Chapter Text
“You’ve got the wrong kid, Potter,” the grizzled Auror with the grumpy face attested forcefully.
Jacob cheered internally. He tried not to let it show on his face. He’d been in Auror custody for what seemed like forever, and finally someone was listening to him.
How many times did he have to tell them that he was Jacob Owens, American, and that he’d competed against the RBC in the tournament?
Jacob had duelled the RBC, how could Jacob be the RBC?
“But Moody, he’s a Parselmouth,” protested Potter, neither of them apparently caring that Jacob could hear their conversation.
“Just because he’s a Parselmouth, Potter, doesn’t mean that he’s the RBC. Riddle’s a Parselmouth. Voldemort’s also said to be a Parselmouth. Being a Parselmouth doesn’t make this kid Riddle or Voldemort, just as it doesn’t make the RBC Riddle or Voldemort.”
“How can he be an American Muggleborn and a Parselmouth?”
“Maybe he’s not really a Muggleborn,” Moody said drily. “Kid didn’t submit a family tree with his tournament application; claimed he didn’t need to as he didn’t have to prove magical ancestry.”
Also because I didn’t know my family history then, Jacob thought bitterly. Not like it mattered at Ilvermorny.
“How many Parselmouths are out there anyway?”
“Probably more than you’d think, Potter,” Moody said pointedly.
“Parseltongue is … scary to listen to. It’s got a bad reputation. It’s not something most people are going to want made public. Particularly since the last publicly known Parselmouths were the Gaunts, and they had a reputation for being inbred to the point of insanity.”
“But…”
“Look Potter, I know how much you’ve got invested in finding the RBC, but this kid is not the RBC. The RBC was really something special. This kid is not. This kid couldn’t outduel your daughter, and he certainly could not beat Dawlish.”
Jacob felt affronted. He’d never be beaten by a girl.
“Besides, Potter, this kid couldn’t give two hoots about anyone else, and the RBC cared about others. You could see that he didn’t like innocents getting hurt, which is why he completely trashed this kid in the final duel.”
Jacob was doubly affronted. He might have lost the duel to the RBC, but that was just because the pipsqueak imposter got lucky. He’d won two of his three duels and he certainly hadn’t been trashed by the RBC.
Moody didn’t know—and wouldn’t have cared—about Jacob’s internal monologue so he didn’t stop and wait till Jacob had finished; Jacob didn’t know if he’d missed anything interesting.
“… I’ve contacted Malfoy,” Moody said with a grimace, “and, get this, Riddle is going to drop by later to check out the kid. That says something. Apparently Riddle doesn’t think this Owens kid is the RBC.”
Jacob’s heart sank at that. Riddle might be able to get him released, but Riddle most definitely would not be happy about this latest turn of events. Particularly given Riddle’s recent reluctance to publicly acknowledge Owens as Slytherin’s heir.
Ouch.
This was going to be painful.
Triwizard Trickery! screamed the headline on the Daily Prophet. Another Hidden Halfblood Exposed!
“Hehe,” snickered Archie. “What a beautiful headline.”
“It is, isn’t it?” stated Harry. “I must admit that I’m not usually a fan of Rita Skeeter,” she said, memories of Rita’s past stories leaving a sour taste in her mouth and a grimace on her face, “but I did appreciate how quickly she reported that Owens was a Parselmouth.”
“It was nice how quickly the Prophet worked to discredit the Triwizard Tournament selection process,” smirked Archie.
“Another nail in the coffin of Riddle’s plans for greater blood status discrimination. Riddle must be furious. He’s got quite the temper, you know,” Harry said, remembering the destruction Riddle had caused in the study at Malfoy Manor, “I’d hate to be in Owens’ shoes.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him, cuz. Revel in the knowledge that you’re free of those cheesy pickup lines.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Harry with a smile. “I’ve heard some of the things you say to Hermione.”
“Me?!?” exclaimed Archie. “You insult me. I am charming, exuberant, and perhaps occasionally overly extravagant in my praise, perhaps, but not, never cheesy.”
“Really?” replied Harry. “So ‘Am I dead? Because I think I just met an angel’ isn’t cheesy at all?”
“Hermione is an angel,” Archie insisted. Harry just laughed.