At Least Endbringers Don't Hyphenate, Thank Merlin Summary:
Chapter I
Arms throbbing and eyes on fire, Harry Potter swam clumsily into the turgid depths of the Black Lake, cursing Dobby's name as he went. The over-enthusiastic House Elf always meant well, he grudgingly admitted; yet somehow, whenever Dobby tried to help, it always seemed to end up causing Harry more problems than it solved. He certainly ended up with more injuries than he'd started with. Being aided by Dobby was the first step to needing first aid.
Harry had initially been relieved when Dobby turned up with a fistful of gillyweed. Allegedly, the magical seaweed would make Harry able to breathe freely underwater, which would go a long way towards helping Harry survive (let alone complete) the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. However, that first spark of gratitude was soon quenched quite thoroughly, once the side effects kicked in.
Sprouting webbed membranes between your fingers and toes was uncomfortable. Growing gills on the side of your neck was unpleasant. Figuring out how to breathe through said gills was both unsettling and continuously painful. All of this was manageable, for Harry; he'd been through worse. Once the agonizing pain in his scar began, though, it had become extremely difficult to focus on the task he needed to complete, and keep on swimming despite the building nausea and dizziness.
Was gillyweed supposed to work this way? Alright, sure, the webbed hands and feet helped him crawl his way forward through the inky depths, and he'd have drowned without those weird gills on his neck, but still...
Could Dobby have given him a bad batch of tainted gillyweed, by mistake? Or maybe he'd eaten it the wrong way? Were you supposed to chew the gooey plants, before swallowing, or just gulp 'em down whole? Unless you were supposed to use the stuff as a suppository... Actually, Harry couldn't bear to think about that option at all. The pain was bad enough already, radiating from his scar; he didn't dare imagine what it might have been like, if it had been centred on some body part at the other end of his anatomy.
Rubbing his burning eyes, Harry realized that he'd reached a large, tangled field of regular seaweed, splayed across a portion of the lake bed. It was like seeing an alien forest, strands of seaweed swaying with the currents like branches caught in a strong breeze.
Hang on... Not all of those movements were from plants. There were creatures, lurking in ambush!
Harry brought up his wand and took aim. From what he remembered learning in his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures classes, the sharp-toothed creatures he saw lurking below were called Grindylows. They were known to attack humans, when they got the chance, so he'd have to be prepared to-
...Watch them panic and flail their limbs like mad, as soon as they caught sight of him, and promptly turn around and flee?
Huh. That was... Somewhat anticlimactic, really.
As Harry stared after the rapidly dwindling shapes of the Grindylow pack, swimming away from him as fast as they could, he tried to figure out what was going on. Had the gillyweed really made him that intimidating, or just plain repulsive? A quick glance told him that his arms seemed to be getting longer, and broader; almost like a gorilla's limbs, by now, with his arms longer than his legs. That wasn't too terrible, was it?
Had he frightened them with his pained expression? Perhaps they'd thought he was snarling furiously at them, when he was really just wincing from the pain in his head, radiating from his scar. The damn headache just didn't seem to be letting up, anytime soon.
On the other hand, they might just have been scared by his wand. If one of the other competitors had passed by this way recently, the Grindylows probably had fresh memories of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a Stinging Hex, or a Hamstring-Cramp Jinx.
Harry shrugged, and swam on. He really didn't have time to float around and contemplate the psychological quirks of every random magical creature that crossed his path.
Finally, after swimming a distance that felt like most of the width of the English Channel, but in reality was probably only half the width of the Black Lake - from the rocky beach where the contestants had started, and out to roughly the centre of the waters - Harry reached his goal: A merfolk village, where the hostages were trapped.
Even the merfolk seemed to be scared of him. Come to think of it, this just made his job easier, since none of the creatures down here seemed particularly inclined to mess with him. Maybe Dobby's help had been worth the painful transformations, after all? He'd better thank the little guy again, when he got the chance.
Swimming closer to the hostages, Harry spotted Cedric Diggory. The Hufflepuff Seeker had just freed Cho Chang, and was gathering her up in his arms, when he looked up and made eye contact with Harry.
Maybe it would be best to try and reassure Cedric that everything was alright, and that Harry wasn't all that jealous about him rescuing Cho, even though it had robbed Harry of the chance to impress the pretty Ravenclaw girl?
Granted, Harry's current lack of envy or jealousy was mostly due to all the agony of the gillyweed transformation, which had left precious little space in his mind or his body to feel anything but 'ouch', but Cedric didn't need to know that.
Plastering a wobbly smile on his face, Harry raised a large, clawed hand - wait, when had his arms grown that big? - and waved politely at the Hufflepuff.
Cedric's eyes widened comically, his whole face going slack with terror. He spun round and started kicking his legs, swimming for the surface as fast as he could, carrying Cho with him.
Well... That was just plain rude.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Harry swam over to the remaining three hostages. He recognized Ron and Hermione immediately, and noticed that the third hostage - a small blonde girl, somewhere between, uh... eight and eleven years old? It was hard to tell, his eyes were getting blurry - looked a lot like Fleur Delacour. Perhaps this was her little sister, or her cousin, or just a fellow Veela? That probably meant that she was intended to be the Beauxbatons champion's hostage.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of something swimming towards him. Was one of the merfolk attacking?
On closer examination, the newcomer looked rather like Viktor Krum, at least from the collarbone down. From the neck up, he looked decidedly more... fishy.
It appeared that the Durmstrang contestant had Transfigured his head and neck into the front end of a shark, which seemed to work alright, in terms of letting him breathe underwater, and making him more... Whatever the underwater equivalent of 'aerodynamic' was. Hydrodynamic, maybe?
Hermione would know, but she was asleep, or unconscious, or in some sort of magical trance, just like the other hostages. Harry had checked their pulse, carefully, so he knew that they weren't... that they were okay.
Krum suddenly stopped approaching, when he...
Oh, come on! Was it "Act Scared of Harry Potter Day", today? Was everyone going to act jittery and apprehensive around Harry, just because of a little gillyweed? Krum looked like a bloody great big shark, for crying out loud! If anything, Harry ought to be frightened of him!
For a few seconds, Krum raised his wand with a trembling hand, and aimed it at Harry. Was he... Was he actually going to attack him?
Harry raised his own hands and waved them a little, hoping that Krum would spot the wand in his hand and back off. Failing that, Harry readied himself to cast a quick Protego Charm, in case he needed to defend himself.
A sudden spike of pain from Harry's scar caused him to grimace, and sent a few bright emerald-green sparks spitting from the tip of his wand.
He felt his frustration and anger building; how dare Krum act like that, just because Harry looked a little different, at the moment? Harry ought to teach him a lesson, make him stop being so surly and unpleasant around other people. Maybe if Harry acted like a monster, for a bit, Krum would have a real reason to be scared!
Harry shook his head. It probably wasn't a good idea to start attacking the other champions. Surely, Krum would realize that, too?
...Oh. Seemed like Krum had turned around and started swimming away at high speed, while Harry was busy clutching his aching head. Had Krum forgotten about the hostages?
With another sigh, Harry turned away from the Durmstrang champion, who was rapidly vanishing in the murky waters. Harry hadn't figured out how to talk coherently underwater, assuming that such a thing was even possible with gillyweed, so it wasn't like he could call out to Krum.
Which one of the hostages was Krum supposed to bring back, anyway? Hermione had accompanied the older boy to the Yule Ball, and Cho had danced with Cedric, but... Harry was pretty sure Fleur Delacour hadn't danced with the tiny Veela, and he knew for an absolute fact that he, himself, hadn't danced with Ron.
For several long minutes, Harry simply drifted there, trying to ignore the odd spasms and cramps in his limbs, and the painful tightness in his chest. He waited, and waited, and then waited some more... But Krum did not return, and Fleur Delacour did not show up at all.
Had something happened to the other contestants? It must have been pretty close to the one-hour deadline for the Second Task, which meant that Harry's gillyweed transformation might expire soon, as well. Harry would have to swim back, soon... But what would happen to the hostages, if the other champions didn't come to free them?
After some deliberation, and a great deal of twitching and wincing at the twinges in his joints, Harry made his decision. He quickly freed Ron, and tried to wake him up, shaking him a little. If they both carried one of the girls, it would be much easier than if Harry had to swim with three unconscious people in his arms.
Although, now that he was next to Ron and in a position to readily compare the size of their arms, and the rest of their limbs, Harry was shocked to realize that he had grown even bigger; Harry thought he might even be the size of Hagrid, by now! That gillyweed must be strong stuff. Had Dobby spiked it with some sort of House Elf magic?
Ron wasn't waking up, and Harry didn't want to risk shaking the redhead too hard, in case his new oversized limbs turned out to be as strong as Hagrid, too. Belatedly, he realized that he'd need to find a way for Ron to breathe underwater, as well. He was out of gillyweed, and he didn't know how to cast the spell that some of the other contestants had used to create an air bubble around his head.
Thinking about it, he remembered the professors mentioning that intent mattered a lot, when you were casting a spell; perhaps if he just, sort of... pointed his wand at Ron's head, and focused really hard on creating a bubble of air for him to breathe, it might do the trick... Right?
Just to be on the safe side, Harry aimed his wand a little to the side of Ron's head, in case this worked too well, and the results turned out to be... explosive.
Harry gritted his teeth, and concentrated on thinking: "Air bubble, air bubble, air bubble", over and over. At first, nothing happened. Then, after another stab of pain in his scar, the water seemed to obey - it began to shift and swirl, drawing apart to form a pocket of air.
It almost felt like Harry had taken control of the water itself, rather than just conjuring a magic air bubble. Well, whatever. It was the same result in the end, and that was all that mattered.
Once Ron's head was enveloped in the bubble, he started to breathe normally, again. His eyelids flickered, and opened.
It was almost comical to watch how quickly the red-headed boy went from groggy and sleep-addled, to wide awake and terrified. Ron took one look at Harry, eyes going wide, and started screaming and flailing his arms. It was even more startling when Ron simply vanished with a loud pop.
Had Ron just gotten so scared, he'd had a bout of accidental magic and Apparated to safety? Hermione had said something about it being impossible to Apparate inside Hogwarts, due to the protective wards or some such... But perhaps the Black Lake wasn't affected the same way? Or maybe the Tournament administrators had loosened those wards, for some reason?
Whatever. It wasn't the first time Ron had abandoned him. Either way, he wasn't Harry's problem anymore.
In hindsight, that might have been why he tried to revive Ron first, rather than Hermione. Harry had already experienced Ron turning his back on him once, recently, when Harry was forced into the Tournament. The rejection didn't sting quite so much. Hermione, on the other hand, had supported him since... Well, for as long as he'd known her, really. If he'd woken her up first, and she'd been frightened off by his gillyweed-y face, like everyone else...
Well. No point in worrying about that, now. There was only two hostages left, and Harry was pretty sure his Hagrid-size arms could carry them both. He carefully freed the two girls, and scooped them gently up with his wide, clawed hands. Then, he kicked his legs, and swam back to shore.
...At least, he thought he was heading in the right direction. His scar had started acting up again, and the rest of his body didn't feel much better. Through sheer stubborn determination, Harry pushed himself to keep going forward. He wasn't sure if he was headed in the right direction, any longer; his vision blurred and faltered, and the bottom of the Black Lake was a foreign world, to him.
At times, it almost seemed like he was travelling through a vast ocean, with the dim sunlight above the waves looming miles away. When he tried to swim upwards, he was never able to reach the surface, even when he'd swum - was that even a word? - so far, he felt sure that he must be gliding through waters over heaven, by now.
At last, Harry's head broke through the waves on the surface. He drew in a deep breath-
...Hold on, why weren't his lungs working?!
With growing alarm, Harry realized that he couldn't use any of the bits of his body that were usually involved in breathing - his nose, his mouth, his lungs... Even his new gills seemed to have abandoned him!
Distantly, Harry noticed a strange, mechanical wailing noise in the background. It didn't really seem important, at the moment.
Okay... Alright. Calm down. He wasn't breathing at the moment, but he hadn't passed out, and the lack of oxygen didn't seem to affect his body in any way. He just had to find someone who knew what was going on, and they could... fix it, somehow. Madam Pomfrey would probably have some healing trick up her sleeve, or Professor McGonagall could transfigure him back into a real boy. Even Hermione would have a better idea of what was going on than he d-
...Hermione! Was she alright?
Glancing down, Harry received another shock. Either the two girls had started shrinking, or he hadn't stopped growing. Now, Hermione and the Delacour girl were so small, they looked like tiny dolls in the palm of his massive hand.
As he lifted them out of the lapping waves, the two girls began to stir. The little - practically microscopic, by now - blonde Veela rubbed her eyes, and looked up, blinking at him. Harry almost felt resigned when she started screaming.
Startled, Hermione sat upright and looked around in alarm. She reached for the weeping Veela girl, who promptly latched on to the older girl, hugging Hermione tight and almost hiding behind her body.
Harry watched with growing trepidation, as Hermione tilted her head back to look up at him. She blanched - kinda impressive, really, considering that she already looked pale from the cold water - and opened her mouth and closed it, a couple of times, without making a sound.
Her expression of dread shifted to confusion, and then dawning recognition - and horror. "...H-Harry?"
He felt a rush of relief, when his friend didn't immediately run away when she saw him. He must be looking pretty odd, by now, but she-
...Actually, now she was frowning, and looking back over her shoulder. Harry glanced up, following her gaze.
...Huh. He must have gotten more lost than he thought, down in the lake. That place certainly wasn't Hogwarts, unless the ancient castle had started sprouting skyscrapers, while he wasn't looking.
It looked like a large city, and... What was that noise? It reminded Harry of an air raid siren that he'd heard in a documentary on telly about World War II, once, before Uncle Vernon changed the channel to watch footie.
Ambling unsteadily forward, Harry climbed up on the beach. He had no idea where they'd ended up, and if this was a Muggle city, he might risk breaking the Statute of Secrecy, looking as strange and ugly as he apparently did at the moment, but he needed to-
"Aim for the head! Somebody must have already damaged it there, it looks like it has a scar!"
Acting on instinct, Harry hunched his back and shielded the girls with his hands, when a volley of curses rained down on him. None of the spells had much effect, thankfully; it just felt like they were pelting him with ping-pong balls.
Risking a wary glance, Harry peeked around, trying to locate his attackers.
This was a day for surprises, it seemed - there was a whole mob of what had to be witches and wizards, all lined up and ready to fight. Oddly, none of them were carrying wands, but they couldn't be Muggles; some of them were lobbing glowing curses at him with their hands, some of them were flying - without a broom, no less - and they were all dressed as strangely as any wizard he'd seen.
In fact... They looked like some of the superheroes he'd glimpsed in Dudley's comic books. They didn't sound British when they shouted, either, more like Americans. Was this what wizards looked like in the United States? Had he been swimming all the way across the Atlantic Ocean?
Another shout rang out, among many others. "Get some of the Movers from search-and-rescue diverted up here! Leviathan has taken hostages!"
...Wait, what? That wasn't how you pronounced "Boy-Who-Lived" in American, was it?