — ?"
"I wouldn't come within ten feet of you," I glared at her furiously. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?"
Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.
"Our readers have a right to the truth, Heather. I am merely doing my —"
"Who cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouted. "There's nothing wrong with him!"
The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.
Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?"
Mione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.
"You horrible woman," she said, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman —"
"Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl . . . not that it needs it —" she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.
"Let's go," said Hermione, "c'mon, Harry, Heather — Ron . . ."
We left; many people were staring at us as we went. Harry glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.
"She'll be after you next, Hermione," said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.
"Let her try!" said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Heather, then Hagrid . . ."
"You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter," said Ron nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you —"
"My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!" said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all we could do to keep up with her. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!"
Breaking into a run, she led us all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.
The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.
"Hagrid!" Mionw shouted, pounding on his front door. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —"
The door opened. Hermione said, "About t — !" and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.
"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.
"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid," said Hermione in a rather small voice.
"Yes, I surmised as much," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you come in?"
"Oh . . . um . . . okay," said Hermione.
We went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around.
Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.
"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.
Hagrid looked up.
" 'Lo," he said in a very hoarse voice.
"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, closing the door behind
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?"
Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, "Hermione, Harry, Heather, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."
"Of course we still want to know you!" I said, staring at Hagrid. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Pro- fessor," he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.
"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.
"Er — right," I said sheepishly. "I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?"
Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.
"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"
Hagrid was completely convinced everyone hated him, blah, blah, blah. Let's skip ahead, now.
As I had no idea how long a bath he would need to work out the secret of the golden egg, I decided to do it at night, when I would be able to take as much time as I wanted. Reluctant though I was to accept more favors from Cedric, I also decided to use the prefects' bathroom; far fewer people were allowed in there, so it was much less likely that I would be disturbed.
I planned my excursion carefully, because he had been caught out of bed and out-of-bounds by Filch the caretaker in the middle of the night once before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. The Invisibility Cloak would, of course, be essential, and as an added precaution, I thought he would take the Marauder's Map, borrowed from Harry, also, which, next to the cloak, was the most useful aid to rule-breaking Harry owned. The map showed the whole of Hogwarts, including its many shortcuts and secret passageways and, most important of all, it revealed the people inside the castle as minuscule, labeled dots, moving around the corridors, so that I would be forewarned if somebody was approaching the bathroom.
On Thursday night, I sneaked up to bed, put on the cloak, crept back downstairs, and, just as I had done on the night when Hagrid had shown him the dragons, waited for the portrait hole to open. This time it was Harry who waited outside to give the Fat Lady the password ("banana fritters"). "Good luck," he muttered, climbing into the room as I crept out past him.
It was awkward moving under the cloak tonight, because I had the heavy egg under one arm and the map held in front of his nose with the other. However, the moonlit corridors were empty and silent, and by checking the map at strategic intervals, I was able to ensure that I wouldn't run into anyone I wanted to avoid. When I reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lostlooking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, I located the right door, leaned close to it, and muttered the password, "Pine fresh," just as Cedric had told him.
The door creaked open. I slipped inside, bolted the door behind him, and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, looking around.
Basically, what happened was I got in the tub, Moaning Myrtle showed up, and when I opened the egg, there was singing.
"Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour — the prospect's black, Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
Wow. That was deep. Like, as deep as the Mariana Trench. Very profound.
But what the hell did any of that mean?
I've concluded, with the help of Myrtle, that the second task is basically that merepeople took something that's mine, she I have to get it back within an hour.
Three issues though.
One:  I can't swim.
Two: I can't breath underwater.
Three: I can't fricking swim.
On my way back to the Gryffindor Tower, I dropped the egg.
A loud, wailing, screeching noise was emitted.
Filfh thought it was Peeves.
Thank God I had my invisibility cloak.
Then Snape and Moody came.
Moody took a step closer to the foot of the stairs. I saw Moody's magical eye travel over Snape, and then, unmistakably, onto myself.
My heart gave a horrible jolt. Moody could see through Invisibility Cloaks . . . he alone could see the full strangeness of the scene: Snape in his nightshirt, Filch clutching the egg, and me, trapped in the stairs behind them. Moody's lopsided gash of a mouth opened in surprise. For a few seconds, he and I stared straight into each other's eyes. Then Moody closed his mouth and turned his blue eye upon Snape again.
"Did I hear that correctly, Snape?" he asked slowly. "Someone broke into your office?"
"It is unimportant," said Snape coldly.
"On the contrary," growled Moody, "it is very important. Who'd want to break into your office?"
"A student, I daresay," said Snape. I could see a vein flickering horribly on Snape's greasy temple. "It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard . . . students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt. . . ."
"Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?" said Moody. "Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?"
I saw the edge of Snape's sallow face turn a nasty brick color, the vein in his temple pulsing more rapidly.
"You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," he said in a soft and dangerous voice, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."
Moody's face twisted into a smile. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye —"
Boy was this intense.
"Dumbledore happens to trust me," said Snape through clenched teeth. "I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!"
"'Course Dumbledore trusts you," growled Moody. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me — I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"
Snape suddenly did something very strange. He seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him.
Moody laughed. "Get back to bed, Snape."
"You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"
"Prowl away," said Moody, but his voice was full of menace. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time. . . . You've dropped something, by the way. . . ."
With a stab of horror, I saw Moody point at the Marauder's Map, still lying on the staircase six steps below him. As Snape and Filch both turned to look at it, I threw caution to the winds; I raised his arms under the cloak and waved furiously at Moody to attract his attention, mouthing "It's mine! Mine!"
Snape had reached out for it, a horrible expression of dawning comprehension on his face —
"Accio Parchment!"
The map flew up into the air, slipped through Snape's outstretched fingers, and soared down the stairs into Moody's hand.
"My mistake," Moody said calmly. "It's mine — must've dropped it earlier —"
Oh my lordy, thank God.
But Snape's black eyes were darting from the egg in Filch's arms to the map in Moody's hand, and I could tell he was putting two and two together, as only Snape could. . . .
"Potter," he said quietly.
Shit shit shit no don't you even-
"What's that?" said Moody calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.
"Potter!" Snape snarled, and he actually turned his head and stared right at the place where I was, as though he could suddenly see me. "That egg is Potter's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Harry Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! She is here! Potter, in her brother's Invisibility Cloak!"
Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man and began to move up the stairs; I could have sworn his over-large nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff me out — trapped, I leaned backward, trying to avoid Snape's fingertips, but any moment now —
"There's nothing there, Snape!" barked Moody, "but I'll be happy to tell the headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Heather Potter!"
"Meaning what?" Snape turned again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from my chest.
"Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that girl!" said Moody, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs. "And so am I, Snape . . . very interested. . . ." The torch- light flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.
Snape was looking down at Moody, and I couldn't see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands.
"I merely thought," said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, "that if Potter was wandering around after hours again . . . it's an unfortunate habit of hers . . . She should be stopped. For — for her own safety."
"Ah, I see," said Moody softly. "Got Potter's best interests at heart, have you?"
There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other. Mrs. Norris gave a loud meow, still peering around Filch's legs, looking for the source of my bubble-bath smell.
"I think I will go back to bed," Snape said curtly.
"Best idea you've had all night," said Moody. "Now, Filch, if you'll just give me that egg —"
"No!" said Filch, clutching the egg as though it were his firstborn son. "Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves' treachery!"
"It's the property of the champion he stole it from," said Moody. "Hand it over, now."
Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs. Norris, who stared blankly at me for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast, Harry heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs. Norris. "Never mind, my sweet . . . we'll see Dumbledore in the morning . . . tell him what Peeves was up to. . . ."
A door slammed. I was left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottommost stair and started to climb laboriously toward him, a dull clunk on every other step.
"Close shave, Potter," he muttered.
"Yeah . . . I — er . . . thanks," I smiled weakly.
"What is this thing?" said Moody, drawing the Marauders Map out of his pocket and unfolding it.
"Map of Hogwarts," I said, hoping Moody was going to pull me out of the staircase soon; my leg was really hurting me.
"Merlin's beard," Moody whispered, staring at the map, his magical eye going haywire. "This . . . this is some map, Potter!"
"Yeah, it's . . . quite useful," I said. My eyes were starting to water from the pain. "Er — Professor Moody, d'you think you could help me — ?"
"What? Oh! Yes . . . yes, of course . . ."
Moody took hold of my arms and pulled; my leg came free of the trick step, and I climbed onto the one above it. Moody was still gazing at the map.
"Potter . . ." he said slowly, "you didn't happen, by any chance, to see who broke into Snape's office, did you? On this map, I mean?"
"Er . . . yeah, I did . . ." I admitted. "It was Mr. Crouch."
Moody's magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.
"Crouch?" he said. "You're — you're sure, Potter?"
"Positive," I stated.
"Well, he's not here anymore," said Moody, his eye still whizzing
over the map. "Crouch . . . that's very — very interesting. . . ."
He said nothing for almost a minute, still staring at the map. I could tell that this news meant something to Moody and very much wanted to know what it was. I wondered whether I dared ask. Moody scared him slightly . . . yet Moody had just helped him avoid an awful lot of trouble. . . .
I didn't bother asking if he knew why, though. All I cared about is that I figured out the second task, and that I was more than thankful for Mad-Eye Moody.