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The Serpent's Gaze, Book Four: Betting On Blood	By : DictionaryWrites Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3021 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and the characters therein belong to JK Rowling; I'm playing in the sandbox, as it were, whilst claiming no ownership and making no money.

Chapter List
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"Okay, look at this," Harry says as he leans back, having cast a frosty spell over the surface of the mirror. The gilded mirror cakes with frost and ice, and Cedric wears the knitted gloves Harry had passed him to examine it.
He holds the mirror aloft in front of him, squinting slightly as he looks through the lens of the mirrored glass, and as he looks within it he tilts it and turns slightly on his feet, looking through the mirror to see the bricks of the castle inside.
"It looks like a maze," Harry says, his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the older boy. Cedric nods his head, his lips pressed together and his expression serious.
The castle is built of icy bricks, and the mirror acts as a kind of lens to look inside; tilting the mirror back makes it zoom out as if using a telescope, and as soon as it's zoomed out as far as possible, one can see the shape of the castle built out on the lake. Right at the top of the icy structure is a small tower, and placed on staffs are three flags, each with the emblem of one of the Triwizard schools emblazoned on it.
"So we have to go through the maze in the castle on the lake and find the flag?" Cedric asks, and then he nods his head. "This looks tough. You've played with this for longer than me - does it show you anything inside?"
"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "But I doubt we're going to be alone in there." Cedric nods his head seriously, and he puts the mirror down by his side, holding it against his hip.
"We should start studying monsters," Cedric says quietly. "While I doubt they're going to pack a Swedish Short-Snout into that maze, they'll probably put a lot of smaller monsters in there. Red caps, hinkypunks, Boggarts... And those are just the smallest things." Harry nods his head, but before he can turn to head away, Cedric catches him by the shoulder.
"Cedric?" Cedric's expression is quietly serious, and his thumb rubs a gentle circle against Harry's shoulder.
"No one else is going to tell you this," he says, "because this isn't school work. But you did a great job, Harry. You're doing way better at this than anyone could have expected, you know? We're going to win this, and it's going to be as much your win as mine, you know that?" Harry smiles up at the other boy - he's heard Hufflepuffs talking about how important it is to praise each other, but he's never been the recipient.
"Thanks," Harry says, unsure what else to say, and Cedric pats him on the back before he finally walks away.
---
"Oh, Hufflepuffs," Andromeda says, twisting her mouth and looking disapproving. "They're an odd bunch, aren't they?" Harry sits beside her out on the grass, holding a mug of cocoa in his hands. It's a cool Friday evening, but Dromeda had, completely unexpectedly, withdrawn a picnic blanket woven with a heating charm from her handbag after suggesting sitting down outside. "How are you feeling about it, Harry? The second task?"
"I'm feeling okay, I guess," Harry says, sitting cross-legged in his place; sweet heat rises up from the blanket beneath him, and he can't help but bask in it a little. Dromeda is wearing a light green robe with ribbons artfully tied all around the neck, and she doesn't seem to feel the cold at all. "I'm reasonably hopeful I won't die." Dromeda sniggers.
"That's always good," she says lightly. She takes a sip from her tea as she looks out over the lake, her heavily lidded eyes half closed. Harry can't help but feel slightly glad she's not wearing her healer's uniform - the lime-green hue of healers' robes is ugly enough, but mostly it's come to fill him with a sense of dread. Harry's never liked doctors all that much, and now that he's well-settled in the wizarding world, healers fill him with a similar anxiety.
"Was Snape glad you came in to see him?"
"I didn't come to see him," Dromeda scoffs, almost convincingly. "I brought in potions from St Mungo's for Poppy Pomfrey."
"No, you didn't," Harry says. "Snape brews all the potions here. Lucius praised it during the summer as a cost-saving measure and an assurance of quality."
"That smug bastard," Dromeda says, and Harry laughs. "Alright, I was in for a chat with him - I'm playing with a new potion for acne and wanted his input. You clever little twat." She says, half-irritably and half-affectionately, and Harry smiles at her. "You been using that fly swat?"
"Yeah," Harry says. "Draco thinks it's incredible." He takes another sip of his cocoa, and then says, "How do you think the second task is going to go? You didn't say."
Dromeda looks at him sideways, studying his face for a few long seconds. She reaches out, patting the side of Harry's face with one of her well-manicured thumbs, and then she leans away again, drinking her coffee with a grim determination. "YCou'll be fine," she says firmly, as if it's an order. "I'm telling you, Harry, you're not to die until at least the third task. Do you hear me?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry replies quietly, trying not to smile. Despite the joke, Dromeda looks more anxious than Harry has ever seen her, and he feels bad for her. He knows from her letters that she gets anxious at the slightest of things, let alone at things like this, where someone might actually die. Casting his mind out for something else to discuss, he says, "Have you heard anything from Ludo Bagman recently? Or about him?"
"Ludo Bagman?" Dromeda repeats, and she glances at Harry slightly suspiciously. "Why, has he been offering you things for your place in the Tournament? He's terrible for bets."
"No, nothing like that," Harry assures her. "No, it's- he actually owes money to Fred and George. A Hell of a lot of money, actually, from the World Cup. I was actually wondering in case someone'd brought him into St Mungo's - he won't answer any of their letters." Dromeda sets her mug down on the blanket beside her, folding her hands over her knees as she looks towards the forest, setting her jaw. "Given the gambling..."
"People have brought him in before, beat up one way or another," Andromeda agrees, giving a small nod of her head. "You weren't wrong to guess. We haven't seen him in a while, though. Mundungus Fletcher keeps complaining that he has new friends. He keeps hanging about that goblin bookies around the corner from Flockhart's Locks."
Harry glances at her, and then asks, very slowly, "Goblins? Ludo Bagman's friends with some goblins?" Dromeda nods her head, clucking her tongue and looking disapproving. "Drom?"
"Yes, love?"
"The betting shop - do they have their own ink? Their own special ink, I mean?"
"Oh, of course," Drom says. "Goblin-made stuff - can't have people enchanting their lotto sheets after they've made their bets, can you? Harry?" Drom calls after him as he scrambles up the hill, running as fast as he can, but Harry doesn't pay her any more attention - he wants to tell people about this as soon as he can.
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The Serpent's Gaze, Book Four: Betting On Blood