Chapter 10 The Politics of Being Champion

Despite the successes enjoyed by all four champions during the first task of the tournament, things had been on a slow boil within Hogwarts, and Gryffindor specifically. The Ravenclaws viewed Luna as a traitor to their house for having taken up Harry on his offer and made her life uncomfortable whenever possible, especially in classes where Harry and others were not around. Though she bore it with the same stoicism she always had, word had travelled back to Harry, who was, in a word: Pissed.

Adding fuel to the metaphorical fire was Ron, who had effectively turned his back on everyone in Gryffindor to spend time with his new friends in Slytherin. Although not said aloud, gossip judged Harry guilty and Hermione guilty by association, as was the youngest of the Weaselys and the twins. There had been more than a few arguments, some harsh words and on several occasions drawn wands. Harry vowed silently it would go no farther than that.

Hermione was not in direct opposition to the solution, even though it had lead to an argument – their first as a couple. It has however, been said that disagreement is not the same as disloyalty. Though things were slightly cool between the two they were not frigid. Hermione had been asking Dobby a number of questions about House Elves. As it happened, many house elves were very happy with their lot in life and did not want things to change. Dobby it seemed, really was the weirdo in his breed, "Even Winky was able to find work at Hogwarts, miss!" said Dobby.

"Winky?" said Harry. "She's here too?"

"Yes, sir, yes!" said Dobby, "Would sir like to see Winky?"

That morning, accompanied by his girlfriend and Neville who had the morning period free, they followed the hyperactive house elf in to the kitchens. Hermione gaped at their sheer number. At least a hundred, perhaps as many as two hundred moved around, side stepped, walked, ran and seemed to just apparate around them. With Dobby leading the way, they passed in between four long wooden tables that Harry guessed positioned exactly beneath the four house tables in the Great Hall directly above them. Many of the house elves paused in mid task to smile, bow or curtsy. All of the elves were dressed in a similar uniform of a tea towel that bore the Hogwarts crest worn like a toga.

The sheer vastness of the kitchens was astounding, seemingly stretching on forever in to the distance until they finally stopped in front of one of the many brick fireplaces dotted around the room, "Winky! Sir!" said the house elf.

She sat on a stool by the fire, hunched over. Her skirt and blouse matched the blue hat that had holes in her for her ears. Where Dobby's mismatched ensemble was clean and pressed like those of the other house elves, Winky's clothes were torn, stained and in general, disarray, "Hello, Winky," said Harry.

The elf's lips quivered and then she erupted in to tears that splashed down her front. The two teens who had been at the Quidditch world cup remembered the tears that the unfortunate elf had shed, "Oh…dear," said Hermione, "Winky, don't cry, please don't…" Her words only had the opposite effect as she cried harder than ever.

"Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?" asked Dobby

"Er - yeah, okay," said Harry. Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Hermione, and Neville, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.

Neville took a cup of tea, "thank you," he said quietly. The elves all looked delighted, bowed low, their ears almost sweeping the ground as they retreated.

"How long has she been here Dobby?" asked Harry.

"Only a week. Harry Potter, sir!" said Dobby happily. Winky curled and balanced on her stool as the volume of her crying increased, "Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!" said Dobby his ears bent unnaturally low as she threw herself off the stool and lay face-down on the flagstones of the kitchen floor, and screamed in misery.

Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches that had raised an octave, "And Dobby manages to find Winky work at Hogwarts sir! But because we are free elves, we must be paid…"

Winky suddenly stopped in mid screech and glared at Dobby with her massive brown eyes, her face sopping wet and suddenly furious, "Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!"

"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," squeaked Dobby confidentially, "She is not taking her pay, and Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it."

"Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, sir, no," said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. "'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them."

Harry glanced at the still, silent house elf, and made a decision, "Winky," said Harry, "Would you like to work for me?" Suddenly, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen stopped. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence as every house elf stared at Harry in disbelief. Hermione was equally shocked, "You work for me, you work like any normal house elf," said Harry, "But, you will get days off like Dobby, because you were a…a bad house elf." Winky had dried her eyes, and was not exactly sure what to make of the offer.

"Would Winky have to wear clothes?"

"Winky would have to wear a uniform, NOT clothes," said Harry, "You can make your own uniform but it must be a nice uniform that you take care of."

Winky rose to her feet and for the first time, met the young man's gaze, "You, would take Winky as servant? If Winky wear uniform and has… days off?" she sounded hopeful, "Like Dobby, sir? Two... days each month?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, "But what you do on your one day off…" he did not complete the sentence, hoping that the house elf would catch on. She did. Standing up, she stood at her full height and snapped her fingers.

Instantly her Hogwarts uniform was mended, clean and pressed. She stood ramrod straight before Harry, and snapped her fingers again, removing the Hogwarts crest from her blouse, which she handed to one of the other house elves, and bowed low to him, "Winky is happy to be in the service of Harry Potter! Sir!"

It was as if somebody had turned the background back on as the kitchen resumed operation, "Dobby, please show Winky to the Residence and explain her tasks, duties and responsibilities to her." He glanced at his watch, "We better be going… we're all going to be late for class!"

As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks, whispering "thank you" or just large, almost embarrassed smiles and many low bows. Hermione had a slightly pained expression on her face. "You know what?" said Neville, "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens. The elves just can't wait to give it all away…"

Hermione however rounded on Harry like a tornado let out of a box, "Harry! How could you!" she was shocked, and hurt that he would do such a thing, especially since he knew how she felt about house elves.

"'Mione, what would you have me do?" asked Harry as her ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, "I couldn't leave her like that! Freedom may suit Dobby, but it was killing her! She's happy, and," Harry said slyly, "I said she works for me, does what any house elf does, but I did not bond her to me. She can leave if she asks."

"Harry, there's a Slytherin in you somewhere," remarked Neville as he made his way towards the greenhouses, giving the couple a few minutes alone. If only Neville knew the truth about Harry and what the Sorting Hat had said to him just two years ago when he was the alleged heir of Slytherin. Hermione had to agree that Harry had found an excellent loophole, and she realized that Winky was but a small demonstration of just how much of a cunning Slytherin lurked beneath the skin of the Gryffindor lion. "Just remember, 'Mione, we're meeting Professor McGonagall between classes," he gave her a slightly roguish wink, "and if we don't spend the whole break in her office…." She blushed, gave him a peck on the cheek and ran after Neville. Yes, there were definitely better things to do during a break between classes.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School and Witchcraft and Wizardry in her office on the first floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, had just revived the flagging fireplace when there was a knock at her door. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger," she greeted them politely, "What can I do for you?" she gestured for them to have a seat, conjuring tea and a platter of biscuits.

Both took a cup of tea, Hermione with sugar, Harry without, and took a sip, buying a moment to review his arguments. Minerva glanced at the platter of biscuits, wondering why the students never, ever took one, "I was wondering if I could arrange for my retinue to join me in my residence, for the duration of the tournament," he handed over a copy of the rules, courtesy of Griphook, "per the highlighted section."

She studied the document in silence for several minutes, and reread the passage several times, "Mr. Potter, you are perfectly within your rights as champion to simply move your retinue without consulting a member of the faculty," she tapped a further subsection that Harry had not highlighted.

He nodded, "I may be an emancipated minor, but I don't have full emancipation. I would rather get permission than ask for forgiveness later. My choices affect more than just me. I do not intend to make choices for my friends."

Professor McGonagall raked the teens with her trademark stern glance, "I do realize that there are a number of problems, between you and the headmaster. I presume that is why you came to me?"

"Partly," admitted Harry, "I want permission for my friends to move in to my residence, whether it's on a more permanent arrangement while they attend their regular classes, or just to spend the night on weekends. There was a small measure of acidity in his voice, "I want the permission to allow my friends, and tutors to chose. I will be making a similar request to Professor Flitwick about getting Luna out of the Ravenclaw for the duration of the tournament." What to do next year was a question for another time.

She studied the boy seated before her and realized that he was not so much a boy any more, nor had he ever been much of one. She had subscriptions to both the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet and knew the full account, as told by both sides. What surprised her was that both accounts contained a great deal of truth, the former due to an agreement. The later made Harry out as a manipulator capable of disguising, shading and misdirecting, which she had to admit was the truth as he was doing it right now, to her, to avoid confrontation in search of a compromise, "Headmaster Dumbledore is unlikely to approve of seven teenagers living together, without adult supervision."

Harry shook his head, "Mr. Lupin will be there, one of several different instructors that I have teaching me at the moment. And you've met Griphook." Indeed, she had, for the Goblin had been on his best behavior the night before and somewhat charming in his own way, "He tends to be around most evenings, and Professor Flitwick is one of my instructors who drops by at all hours… he might have actually spent the night once. As one of my tutors, the same courtesy is extended to you: Visit when you please, and by all means stay the night if you choose."

"Very well Mr. Potter," it was clear that Harry was receiving a fairly well rounded education that include negotiating and haggling from those who do such things for a living, "I trust you will handle the headmaster in your own fashion. I agree but I have certain conditions: I reserve the right to visit without giving prior notice," she didn't have to say why, but this was an acceptable, "Secondly, I would like to attend your training, to ensure that you will be able to pass your OWL examinations." Expected and reasonable, "Thirdly," she said in a slight rush, "the recipe for last night's desert."

The two teens smiled and Hermione reached in to her pocket, "I can help you with the last request…" opening the parchment, the professor was delighted to find the recipe for Dobby's Molten Chocolate Cake. With a wave of his wand, Harry had vanished the cookies and replaced the platter with a small box from his pocket, "Engorgio!"

He lifted the top and the smell of warm chocolate drifted out and enveloped the room in a fragrant haze, "Your terms, are entirely reasonable, and acceptable," said Harry as another wave of his wand transfigured a small teaspoon in to a passable knife, and presented it handle first to the transfiguration professor, "Would you care to do the honors?"

A similar meeting with Professor Flitwick during the lunch break after Care for Magical Creatures went as well, "Mr. Potter, as I promised you, I have also looked in to another matter." The temperature dropped a fraction of a degree, "And it is to my everlasting shame to discover that I had severely let down one of my own." It had not taken long for Flitwick to put the pieces together: Luna, alone in a corner of the Library, eating by herself, and spending time wandering the corridors of the castle aimlessly. Quiet, unobtrusive, seemingly happy and cheerful but ultimately alone, was the professor's final assessment of Luna. Small wonder that she'd leapt without looking at the opportunity to escape an environment where she was the target of incessant bullying "just because she was "Loony Lovegood.""

He had originally wondered how it was that the pair of Gryffindors had so easily welcomed and accepted the pureblood in to their ranks but then again, the half blood champion and muggleborn witch who stood beside him had been shunned, reviled and hated on numerous occasions for reasons that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. Luna was taking Ron's place, or perhaps Neville was taking Ron's place. Perhaps there would soon be no Golden Trio, but something better in its place, "I have spoken to Miss Lovegood and, apologized to her for as her head of house, I failed her." The frank and honest admission of guilt surprised Harry and he found himself uncharitably wondering whether Dumbledore could admit he was fallible. "Those responsible have been dealt with."

Flitwick's punishments had done incredible damage to his own house: The Ravenclaw Quidditch team was short a Seeker, Chaser and Keeper, a new prefect needed to be appointed, and the points lost made it unlikely that Ravenclaw would place anywhere but fourth for the House Cup next year.

In Dolores's opinion the first task had proceeded splendidly well and as she rose and made her way to the small lectern during dinner she had a confident smile. "Ahem-hem, could I have your attention please?" conversation in the great hall stopped, as many of the student wondered who the ugly toad was, "I am Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Dolores Jane Umbridge." Her voice was crunchy on the outside yet somehow chewy on the inside, rather like the chocolate frosted sugar bombs breakfast cereal that Dudley devoured by the crate thought Harry.

It was just as well that the squat, mousy brown haired woman did not have eyes in the back of her head. Professor McGonagall's stare would have petrified a Basilisk. Even the Seventh Years could recall ever seeing her so angry. The professor did have her reasons: Dolores had just appeared in the great hall, joined them for dinner without an invitation, and then interrupted the meal to address the students without even asking the headmaster for permission. "Tomorrow there will be a photo session for the champions with the British Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and interviews so that the public can get to know the champions."

Harry was trying his hardest not to laugh aloud at the mention of a "photo session," but a glance across the great hall saw him catch the eye of first Cedric then Fluer and finally Victor, all of whom wore expressions of surprise with varying degrees of amusement. There was a chortle of polite laughter as Harry struggled to contain himself. Dolores was understandably shocked at the interruption, by a student no less but retained her composure when she saw Harry Potter laughing as politely as possible, "Is there a problem Mr. Potter?"

"I am afraid there is. I have signed an exclusivity contract with the Quibbler, and cannot appear in any other publication till after the tournament is over." Harry gave her a moment to acknowledge that fact with a nod and then dropped the hammer, "As have my fellow champions from Beauxbattons, Hogwarts and Durmstrang."

She gritted her teeth, and forced her voice back to its breakfast cereal demeanor, "Regardless, the Ministry will be sponsoring the Yule Ball, on Christmas day, in honor of the four champions." Dolores could not see any way she could lose with this particular proposition.

Viktor stood, "I protest to this. It is an intrusion upon my time!" he was almost growling out the words, but even with his accent, it was clear he was not pleased with this particular turn of events.

All pretenses of politeness and civility left Dolores, "You!" she spat, "signed a magically binding contract and you will do as you are told!"

Victor had faced down bloodthirsty reporters, over eager fan girls – and a few fan boys - bludgers, beater bats, two death threats, cut throat team managers and worse. Dolores Umbridge simply did not register on his threat assessment, "It is beyond a doubt that I signed a magical contract to compete in the Tri-wizard tournament, but there was no mention of a Yule Ball or any Ball in the rules! As it is not in the rules, then it is for the champions to agree to attend! Not their schools! Nor Professors! And certainly not government officials who have nothing to do with the management or operation of the Tournament!" it was perhaps the longest speech that anyone had heard from the Quiditch star.

Dumbledore, Harry correctly assumed could not resist attempting to be the grandfatherly mediator but he handled the situation deftly, "While Hogwarts is definitely able to host the Yule Ball, it would be a shame for the event to be short a Champion," he said amicably. "However, you would be within your rights to refuse to attend the Yule Ball, but in the spirit of international cooperation, to build friendships you can understand why we hope you would attend this event?"

Victor glared at Umbridge, "Given that you are issuing an invitation to attend, Headmaster Dumbledore, I would be honored to accept, and attend the Yule Ball at Hogwarts School on Christmas Day." He sat down and the girls around him were all incredibly a flutter: It was just possible that they could snare a Champion and Quidditch superstar as their date!

Minerva realized that whatever his faults were, the headmaster was still on the job. However, she was much less worried about Harry and his circle of friends and other champions. It was clear that all four of them had the measure of Ms. Dolores Umbridge.

Dolores Umbridge would not forget this, or any of them, especially Harry Potter. He would pay for this, and so would Dumbledore she swore to herself. If she could have made a blood oath in that moment, she probably would have.