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Chapter Text

"The Hogwarts Champion is…Cassius Warrington!” Dumbledore’s voice rang through the hall. There was a moment of stunned silence before the Slytherins let out a huge roar of approval. The other three houses all groaned. There were several shouts of disgust.

“NO!”

“We can’t have a Slytherin champion!”

“Maybe the goblet has been confunded.”

“There must be some mistake!”

Harry watched as Warrington’s jaw clenched, his expression turning from stunned joy to determination as he stood up amidst the chaos. He strode between the tables, up to where Dumbledore was standing. The headmaster directed him through the same door as the other champions.

“Can you believe it?” Ron groaned in disgust.

“Warrington? Surely the Slytherins did something to the goblet,” Fred scowled.

“The Slytherins are going to be insufferable,” George agreed, throwing an arm around Angelina. Harry said nothing. While he would much rather Angelina was the school champion, he was just relieved it wasn’t him. Unfortunately, he was Harry Potter, and it never quite worked out that way.

“There we have it. Our three champions,” Dumbledore said after he had finally regained the hall’s attention. “I expect all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give all of your champions every ounce of support you can muster,” there were several snorts of disbelief at this statement, “by cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —” 

As he spoke, the goblet behind him turned red once more. Everyone inhaled sharply in surprise. Harry felt a ball of ice settle in his stomach. A long flame shot suddenly into the air and, with it, was another piece of parchment.

Almost automatically Dumbledore reached out his hand and easily plucked the parchment from the tip of the flame. He held it out in front of him and stared at whatever was written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the small slip of parchment in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. Harry felt a rapidly growing sense of dread. Then the headmaster cleared his throat and read out — “Harry Potter.”

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him, somehow knowing exactly where he sat. He was stunned, but simultaneously had almost expected it. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. Surely, he had not heard correctly. Yet, he really should have known. 

There was no applause this time. A buzzing started to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat. This felt eerily familiar. Like when he accidentally given away his ability to speak Parseltongue without understanding what it meant. He didn’t know what to do. Should he go up to Dumbledore, protest his innocence? Would anyone believe him?

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept towards Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly. Harry briefly wondered what she was saying, did she believe he had done this himself? 

He forced himself to turn to Ron and Hermione. They were both staring at him, shocked expressions on their face. Ron’s face also held something Harry couldn’t quite read. Beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, open-mouthed.

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry told them. Surely they knew that? “You know I didn’t,” he added, just to be certain. Both of them stared blankly back. He felt a wave of despair wash over him. Why wouldn’t they say something? Anything? Surely, they did know he hadn’t done it?

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

“Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!” Well, if she did believe Harry hadn’t done it, whatever she’d said had done no good.

“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. He blinked and made to protest.

“But…” She cut him off, giving him another small push. Clumsily, Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. Face growing hot with embarrassment, he forced his feet to move, carrying him up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn’t seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds upon hundreds of eyes following him, their gazes burning the back of his neck. The buzzing continued but was being drowned out by ringing in his ears. 

After what seemed like forever, he found himself standing right in front of Professor Dumbledore, feeling the additional weight of all the stares of all the teachers upon him.

“Well... through the door, Harry,” Dumbledore instructed him. There was no smile on his face now. There wasn’t really any discernible expression and Harry felt even more anxious.

He swallowed and moved towards the door the other champions had disappeared though. As he walked along the head table, he saw the eyes of all the teachers following him, some narrowed in suspicion, others just watching with open surprise.

Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any kind of greeting as he passed. He looked completely astonished and just stared at Harry like everyone else. It made Harry even more uncomfortable. But then, what could he really say?

Eventually, he made it through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A large fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. The buzzing noise disappeared as the door shut behind him, but the ringing only got worse.

The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into her neighbours, which contained a wizard with a walrus moustache that reminded Harry a bit too much of Uncle Vernon’s. The witch started whispering in his ear.

Viktor Krum, Cassius Warrington, and Fleur Delacour were all standing around the fire. They looked strangely intimidating, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and with a brooding expression, was leaning against the mantelpiece. Warrington was next to him, also leaning against the mantel, and they were conversing in low tones. Fleur Delacour stood slightly apart from the pair, staring into the flames. She was the only one who seemed to have heard the door and she looked around. She spotted Harry and threw back her long, silvery hair.

“What is it?” she asked. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

Clearly, she thought he had just come to deliver a message, which was fair. They had hardly expected a fourth champion to be selected at a tri-wizard tournament. However, Harry was at a loss as to how to explain what had just happened. He barely understood it himself. Instead, he just stood there, staring helplessly at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were. How much older than him they were.

“Well? What do you want, Potter?” Warrington sneered, having turned around when Fleur spoke.

Before he could muster an answer, there was a sound of hurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. Harry was briefly surprised that Bagman had come alone but was distracted as he took Harry by the arm and led him forward. He tried to jerk his arm away, not a fan of being touched by essentially a stranger, but Bagman had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry’s arm, looking pleased. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen... lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three with a wide smile. “May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Triwizard champion?”

“What?” Warrington narrowed his eyes at Harry. Then he looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Viktor Krum straightened up. His face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.” Harry stared at her. Why would anyone joke about this? 

“Joke?” Bagman repeated, as bewildered by the idea as Harry himself. “No, no, not at all! Harry’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

Krum’s frown deepened as he continued to stare at Harry. Warrington was glowering at him angrily, he opened his mouth to speak but Fleur got there first.

“But evidently zair ’as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “’E cannot compete. ’E is too young.” Harry wished it truly was that simple. 

“Well... it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his chin and smiling down at Harry. Amazing wasn’t the word Harry would have used. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure.” Harry fought back a snort. Some safety measure that had turned out to be. And he wasn’t the only one thinking that, judging by the expressions on Krum and Warrington’s faces. “It wasn’t part of the official rules and as his name’s come out of the goblet… Binding contract and all that… I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage. It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged... Harry will just have to do the best that he can —”

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in. Professor Dumbledore led the group, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and, much to Harry’s dismay, Snape. Harry once more heard the continued noise of the students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door. He wondered why Bagman had come in without the others.

“Madame Maxime!” cried Fleur instantly, striding over to her headmistress, bristling with indignation. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is also to compete!”

Somewhere under Harry’s numb disbelief he felt a ripple of annoyance. Little boy? He might be uncomfortably shorter than the other three, but they were seventeen. He was hardly a little boy, just because he was three years younger. Although he was uncomfortably short amongst his own age group too, but that was beside the point. He still wasn’t some little kid. 

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and not inconsiderable, height, swelling with indignation and causing the top of her head to brush the candle-filled chandelier.

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she demanded imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” put in Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, though there was no warmth or humour in it, and his narrowed, blue, eyes were icy. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” He gave a short, contemptuous laugh.

“C’est impossible,” said Madame Maxime, resting her ginormous hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two champions. It is most unjust.”

“Indeed, we were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his nasty smile still fixed in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.” Krum made a slight noise at that, which Harry thought could have been one of derision, but he wasn’t sure. His headmaster ignored this.

“It’s hardly the first time Potter has wormed his way around age limitations,” Warrington sneered.

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” agreed Snape softly. His black eyes were glittering with malice. “We mustn’t blame Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. As Mr. Warrington stated, he has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —” Harry fought not to roll his eyes at Snape’s accusation. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, he’d broken more school rules than he could count, but it had almost always been in an attempt to save the school or stop Voldemort coming back to life. It’s not like he’d been out pranking with the Weasley twins or something equally frivolous. 

“Really, Severus...” McGonagall sighed but she was cut off by Dumbledore.

“Thank you, Severus, Mr. Warrington,” said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape thankfully went quiet, though his eyes still shone malevolently as he stared at Harry. Harry scowled right back before turning to the headmaster. 

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who returned his gaze evenly, trying to discern what he was thinking. Did he believe Harry? The calm, blue eyes gave nothing away. They didn’t seem to hold the same suspicion as the rest of the room, but it was difficult to tell.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.

“No,” said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows. Harry twitched with irritation. Did he have to be there?

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” Dumbledore asked, completely ignoring Snape to Harry’s relief.

“No,” he replied vehemently.

“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Harry did not appreciate being called a liar. Why would he even want to be in this stupid tournament where people had already died? Competing against people with so much more experience and knowledge. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling. Harry shot him a venomous look.

“He could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that —” Harry stared at her. He appreciated the defence, though it seemed to be more in defence of the age line, and therefore Dumbledore, rather than Harry himself, but clearly the rest of them did think he’d done exactly that. 

“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

“It is possible, of course,” said Dumbledore politely. Harry now turned to stare at him in disbelief and, this time, he wasn’t the only one. Dumbledore was seriously not helping his cause here. If there was a mistake with the line, then surely it wouldn’t have only been Harry who got entered.

“Albus, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said Professor McGonagall angrily. “The spectacular beards of Messer’s Weasley, along with several other underage students should be enough to prove that. Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore and I both believe that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!”

She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape which made Harry feel a rush of affection for his head of house. He had a rocky history of her believing him, but this time she was on his side which was a relief.

“Well, what’s this about him doing it before?” Karkaroff asked angrily.

“Mr. Potter has not found a way around an age line before. He was given permission by myself and Albus to play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a first-year rather than a second. That is all,” McGonagall stated firmly. Harry notice Krum’s gaze softened from angry to slightly curious at that.

“So, you ‘ave a ‘istory of letting your students break ze rules?” Maxime queried. McGonagall opened her mouth to argue but Karkaroff cut her off.

“Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice silkily polite once more, “you are our — er — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman wiped his face anxiously with his handkerchief, no longer grinning, and looked helplessly at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. Harry thought he looked rather ill. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.” If only that were a surprise. Harry grimaced. No wonder Percy was so happy to be working for this guy.

“Well, Barty certainly knows the rule book from back to front,” said Bagman, beaming once more and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed. Harry suspected that would not be the last of their arguments about his participation. He could only hope they won the argument, but his luck rarely went in his favour.

“I must insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” said Karkaroff. He had dropped any pretence of pleasantry, and his face now wore a very ugly look indeed. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will re-add our students’ names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair.” He glanced around at Dumbledore, Bagman and Crouch.

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman, wiping his face again. His smile had dropped yet again. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out and it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament —” Harry wondered if they could just somehow cancel this tournament and start again or if the goblet magically knew to ignite every four years. Which begged the question, in all the years in which the tournament had been cancelled, had the goblet lit up waiting for students or did it know the event was cancelled? 

“— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” exploded Karkaroff bringing Harry out of his wandering thoughts. “After all our numerous meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!” Harry looked hopefully up at that. If Durmstrang weren’t going to compete, then he didn’t have to. Right?

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. As you’ve just heard. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, that?” Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. Harry felt his heart sink at the words. Convenient was not what he would call it. He also wondered why Moody was even there. Everyone else had links to the tournament or the champions, but he didn’t.

“Convenient?” frowned Karkaroff. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”

His tone was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands betrayed him; they had balled themselves into fists. He was either scared or angry. Possibly both.

“Don’t you?” asked Moody quietly, raising an eyebrow which caused some of his scars to stand out starkly. “It’s very simple. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone wishing to give ’Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” put in Madame Maxime. Harry wanted to scoff. If they had wanted to give Hogwarts two chances to win the tournament, they wouldn’t have put his name in. They’d have put Cedric Diggory’s name or some seventh year’s name in.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with both the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —”

“Honestly, if someone wished to give Hogwarts the best chance of winning, do you not think someone would have entered a different name than a fourth year?” McGonagall pointed out. At least someone had said it. “And even if they did wish to give Hogwarts a second chance, and Harry did have his name entered in, it does not explain why he is a fourth champion.”

“And, if anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter,” growled Moody, “but... funny thing... I don’t hear him saying a word...” Mostly because his mouth was still too dry. And Harry was quite sure that nobody in this room would listen to a word he said. Snape, Maxime and Karkaroff certainly wouldn’t. Dumbledore seemed inclined to believe it wasn’t him who put his name in but was making no moves to suggest Harry shouldn’t compete. “But Minerva’s got the right of it. The boy’s name being entered is hardly the issue -”

“Why should ’e complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot, and cutting off Moody’s speech. Harry gaped at her. Why should he complain he’d been entered against his will into a dangerous competition against students with three years more education than him? “’E ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!”

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” said Moody casually. A bit too casually for Harry’s liking. He grimaced. An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious now, and sweating even more profusely, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man... what a thing to say!”

“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly. Harry raised his eyebrows. That sounded like Karkaroff knew Moody pretty well. He wondered why. Moody barked out a laugh at that statement.

“Imagining things, am I?” growled Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy’s name in that goblet...”

“Zere is no evidence of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

“Evidence? What more evidence do you need? Whoever did this hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” Moody pointed out calmly. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to confuse such a powerful magical object as the goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament. I believe the most likely option is that they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one from his school to enter, ensuring he would be selected.” That made a horrible amount of sense.

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is — though, of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So, you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously...”

“Now, Karkaroff, my good man…” Bagman interjected nervously, but he was cut off by Moody.

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice, glaring at Karkaroff. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember,” he added pointedly. Harry looked curiously between the two at that comment. Was Moody implying Karkaroff had been a Dark Wizard? He remembered what Ron had said on the train about Durmstrang and the fact that apparently, Malfoy’s father had wanted to send him there.

“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized “Mad-Eye” could hardly be Moody’s real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction and disdain. On the other hand, Karkaroff’s face was burning with anger, fists still clenched tightly.

“How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it.” Harry desperately wanted to protest this. Dumbledore hadn’t even tried suggesting he shouldn’t have to do this. “Both Cassius and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do....”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —”

“My dear Madame, should you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.” Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Snape and Warrington both looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, had finally stopped bouncing around anxiously and now looked rather excited once more. Harry opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. If Dumbledore had already made his mind up, it was unlikely any further protests would help.

“Well, shall we crack on, then?” Bagman said, rubbing his hands together eagerly and smiling around the room. “We’ve got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?”

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie at these words. He blinked and looked around, almost seeming surprised by his surroundings. “Yes,” he said blankly, “instructions. Yes... the first task...” 

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, before he moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked even more ill than at first glance. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. That had only been two months ago. What could have happened in that time? Surely it couldn’t all be stress over the Dark Mark appearing, could it?

“The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told Harry, Warrington, Fleur, and Krum in his usual clipped voice, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard... very important. The first task will take place after lunch on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for, or accept, help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.” Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. “I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I believe you’ve covered everything,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you shouldn’t stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch with a shake of the head. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment...I’ve left young Weatherby in charge... Very enthusiastic... a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told...” Harry felt a twinge of pity for Percy. He was so enthusiastic about his job and his boss didn’t even know his name.

“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” suggested Dumbledore.

“Come on, Barty, I’m staying!” encouraged Bagman brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!” Harry might not have known either of them longer than five minutes, but he did know Percy, and even he could tell that wasn’t the way to encourage Crouch to stay. The idea of anything being more exciting than his office was probably ridiculous to him. 

“I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch with a touch of impatience. 

“Professor Karkaroff — Madame Maxime — a nightcap?” asked Dumbledore. But Madame Maxime ignored him, having already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders and began leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they too, exited, though in silence. As they left the room, Krum threw a quick glance back at Harry.

“Harry, Cassius, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Slytherin are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.” Harry didn’t point out that his lack of presence was unlikely to deter the Gryffindors from having a party anyway. There was almost no chance they were waiting for his arrival to start celebrating.

Snape spared Harry one last sneer before he gestured to Warrington and the pair swept from the room. He was left alone with Dumbledore and McGonagall. It took Harry a few more moments to be able to move his feet. As he moved past his head of house, she reached out and gently grasped his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Potter?” McGonagall asked him softly.

“Fine,” he replied automatically.

“I may not be allowed to help you in this, but you may use my classroom if you need somewhere to, well, somewhere to train.” Harry nodded and offered Professor McGonagall a wan smile. 

“Thank you, professor. I appreciate it.” She squeezed his shoulder once more and then let go. He went to leave before a question bubbled up inside him. He turned back to look at the duo.

“Professor, Crouch said we can’t accept help from our teachers, but what about friends?” He asked, a little desperately.

“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are allowed to help you, as are the older students in Gryffindor,” McGonagall told him. Harry nodded jerkily and then left the room. He made his way back through the hall and up the marble staircase. Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he’d put himself in for the tournament? Snape and the Slytherins were going to be unbearable now as clearly Snape would never believe him. But the others, the Gryffindors, they’d known him for years. Surely, they knew him. But did they? A little voice in the back of his mind asked snidely. They’d always been quick to turn on him, to believe the worst. Him being the Heir of Slytherin for one. And then, he’d never really interacted with his fellow Gryffindors outside of the Quidditch team, Ron and Hermione. Much less the other houses.

Of course, he’d thought about it... he’d fantasized about it... but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream... he’d never really, seriously considered entering. But someone else had considered it... someone else had wanted him in the tournament and had made sure he was entered. Not only that, but, according to Moody, they’d gone to a lot of effort to make sure he was selected as a champion, not just given the same chance as the others. Why? 

He hardly thought it was for his own benefit. A thousand galleons and no end-of-year tests were hardly worth his life. To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish, but that also seemed unlikely. To get him killed? Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn’t someone have put Harry’s name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? No, that seemed a bit much even for a joke. But, did anyone really want him dead?

Well, yes, someone did want him dead. Lord Voldemort had wanted him dead for over a decade. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry’s name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone. Feeble and powerless. 

Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone... he had been talking to Wormtail... plotting Harry’s murder. But how could he have done it? Surely not even Voldemort could have cursed the goblet from wherever he was hiding? Unless he had someone else do it for him. But who? He was dragged from his thoughts by a high-pitched giggle.

To Harry’s surprise, he found himself facing the Fat Lady already. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbour’s painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. It obviously would be quicker to travel by portrait rather than climbing all the stairs. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest.

“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet’s just told me everything. Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?” Well technically, Warrington had been chosen as the Hogwarts school champion. If Moody was right, Harry had been entered under a fourth school. He wasn’t the school champion at all. But he was too tired to argue right then.

“Balderdash,” said Harry dully.

“It most certainly isn’t!” said the pale witch indignantly.

“No, no, Vi, it’s the password,” the Fat Lady told her soothingly, and, thankfully, she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room without further comment.

The blast of noise that met Harry’s ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, several pairs of hands were reaching out and he was being wrenched inside the common room. He found himself facing the almost the entirety of Gryffindor House, crammed into the common room so tightly there was barely room to move. And all of them were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

“You should’ve told us you’d entered!” bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed as he flung an arm around Harry’s shoulder and guided him away from a group of people desperately trying to get a hold of him.

“How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George.

“I didn’t,” Harry tried to tell them. “I don’t know how —”

But he was cut off when Angelina swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor —”

“You can make sure we don’t have a Slytherin win!” shrieked Katie Bell.

“We’ve got food, Harry, come and have some —”

“I’m not hungry, I had enough at the feast —”

“You really should have something. You’ve very pale, Harry,” Fred told him, leaning down to mutter directly into Harry’s ear so he could hear him. Harry shivered slightly.

“I’m just tired. I want to sleep,” he muttered back. He saw Fred frown, but the older boy nodded. He looked about to say something else when Lee Jordan unearthed a Gryffindor banner, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak no matter how much he tried to dodge away.
He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Fred helped guide him through the crowd, almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay them at the foot of the stairs, and shepherded him up. Harry shot him a grateful look. 

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

“Where’ve you been?” Harry demanded. He could have used Ron’s help downstairs.  

“Oh hello,” said Ron. He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry frowned, but then suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but the idiot had knotted it far too tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it.

“So,” he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. “Congratulations.”

“What d’you mean, congratulations?” said Harry, staring at his best friend. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace. The same look was in his eyes that he’d seen just after his name had been called. The look he hadn’t been able to identify.

“Well... no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use — the Invisibility Cloak?”

“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn’t have got me over that line,” pointed out Harry slowly. Why was that the first thing Ron commented on?

“Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might’ve told me if it was the cloak... because it would’ve covered both of us, wouldn’t it? But suppose you found another way, did you?” Harry felt his frustration rising.

“Listen,” said Harry, “I didn’t put my name in that goblet. Someone else must’ve done it.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “What would they do that for?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to give voice to the thought that someone was trying to kill him. 

Ron’s eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. “It’s okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said. Harry frowned. He was telling Ron the truth. “If you don’t want everyone else to know, fine, but I don’t know why you’re bothering to lie, you didn’t get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady’s, she’s already told us all Dumbledore’s letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don’t have to do end-of-year tests either...”

“Ron! I didn’t put my name in that goblet!” said Harry, starting to feel angry. He was also hurt that Ron so determinedly believed he was lying. That he thought Harry wouldn’t have included him if he had done it on purpose. “And I’d rather do the stupid tests than risk my life in whatever tasks they come up with.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in a horribly sceptical tone. “Only you said this morning you’d have done it last night, and no one would’ve seen you... I’m not stupid, you know.”

“You’re doing a really good impression of it,” Harry snapped, unable to help himself. He’d been joking when he’d said that. He’d thought Ron understood that. How could Ron think that, after everything they’d been through, that Harry would put his name in that goblet on purpose? That, if he had found a way around the age line, that he’d have left Ron out?

“Yeah?” said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. “You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you’ll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something.”

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the curtains, now hiding one of the two people he had been sure would believe him.

Chapter Text

When Harry woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over him. He sat up and ripped back the curtains of his own four-poster, intending to talk to Ron, to somehow force Ron to believe him — only to find that Ron’s bed was empty. Most likely, he had gone down to breakfast.

Harry groaned. Ron almost never woke up before him, preferring to sleep in until the last minute wherever possible, so of course, today was the one day he woke up first. Harry had been too stunned and numb to properly talk the night before, and he wanted this cleared up. He needed his best friend.

Harry dressed and went down the spiral staircase into the common room. The moment he appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast, or decided to skip it, broke into applause again. He glared at them all but, as the night before, none of them took any notice. The prospect of going down to the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating him like some sort of hero, was not inviting. Unfortunately, it was that or stay here and allow himself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were beckoning him frantically to join them. He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione.

“Hello,” she said. She was holding up a stack of toast in a napkin. “I brought you this. Want to go for a walk?” At least she didn’t appear angry. And she had brought food, saving him from dealing with everyone else just yet.

“More than anything,” said Harry gratefully.

They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, though Harry was sorely tempted, and soon they were striding across the lawn toward the lake where the Durmstrang ship was moored. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving to keep warm as Harry told Hermione exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. He didn't have much of an appetite, but managed to eat some of the toast, sharing the rest with Hermione, even though she'd already eaten.

To his immense relief, Hermione accepted his story without question. He felt a lump in his throat at her easy acceptance of his word. That took his total up to three. One of which was Dumbledore, and Harry was still put out by the headmaster’s lack of… well, anything helpful the night before. Not even an attempt to argue that Harry was too young, that there must be a way around it.

Of course, the obvious first step would be to say he was underage and couldn’t compete without a parent or guardian’s permission. Except, as soon as the Dursleys heard that Harry was having to complete in a highly dangerous tournament, they’d sign whatever it took in the hopes that something in one of the tasks would kill him. He decided not to mention that thought to Hermione.

“Well, of course I knew you hadn’t entered yourself,” she stated, once he’d finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. A warm feeling rose in his chest at her words. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody’s right, Harry... I don’t think any student could have done it... they’d never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore’s —” That was a good point, but he had a more pressing matter to deal with.

“Have you spoken to Ron?” Harry interrupted. Hermione hesitated.

“Erm... yes... he was at breakfast,” she admitted.

“Does he still think I entered myself?”

“Well... no, I don’t think so... not really,” said Hermione awkwardly. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘not really’?”

“Oh Harry, isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said despairingly. “He’s jealous!”

“Jealous?” Harry said incredulously. “Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he? Wants the chance to end up dead?” He spat.

“Of course not!” she squeaked in horror. He stared at her, eyebrows raised waiting to hear exactly what Ron was jealous of in this mess. She took a deep breath. “Look,” she said, voice only trembling slightly, “it’s always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it’s not your fault,” she added quickly, as he opened his mouth furiously. “I know you don’t ask for it... but, well, you know, Ron’s got all of his brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous. It’s always him that gets shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many...”

“Great,” said Harry bitterly. His best friend was going to throw him to the wolves because, for some bizarre reason, he wanted to compete instead of Harry. If he could switch places with Ron, he would in a heartbeat. Have his loving family and no scar, no being treated like a hero and then a villain. Just Harry. He’d love it. “Really great. Tell him from me I’ll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he’s welcome to it... No family. People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go...”

“I’m not telling him anything,” Hermione said shortly. “Tell him yourself. It’s the only way to sort this out.” He scoffed at that.

“I’m not running around after him trying to make him grow up!” Harry said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. He wasn’t going to go crawling to Ron begging him to believe him. Not that he supposed it mattered. Even if Ron did believe him, as Hermione seemed to think, he’d clearly still be jealous. “Maybe he’ll believe I’m not enjoying myself once I’ve got my neck broken or —”

“That’s not funny,” said Hermione quietly. “That’s not funny at all.” She looked extremely anxious. He didn’t point out he wasn’t trying to be funny. It was a distinct possibility.

“He didn’t seem to mind my fame too much when he was gawping at me on the train when we met,” he muttered ungenerously. Harry thought back to that first train ride. Ron had known he was Harry Potter because the twins told the whole family before they got on board. And then, miraculously, Ron turned up in his carriage, saying everywhere else was full. Had that even been true? Then Harry shook his head. Regardless of the start, Ron had proven to be the best friend Harry could ask for. Until now.

“Harry, I’ve been thinking — you know what we’ve got to do, don’t you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?” Hermione’s words broke through his musings.

“Yeah,” he scowled, “give Ron a good kick up the —”

“Write to Sirius. You’ve got to tell him what’s happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts... It’s almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me —”

“Come off it,” said Harry, looking around to check that they couldn’t be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He’ll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone’s entered me in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“He’d want you to tell him,” said Hermione sternly. Well, she was right about that, but that didn’t mean he was going to do so. “He’s going to find out anyway —”

“How?” She gave him a look that said he was being incredibly dense.

“Harry, this isn’t going to be kept quiet,” Hermione told him, very seriously. “This tournament’s famous, and you’re famous. I’ll be really surprised if there isn’t anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing... and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would.” Harry grimaced. She had a point. Unfortunately. In which case, yeah, if it was unavoidable, it’d be better for Sirius to hear it from him.

“Okay, okay, I’ll write to him,” said Harry, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake, unable to eat anymore. They both stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Then they returned to the castle.

“Whose owl am I going to use?” Harry said as they climbed the stairs. “He told me not to use Hedwig again.” Which was going to upset his owl.

“Why don’t you ask Ron if you can borrow —”

“I’m not asking Ron for anything,” Harry said flatly.

“Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them,” said Hermione, sounding a little frustrated.

They went up to the Owlery Hermione gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall, on a rare, clean part of the floor, and wrote his letter.

Dear Sirius,

You told me to keep you posted on what’s happening at Hogwarts, so here you are, please don’t overreact — I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Triwizard Tournament’s happening at Hogwarts this year and last night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don’t know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn’t. The other Hogwarts champion is Cassius Warrington, from Slytherin.

He paused at this point, thinking. He had an urge to say something about the large weight of anxiety that seemed to have settled inside his chest since last night, but he couldn’t think how to translate this into words, so he simply dipped his quill back into the ink bottle and wrote,

I’m sure Dumbledore has everything under control. Hope you and Buckbeak are ok and safe — Harry

It didn’t seem quite right, but he had no idea what else to say. He didn’t want Sirius to worry and get himself caught. The part about the headmaster was also a lie, he wasn’t sure about anything of the sort, but hopefully it would reassure Sirius.

“Finished,” he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig came fluttering down onto his shoulder and held out her leg. He sighed and stroked her feathers.

“I can’t use you. I’m sorry,” Harry told her regretfully, looking around for the school owls. “I’ve got to use one of these. You’re too easily seen, and I can’t risk Sirius.”

Hedwig gave a very loud, indignant hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. She kept her back to Harry all the time he was tying his letter to the leg of a large barn owl. When the barn owl had flown off, Harry reached out to stroke Hedwig once more, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach.

“First Ron, then you,” said Harry angrily. “This isn’t my fault.”

Harry hoped that, once people got used to the idea of him being the fourth champion, things would die down. He was wrong. Very wrong. He could no longer avoid the rest of the school once he was back at lessons — and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought Harry had entered himself for the tournament. But, just like the Gryffindors, the majority of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were just glad they had someone to cheer instead of a Slytherin champion. The Hufflepuffs were disappointed Diggory hadn’t been chosen, and were torn between the unwanted Slytherin champion, or the underage Gryffindor one who may have cheated his way in. They were cautiously supportive of Harry, but that support didn’t come without many open-mouthed stares and hushed mutterings.

Classes were awkward because Ron was not talking to him, but in Herbology the Hufflepuffs were only too keen to talk to him, so he ended up fielding yet more questions on how he had put his name in from Ernie and Justin while they re-potted Bouncing Bulbs. Ron had chosen to work with Neville, Dean and Seamus.

“I didn’t enter!” He snapped finally, after almost half an hour of the same question being repeated, over and over. “Moody thinks someone confunded the goblet to enter me under a fourth school. Magic way beyond anything I could do.” Both Justin and Ernie seemed to consider this. Moody was a very highly thought of teacher, and if he thought that was possible then both boys were willing to believe him.

“But why would someone do that? Why go to all that effort to enter you?” Justin wondered.

“Good question,” Harry muttered bitterly. “Wish I knew, I’d like to hex them.”

“What? But it’s a good thing. Better you as Hogwarts champion than Warrington,” Ernie said pompously.

“Oh, it’s a good thing I get to perform unknown tasks in front of the entire school, competing against people with three years more education than me. Maybe even more than that. I didn’t know about magic until I was eleven. Warrington has probably been learning since he could talk.”

“So, since he was eleven,” Justin joked, trying to lighten the mood. Harry snorted, despite himself. “But honestly, you beat You-Know-Who as a baby. I think you can handle some seventh years.” Harry gaped at him.

“And that stuff you did, saving the school in first year. And beating Slytherin’s monster in second year,” Ernie added.

“I had a lot of help with all of that stuff. And I didn’t beat Voldemort!” Harry told them angrily. “My mum did that. I just didn’t die. Good for me.” Justin and Ernie both flinched as his use of Voldemort’s name and stared at him. Thankfully, Hermione cut in then, asking Ernie something about the bulbs. Harry saw her throwing him concerned looks out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored them. He was sick of this already. Why would nobody believe him? Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Nobody ever did. He didn’t speak for the rest of the lesson.

He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too — the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion.

Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid’s cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

“Ah, look, boys, it’s the cheating champion,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. “Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer... Half the Triwizard champions have died and everyone knows Warrington will wipe the floor with him. How long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet. Warrington thinks five.”

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class’s horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely. Honestly, he half hoped one of the skrewts attacked him so he’d call on dear old daddy to have these executed. Harry certainly wouldn’t be going back in time to save skrewts. Then he felt bad. Hagrid would be devastated.

“Take this thing for a walk?” Malfoy repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. “And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?” It was a valid question.

“Roun’ the middle,” said Hagrid, demonstrating. “Er — yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution, like. Harry — you come here an’ help me with this big one...”

Hagrid’s real intention, however, thankfully, was to talk to Harry away from the rest of the class. This meant he did not have to take one for a walk like the rest of his classmates. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and said, very seriously, “So — yer competin’, Harry. In the tournament. School champion.”

“One of the champions,” Harry corrected him automatically.

Hagrid eyed him, anxiety written all over his face. “No idea who put yeh in fer it?”

“You believe I didn’t do it, then?” said Harry, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid’s words.

“’Course I do,” Hagrid grunted. “Yeh say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yeh — an’ Dumbledore believes yer, an’ all.” Fat lot of good that had done him. Dumbledore hadn’t even bothered to announce to the school that it couldn’t possibly have been Harry who entered his own name. The same way he hadn’t said anything when everyone hated him because they thought he was the heir of Slytherin, attacking his own schoolmates. While he was sure half the school still would believe Harry had done it, the show of support would have been appreciated. Harry wondered if Hagrid would believe him if Dumbledore hadn’t. But then he dismissed the thought. Hagrid was a good friend. A loyal friend. Unlike a certain redhead he could name.

“Wish I knew who did do it,” said Harry bitterly.

The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. They had now developed a kind of thick, greyish, shiny armour which wasn’t encouraging. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs — but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control. Harry wondered when they would stop growing.

“Look like they’re havin’ fun, don’ they?” Hagrid said happily.

Harry assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren’t; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts’ ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet. He felt a perverse wave of satisfaction that Ron was one of those people.

“Ah, I don’ know, Harry,” Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a worried expression on his face. “School champion... everythin’ seems ter happen ter you, doesn’ it?”

Harry didn’t answer. Yes, everything did seem to happen to him... that was more or less what Hermione had said as they had walked around the lake, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to him.

The next few days were hard for Harry, but he was aware they could have been much harder. The Hufflepuffs continued to support him. The Ravenclaws thought he had cheated his way in, like the rest of the school, and many of them wanted to know how he had found his way around such a powerful magical artefact. Harry found himself constantly repeating Moody’s words to them all and once they all believed that he didn’t have the knowledge or power to have entered himself, they lost most of their interest. They still were more lukewarm to him than to Warrington though. The Slytherin boy only had the support of his own house. The rest of the school muttered insults whenever he entered a room. Several people constantly called for a rechoosing of the champions. Most of the school felt Cedric Diggory should have been chosen.

Cedric certainly looked the part of a champion more than Warrington did. They were of a similar height, although Warrington was much broader. But where Warrington was fairly average looking with mud brown hair and brown eyes that were strangely far apart, Cedric was exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and grey eyes. To his credit, the Hufflepuff boy continually told people off for their comments regarding the Slytherin champion.

Meanwhile there was no reply from Sirius, Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near him, Professor Trelawney was predicting his death with even more certainty than usual, and he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick’s class that he was given extra homework — the only person to get any, apart from Neville.

“It’s really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him as they left Flitwick’s class, like it made him feel better to be rubbish at a supposedly very easy spell. She had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, with no difficulty whatsoever. “You just weren’t concentrating properly —”

“Wonder why that was,” said Harry darkly. “Still — never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to this afternoon.”

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. Especially given that the other champion was a Slytherin himself. He had already struggled through one Friday’s worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning “ignore them, ignore them, ignore them” under her breath, and he couldn’t see why today should be any better.

When he and Hermione arrived at Snape’s dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges — then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous green letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage: SUPPORT CASSIUS WARRINGTON: THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION

“Like them, Potter?” said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. “And this isn’t all they do — look!”

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed red: POTTER STINKS. Most of the Slytherins howled with laughter. Malfoy and his cronies all pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all-around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck. While he expected nothing less than them supporting their own housemate, the second one was annoying. But it was hardly unexpected from Malfoy.

“Oh, very funny,” Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, “really witty.”

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t sticking up for Harry either. Over the last few days, it had become clear that, although he wouldn’t support a Slytherin champion, he wasn’t going to forgive Harry either. If anything, he was probably supporting Krum.

“Want one, Granger?” said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. “I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see; don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Harry felt his anger rise. But before he could do anything, Ron reacted first. He stepped forwards, in front of Hermione with his wand out.

“Ron!” Hermione said warningly.

“Go on, then, Weasley,” Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. “Moody’s not here to look after you now — do it, if you’ve got the guts —” For a split second, they stared at each other hatefully, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.

“Furnunculus!” Ron yelled.

“Densaugeo!” screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles — Ron’s hit Crabbe in the face, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione. Crabbe bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

“Hermione!” Harry called out. He moved towards her and gently pried her hands away from her face. Hermione’s front teeth — already larger than average — were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin — panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

“And what is all this noise about?” said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations. Snape held up a hand and silence fell. Then he pointed a finger at Malfoy and told him to explain.

“Weasley attacked me, sir —”

“We attacked each other at the same time!” Ron shouted.

“— and he hit Crabbe — look —” Snape examined Crabbe, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. Harry felt a small sense of satisfaction.

“Hospital wing, Crabbe,” Snape said calmly.

“Malfoy got Hermione!” Harry then spoke up. “Look!” He gently pushed Hermione forwards to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands once more, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape’s back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, “I see no difference.” Harry was outraged. It was one thing for Snape to constantly bully and harass him, but to say something like that to Hermione…he loathed the man.

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight. Harry was tempted to follow her but that would only give Snape a reason to put him in detention forever.

Instead, he called Snape something foul. Thankfully, Ron called him something similar at the same time, and their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however. It would have been impossible not to.

“Let’s see,” he said, in his silkiest voice. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it’ll be a week’s worth of detentions.”

Harry’s ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too — for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and moved to sit with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table.

On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room. Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him and hoping Hermione was going to be alright.

“Antidotes!” said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one...”

Snape’s eyes met Harry’s, and Harry knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison him. He really should have followed Hermione to the hospital wing. Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape’s greasy head — And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on Harry’s thoughts. It was Colin Creevey. Harry immediately had a bad feeling about whatever Colin was here for.

“Yes?” said Snape curtly.

“Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.”

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face. Harry watched nervously, wondering what on earth was so important that Colin was interrupting potions.

“Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” said Snape coldly. “He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”

Colin went pink.

“Sir — sir, Mr. Bagman wants him,” he said nervously. “All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs...”

Harry closed his eyes in horror. He would have given anything he owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. Photographs? Did they really need him for those? Yes, he was forced to compete in this stupid tournament, but that only meant the tasks, right? There was no need for him to suffer through the rest of this rubbish. He chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling.

“Very well, very well,” Snape snapped. “Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote.”

“Please, sir — he’s got to take his things with him,” squeaked Colin. “All the champions —”

“Very well!” said Snape. “Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!” That was something at least.

Harry gathered up his things as quickly as he could and swung his bag over his shoulder. Standing up, he headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at him from every direction. At least Snape wouldn’t be able to poison him. Although, he half suspected that by the time this was finished, he’d be wishing for the poison.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Harry?” said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. “Isn’t it, though? You being champion?”

“Yeah, really amazing,” said Harry sarcastically as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. “What do they want photos for, Colin?”

“The Daily Prophet, I think!”

“Great,” said Harry dully. “Exactly what I need. More publicity.” They made the rest of the trip in silence, much to Harry’s relief.

“Good luck!” said Colin when they had reached the right room.

Harry knocked on the door and entered. He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. A couple had been put together to form one longer table by the blackboard and had been covered by a length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner and not talking to anybody. Warrington and Fleur were both standing in the centre of the room, also silent. Fleur looked just as miserable as Krum. Apparently, Hogwarts hadn’t gotten any more likeable during her stay. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye. Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

“Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come... nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —”

“Wand weighing?” Harry repeated nervously.

“We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the tasks ahead,” said Bagman. “The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. Harry recognised the name, but he couldn’t think from where. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet...”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry in a way that made him highly uncomfortable.

Her hair was set in elaborate curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore ostentatious, jewelled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. “The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?”

“Certainly!” cried Bagman. “That is — if Harry has no objection?”

“Er —” said Harry. He most certainly did have objections. “What about…”

“Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, cutting across his objections. In a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry’s upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door.

“We don’t want to be in there with all that noise,” she said. Harry frowned. There had barely been any noise in the room. Nobody had been talking when he came in. “Let’s see... ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.”

It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her. He did not want to go into a small broom cupboard with the strange woman for an interview.

“Come along, dear — that’s right — lovely,” said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. “Let’s see now...” She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.

“You won’t mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally...”

“A what?” said Harry. Rita Skeeter’s smile widened in a way that made him even more nervous. Harry counted three gold teeth.

She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out in the small between them. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.

“Testing... my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.”

Harry looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment: Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations —

“Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said, “So, Harry... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Er —” said Harry again, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn’t speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake, he could make out a fresh sentence: An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes —

“Ignore the quill, Harry,” said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly, Harry looked up at her instead. “Now — why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?”

“How am I supposed to ignore the quill when it’s writing utter rubbish?” He wondered.

“It’s just the unedited version, dear,” she assured him. He didn’t feel very reassured, but she asked him once more why he had entered the tournament.

“I didn’t,” said Harry. “I don’t know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn’t put it in there.”

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily pencilled eyebrow. “Come now, Harry, there’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn’t really have entered at all. But don’t worry about that. Our readers love a rebel.”

“But I didn’t enter,” Harry repeated. “Professor Moody thinks someone confounded the goblet to enter me under a fourth school. I don’t know who —”

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” interrupted Rita Skeeter, completely ignoring what he had just said. “Excited? Nervous?”

“I haven’t really thought... yeah, nervous, I suppose,” said Harry.

“Champions have died in the past, haven’t they?” said Rita Skeeter briskly. “Have you thought about that at all?” She sounded a little too eager about this for Harry’s liking.

“Well... they say it’s going to be a lot safer this year,” said Harry. Although, safer by Hogwarts standards over the last few years wasn’t saying much. The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.

“Of course, you’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you?” said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. “How would you say that’s affected you?”

“Er,” said Harry, yet again. She didn’t give him any chance to actually think about an answer before barrelling on.

“Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because —”

“I didn’t enter,” said Harry, starting to feel irritated. She was hardly giving him any time to gather his thoughts, let alone properly answer any of her questions.

“Can you remember your parents at all?” said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.

“No,” said Harry forcefully. He was absolutely not going to tell this woman about the memory he did have of his parents.

“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?”

Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and looked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember. He scowled.

“I have NOT got tears in my eyes!” said Harry loudly.

Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard. Harry felt a rush of embarrassment, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Dumbledore!” cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight — but Harry noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita was hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag. Something was off about that quill, and how quickly she’d hidden it. Maybe Dumbledore would know what it was and why it wrote nothing even remotely similar to what was said out loud. “How are you?” she asked, standing up and holding out one of her hands to Dumbledore. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference?”

“Enchantingly nasty,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. He did not take the hand. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.” Harry fought down a snort at that description.

Rita Skeeter didn’t look remotely abashed. “I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that much of the public –“

“I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, “but I’m afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard.”

“Professor…” Harry began, hoping he could do something about whatever nonsense that quill had been writing.

“Come now Harry, they are waiting for us,” Dumbledore cut him off. Harry sighed, realising Dumbledore wasn’t going to help. Figures. Instead, he left the broom cupboard. At the very least, he was very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter. Harry hurried back into the classroom. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Warrington, who sneered at him, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting. They all looked rather bored, with the exception of Ludo Bagman who was still beaming.

Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment. He eyed it nervously.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ table and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

Harry looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw a familiar wizard standing by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander only once before, and he was no less creepy now.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping forward into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to him and handed over her wand.

“Hmmm...” he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “nine and a half inches... inflexible… rosewood... and containing... dear me...”

“An ’air from ze ’ead of a veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.” So, Fleur was part veela, thought Harry, making a mental note to tell Ron... then he remembered that Ron wasn’t speaking to him. He wondered if it was common to have veela hair as a wand core. As far as he remembered, only unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings and phoenix feathers were used.

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you...” Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for any damage; then, seemingly satisfied he muttered, “Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

“Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr. Warrington, you next.”

Fleur glided back to her seat and Warrington stepped forward.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Warrington handed over his wand. Warrington inclined his head, saying nothing. “Elm and dragon heartstring. Twelve and three-quarter inches, rather bendy.” Warrington nodded once more, still silent. “Well, it appears to be in excellent condition.” After another few seconds, Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Warrington’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes as Warrington sat down once more.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I... however...” He brought the wand close to his face and stared at it intently, turning it over and over. He seemed to study Krum’s wand much more intently than he had the other two.

“Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!” The hornbeam wand let off a loud bang, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end. The fluttered around Ollivander’s head before quickly hurrying through the open window into the weak sunlight. “Good,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves... Mr. Potter.”

Harry clumsily got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand after a moment’s hesitation.

“Aaaah, yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.” Harry could remember too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday. Including the fact that his wand was the brother of Lord Voldemort’s. Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody, and he very much did not want the rest of the world to find out. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry’s wand than anyone else’s, which made Harry very nervous. Each second he worried that the wandmaker would blurt out his secret. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition. He heaved a sigh of relief that nothing unfortunate had been mentioned.

“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —” Harry heaved another sigh of relief that he would not have to go back to potions. He had a few more days before he was poisoned.

Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat, before ruining Harry’s day.

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”

“Er — yes, let’s do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

Let’s not,” Harry muttered. Naturally, nobody paid him any attention. “Professor,” he looked pleadingly at Dumbledore, “I know I have to compete, but Warrington is the actual Hogwarts champion, I really don’t need to be here. Do I?” Warrington raised an eyebrow at this.

“You are still a champion, Harry,” Dumbledore pointed out. Harry was getting really tired of Dumbledore’s lack of help. He knew it probably wasn’t the headmaster’s fault, but every time he even tried to ask for help, he was completely ignored.

“Come on, Mr. Potter. We can hardly only have photos three of the four champions,” Bagman scoffed. With nobody on his side, Harry reluctantly resigned himself to his fate.

The photographs took a very long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn’t stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger like some sort of Bond villain while Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence. Harry resisted all of these attempts and settled himself behind Warrington, who had stopped sneering at him and looked vaguely amused. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. Harry point blank refused to do anything other than scowl in his, despite her efforts. At last, they were free to go.

“Potter!” Harry heard his name as he walked down the hallway as quickly as possible without running. Turning back, he saw Warrington striding after him. He blinked in shock that the other champion was even talking to him.

“Er…yeah?”

“Did you mean it? About me really being the champion?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, you are the Hogwarts champion. Moody thinks I was put in under a fourth school, so technically I might not even be representing Hogwarts at all.”

“Most of the school think you should be the only champion.”

“Yeah, well the rest of the school also think I put myself into this nightmare,” Harry scoffed.

“What was all that with hiding behind me for the photos anyway?”

“I don’t like being sprawled all over the front cover of the Prophet. Besides, I don’t like that Skeeter woman. Her stupid quill wrote a bunch of rubbish while she was trying to interview me. She didn’t listen to a word I said, insisting I must have done it and asking how my parents would feel about all this. How would I know how they feel? They are dead! They’ve been dead almost my entire life!” Harry was shouting this last part. Then he realised just who he was talking to. “Uh…I’m just going to go now.”

“You’re not what I expected, Potter. Good luck.” Harry, who had been in the process of turning around to leave as quickly as possible, froze, stunned.

“Uh…thanks. I guess. You too.”

Chapter Text

Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn’t there — he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. Either that or Madam Pomfrey was being her usual self and keeping her in far longer than was truly necessary. He sat down by himself and was halfway through his meal when Warrington walked in. As was usual these days, everyone in the hall that wasn’t a Slytherin began muttering and staring. Even Harry didn’t get as many dark mutters as Warrington these days. The Slytherin champion caught Harry’s eye and offered a short nod, before sitting down with Adrian Pucey and another boy Harry didn’t recognise.

“So, getting friendly with the competition?” Asked a voice. Looking up, Harry saw Fred Weasley sitting down next to him. George appeared on his other side a second later.

“We, uh, I dunno. It was weird.” He explained what had happened in the last two hours.

“Well, I guess he appreciated someone saying he was the proper champion. Especially you. It’s not like the rest of us are supporting him,” George said.

“But why not? I know he’s a Slytherin, but he is who the goblet chose. A powerful magical artefact thinks he is the best choice.”

“It’s a cup, what does it know,” Fred scoffed. “I don’t much like Diggory, but at least he isn’t a Slytherin. He’d have been a decent champion if Angie wasn’t going to make the cut.”

“The Slytherins can’t all be bad,” Harry said. He used to think so, and Draco and his cronies hardly helped that image, but after last year he had come to realise that it wasn’t only Slytherins that were evil. If a Gryffindor could join Voldemort and betray Harry’s parents, then why couldn’t some Slytherins be good? It wasn’t only the Slytherins that had treated Harry terribly when they thought he was the heir of Slytherin, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had been awful too. Even Ernie McMillian, he’d been convinced Harry wanted to hurt Justin just because he didn’t like the Dursleys and could speak Parseltongue.

Both twins stared at him in surprise.

“I suppose Warrington does at least try to play a clean game when we beat Slytherin at Quidditch,” George said slowly.

“Just, I know what it’s like to be vilified for something you can’t help. I don’t want to make it worse,” Harry told them softly.

“Alright. We’ll lay off him. For you. As long as you make sure to beat him. We can get behind a Slytherin representing Hogwarts, but not beating our star Gryffindor,” Fred winked at him. Harry offered a grateful smile. “Now, if we’re talking about beating the competition, can we help you prepare for the task at all, Harry?” Harry was about to say he was fine, but then he thought about the sheer amount of extra work he had to do. The twins were exceptionally clever, even if it didn’t always show in their marks. The ton-tongue toffees were an example of that.

“I don’t even know what the task is, but if you guys have any tips for summoning charms, I could really use that. I sucked today.”

“Sure,” Fred agreed. “Follow us.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

“Ok. Thanks guys.”

“No problem,” George said.

He followed the twins up to an abandoned classroom on the seventh floor. He hadn’t even noticed the door as he approached. Then Fred had taken his hand and a door appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Disillusionment charm, keyed to us, and a notice-me-not charm,” Fred explained with a grin. “Got the idea from the muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“It’s very impressive,” Harry told them honestly.

“We’ll key you in so you can come here whenever you like,” George offered. “But if you do, don’t touch anything. Most of the stuff in here in under stasis charms but that doesn’t mean something won’t go wrong it you touch the wrong thing.”

“No touching, got it.”

Fred opened the door and inside was an average-sized classroom. All of the desks had been pushed to line the edges and almost every one of them had a bubbling cauldron on. What would have been the teacher’s desk was covered in sheaves of parchment. Most of the chairs were missing, except for a couple by the desk with the parchment and a couple of stools by the cauldrons.

“Woah. This is incredible. So, this is where you make all your stuff?”

“Yeah. We started off using our dorm, but after one or two…uh, unfortunate mishaps, we decided to find a different place,” George grinned. Harry grinned back. “We’ve got ton-tongue toffees over there, some canary creams in that cauldron and over there, we tried jinxing the creams, but we think that dousing them in a potion will make the effect last a bit longer.”

“Over here have a new development, we’re looking into sweets that can make you sick enough to get out of lessons and then you can cure yourself afterwards. We have puking pastilles. We’ve made the half that makes you sick and the antidote, but we’re struggling to put them into the same sweet at the moment,” Fred took over the explanation, pointing to the cauldron in question.

“That sounds awesome. I could use some of that to get me out of potions at the moment. I’m fairly certain Snape is planning to poison me at some point, so I can ‘test my antidote out’.” Harry pulled a face.

“You can have some if you like. It works, they just aren’t merged into the same sweet yet,” Fred offered.

“Once we’ve got that issue sorted, we can start work on fainting fancies and nosebleed nougat,” George added.

“Anyway, summoning charms,” Fred stated. “George, you’re better at Charms, you wanna take this while I get started on some more fake wands?” George nodded his agreement and Fred made his way over to the desk covered in parchment.

“So, what’s the issue with summoning?” George asked after he’d put up a silencing charm so they wouldn’t disturb Fred.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed. “I just…it’s hard to concentrate with everything else that’s going on.”

“That’s fair enough,” George nodded. “Alright. So, the problem seems like you’re overthinking it and not able to concentrate. In which case, we need to get you out of your head first. Let’s try a duel. We’ll go next door, so we don’t hit anything. Now, the aim will be for you to summon my wand instead of disarming me.”

“Duel you?” Harry asked nervously.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you Harrikins.” The grin George gave him was very far from reassuring. “Just let yourself focus on the duel and at some point, try to summon my wand.” He took down the silencing charm and explained to Fred what the plan was. Fred just nodded. George led Harry back out of the room and into another empty classroom. “Right then, ready? Three, two, one…Expelliarmus!”

Harry threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the red jet of light.

“Tarantallegra!” He yelled.

“Incarceous!”

“Nebulus!” The room filled with a thick fog. Harry kept moving, scanning for the slightest sign of movement. He caught a glimpse of am arm out of the corner of his eye. “Everte Statum!”

“Dispersus!” The fog rapidly began thinning. Harry saw George circling around to his left side.

“Accio wand!” The wand gave a twitch but didn’t leave George’s hand.

“Good job. It might not have worked completely, but something happened. It’s a start,” George said encouragingly. “Keep going.”

They kept duelling for another half an hour before Harry finally succeeded at summoning the wand. A cheer came from the doorway causing both of them to whirl around. Fred was leaning against the wall, grinning.

“Not bad, ickle Harrikins.”

“So, you know you can do it. Now you need to work on concentrating so you don’t need to be in the middle of a duel to cast it,” George laughed. “But you’ve done it now, so that should help. Ninety percent of magic is intent. You need to visualise what you want to happen and keep that thought in your head. It’s how you do nonverbal casting. Saying the word itself isn’t what causes the magic to work. It just helps you focus. You associate a certain effect with a word and so it focuses the mind. After O.W.Ls, they’ll start expecting silent casting because you’re expected to be able to focus on the effect you want without needing words.”

“That sounds…complicated,” Harry frowned.

“It sounds more complicated than it is. It’s all about focus, but we found that most of the teachers don’t explain it very well. They use big words and long explanations. At its core, it comes down to focus and practise,” Fred told him. “But don’t worry, we’ll stick to verbal casting for now.”

“For now?”

“Well, all your competitors are in sixth or seventh year. They’ll all be able to do silent casting, so if you can learn at least a couple of spells that way, it’ll help you catch up.”

“Like Fred said, we won’t shove too much down your throat at once, but we will help you. Gotta have a Gryffindor win after all.”

“And if someone did put you in hoping to hurt you, then they’ll regret it,” Fred added with a snarl. Harry felt a ball of warmth in his chest at the twins’ words.

“Thanks guys.”

“No problem. Come on back up in a couple of days if you’re still having trouble. Other than that, you’re welcome to come in when you want if you need some space. But don’t bring anyone else here please. Especially not Hermione. Or Ron, because he’ll tell Hermione.”

“No fears there,” Harry said bitterly.

“Ronnie still being an arse?” George asked with an eyeroll. Harry just nodded.

“He’ll get over it. Eventually,” Fred assured him. “But we can prank him for being an idiot if you want?” Harry was briefly tempted, but he didn’t want to cause issues with Ron thinking his brothers were taking Harry’s side over his. It had been bad enough they gave Harry the map and not Ron.

“Thanks guys, but it’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he told them with more confidence than he felt.

He left the room and headed back to the common room as it was getting closer to curfew. Up in the dormitory, he came across Ron.

“You’ve had an owl,” said Ron brusquely the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry’s pillow. The school barn owl he had sent to Sirius was waiting for him there.

“Oh — right,” said Harry.

“And we’ve got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape’s dungeon,” said Ron. He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at Harry.

For a moment, Harry considered going after him — he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to talk to him or hit him, both seemed quite appealing — but he decided his godfather was more important. Harry strode over to the barn owl, took the letter off its leg, and unrolled it.

Harry —

I can’t say everything I would like to in a letter, it’s too risky in case the owl is intercepted — we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o’clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you’re around Dumbledore and Moody I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore’s nose. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can.

- Sirius

That didn’t settle his nerves. Sirius wasn’t planning to break into Hogwarts again, was he? Surely, if he was, there were better places to meet than Gryffindor tower. Like out on the grounds. Or even in Hogsmeade. Still, he quickly scribbled his agreement on the back of the letter and sent it off with the same owl.

The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius, along with the twins allowing him access to their room were two of the main things keeping Harry going over the next fortnight, the only bright spots on a horizon that was looking blacker than he would have preferred. The shock of finding himself school champion had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing him had started to sink in. The first task was drawing steadily nearer; he felt as though it were an impassable barrier. He had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything he had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even his last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all; he felt as though his whole life had been leading up to, and would finish with, the first task.

Admittedly, he didn’t see how Sirius was going to make him feel any better about having to perform an unknown piece of difficult and dangerous magic in front of hundreds of people, but it would be good to talk to his godfather. Maybe Sirius would have some suggestions for spells or tactics. Although, not knowing what he would have to do made it harder to come up with any plans.

After he had written his agreement to Sirius, he and Hermione spent a long time going over plans for making sure the common room was empty on the night in question. If the worst came to the worst, they were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but they hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to that.

The twins were also pretty good at distracting him when he got too worried. Fred always offered a sympathetic ear and George continued to teach him about magic. They duelled at least once a week, with the twins introducing new spells to him each time. The first time, they would use the spell in the duel. Then one of them would demonstrate on the other before finally letting Harry have a go. He found that George was an incredibly good teacher, very knowledgeable on most magical theories while Fred was more practical. George would walk him through the theory behind a spell and Fred would give him tips on how to hold his wand, or correct his wand movements. They made an exceptional team, though he’d expected nothing less, and he soon found himself relaxing in their presence.

Being friends with Ron had led Harry to have a healthy respect for the twins, but always left a feeling of wariness. Despite the fact that, as far as he could tell, the twins rarely pranked Ron, usually leaving that to Percy. Occasionally they would tell him a lie, which he would almost always believe such as the spell to turn Scabbers yellow or wrestling a troll for the sorting, but even that was rare these days. Harry was aware that they had never pranked him either and so, spending more time with them he found the wariness dissipating. In fact, spending time with the twins was the thing that relaxed him the most these days.

They even showed him where the kitchen was, being horrified that he didn’t know already having had the map for almost a year. Harry had never actually been inside the kitchens themselves yet, but the twins were determined that he should at least know for the future.

In the meantime, life took a turn for the worse for Harry within the confines of the castle, as Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly coloured life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry, although his picture-self did keep disappearing from the frame; the article (continuing on a further three pages) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Warrington hadn’t been mentioned at all.

He had felt terrible that Warrington wasn’t even mentioned, especially after their short talk after the wand weighing ceremony. He hadn’t meant to unload on the Slytherin champion the way he had, but Warrington hadn’t mocked him, or spread the news of his meltdown throughout the school, and Harry respected him for that. Besides, most of the school already didn’t consider him the champion, and now he wasn’t even in the article about the tournament. Not wanting to speak with Warrington in front of all the Slytherins, he had ended up sending him a note, through the twins who shared a couple of classes with him, apologising and saying he hadn’t actually said any of the things in the article. Fred had told him a couple of days later that Warrington appreciated it and that he knew not to take any notice of anything Rita Skeeter said. His father would be having a word with the Daily Prophet over the lack of mention of Warrington.

The article had appeared ten days ago, and Harry still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in his stomach every time he thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported him saying an awful lot of things that he had never said in his entire his life, let alone in that broom cupboard.

I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they’d be very proud of me if they could see me now... Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it... I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they’re watching over me.

But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his “er’s” into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about him too.

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.

Harry had wanted to wring Colin’s neck for that, but he knew from personal experience that Rita didn’t exactly take no for an answer. Still, he wanted to know if she had sought Colin out or if he’d offered to talk to her. If it was the latter, he would wring his neck. From the moment the article had appeared, Harry had had to endure people — Slytherins, mainly — quoting it at him as he passed and making sneering comments. Although, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The older Slytherin, namely those Harry thought might be Warrington’s friends, didn’t say anything. Most of it came from Malfoy and his cronies.

“Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?”

“Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?”

“Hey — Harry!”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. “I’ve just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I’m just off to do a bit more...”

“No — it was just — you dropped your quill.” It was Cho. Harry felt the colour rising in his face.

“Oh — right — sorry,” he muttered, taking the quill back. First Warrington and now Cho. He really needed to get a better grip of himself.

“Er... good luck on Tuesday,” she said. “I really hope you do well.”

Which left Harry feeling extremely stupid. Hermione had come in for her fair share of unpleasantness too, but she hadn’t yet started yelling at innocent bystanders. Or other competitors. And, as far as he knew, neither had Warrington.

“Stunningly pretty? Her?” Pansy Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita’s article had appeared. “What was she judging against — a chipmunk?”

“No, they were judging against you, Parkinson,” Harry had snapped in return. That had almost gotten a laugh out of Ron, but the redhead had stopped himself, turning it into a cough.

“Ignore it,” Hermione had said in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn’t hear them. “Just ignore it, Harry.”

But Harry couldn’t ignore it. Ron hadn’t spoken to him at all since he had told him about Snape’s detentions. Harry had half hoped they would make things up during the two hours they were in Snape’s awful detention, but that had been the day Rita’s article had appeared, which seemed to have confirmed Ron’s belief that Harry was really enjoying all the attention. This annoyed Harry even more, given that Ron should know better than most that Harry had never said any of those things.

Hermione was furious with the pair of them; she tried appealing to both of them, but Harry was adamant: He would talk to Ron again only if Ron admitted that Harry hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling him a liar.

“I didn’t start this,” Harry said stubbornly. “It’s his problem.”

“You miss him!” Hermione said impatiently. “And I know he misses you —”

“Miss him?” said Harry. “I don’t miss him...” he lied.

Harry liked Hermione very much, but she just wasn’t the same as Ron. Ron was the very first friend he’d ever had. And it hurt to lose him over something Harry had zero control over. Not to mention, there was a lot more time spent studying in the library when Hermione was your best friend. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he knew he needed to study, but he simply found it too hard to focus for such long stretches of time.

Harry often escaped to the twin’s room, not wanting to force Hermione to choose between the pair of them. He knew from the year before how uncomfortable that could be. Although, it should have been between him and Hermione, considering it was his present she had had confiscated, but somehow Ron had been more upset than him. And then there had been the Scabbers/Crookshanks debacle. It hadn’t been a good year, and he wouldn’t wish being the in-between on anyone.

Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too, and Harry wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there, not because he ever bothered them, but because groups of giggling fans often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting.

“He’s not even good-looking!” she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum’s sharp profile. “They only like him because he’s famous! They wouldn’t look twice at him if he couldn’t do that Wonky Faint thing —”

“Wronski Feint,” said Harry, through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch terms correct, it caused him another pang to imagine Ron’s expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints. Instead, he shared it with the twins, laughing at their identical expressions of outrage.

Unfortunately, time didn’t just fly when he was having fun. It also seemed to move a lot quicker when you wanted it to slow down. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. Harry’s feeling of barely controlled panic was with him wherever he went, as ever-present as the snide comments about the Daily Prophet article. Although most talk had turned to what the task might entail.

The weekend before the first task was a Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione told Harry that it would do him good to get away from the castle for a bit, and Harry didn’t need much persuasion.

“What about Ron, though?” he asked. “Don’t you want to go with him?”

“Oh... well…” Hermione went slightly pink. “I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks...”

“No,” said Harry flatly.

“Oh Harry, this is so stupid —”

“I’ll come, but I’m not meeting Ron.”

“Oh, all right then...” Hermione snapped.

So, after breakfast he and Hermione set off for Hogsmeade. He watched other students walking past them as they entered the village, fewer and fewer of them sporting Support Cassius Warrington! Badges. A few horrible remarks came his way but most of the people they passed simply stared, making no comment. It was a marked improvement, and the lessening of snide comments was the only reason he hadn’t brought his invisibility cloak with him to hide under.

Their first stop was Honeydukes. Harry stocked up on snacks he could keep in his pockets. He preferred not eating in the Great Hall since the article had come out. Not that he had much of an appetite these days anyway, but it was better than nothing. The twins, helpful as always, had taken to leaving meals in their workroom under warming and stasis charms, but it was still handy to have something to munch on. Hermione rarely bought much from Honeydukes, her parents being dentists, but by the time they left, they were both eating large cream-filled chocolates.

As they strode down the street, they stopped in at Scrivenshafts for parchment and ink. Harry popped into the Hogsmeade branch of Ollivander’s to buy some wand polish after his embarrassment at the wand weighing ceremony. While he was in there, some small leather cases caught his eye, and he discovered they were wand holsters. You could attach them to your wrist or calf. You could even get one that was slung over the shoulder. They had anti-summoning charms on, and Harry ended up buying himself a wrist one made of dark red dragonhide. Then he bought two more as a thank you for the twins. He got Fred a similar red one and George a black one. Hermione got herself one as well, made of sapphire blue dragonhide, agreeing they would be useful.

Their next stop was the bookshop, naturally. Harry browsed the shelves absently. He wondered if he should get himself some additional books. He didn’t have to take the end of year tests this year, but his O.W.Ls were next year, and he was up against three students with much more education than him. The twins were doing their best to remedy that, but maybe he should do some studying of his own. He hated sitting down and just reading, but since he was getting duelling practice once a week, he could get some practical experience. Much to Hermione’s delight, he ended up with three new spellbooks. Her own bag was practically overflowing.

“How about a butterbeer?” She asked tentatively. “You don’t have to speak to Ron,” she added in exasperation as he hesitated.

“Fine,” he agreed. They made their way to the Three Broomsticks. As they approached, Harry yanked Hermione around the corner.

“What…?” she began but he covered her mouth and peered around the corner.

Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by their hiding place without spotting them. When they were gone, Harry said, “She’s staying in the village. I bet she’s coming to watch the first task.”

As he said it, his stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. He didn’t mention this; he and Hermione hadn’t discussed what was coming in the first task much; he had the feeling she didn’t want to think about it.

“She’s gone,” said Hermione, looking right past Harry toward the end of the street.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. Harry supposed that as Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in Britain, it was a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who were not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves. Though, thinking back on some of the people’s he’d seen at the World Cup, some wizards weren’t great at disguising themselves either.

Harry edged slowly toward a spare table in the corner while Hermione went to buy drinks. On his way through the pub, Harry spotted Ron, who was sitting with Dean and Seamus. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were at another table, heads bowed together. Resisting the urge to give Ron a good hard poke in the back of the head, he finally reached the table and sat down at it. Hermione joined him a moment later and they sat, sipping their butterbeer.

Hermione pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. Harry saw his and Ron’s names at the top of the very short list. It seemed a long time ago that they had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed them secretary and treasurer.

“You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.,” Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.

“Yeah, right,” said Harry. He took a swig of butterbeer before sighing. “Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?” He asked.

“When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!” she hissed back. “You know, I’m starting to think it’s time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?”

“No idea, ask Fred and George,” lied Harry. Privately, he didn’t think they would tell her if they knew why she wanted to get into the kitchens. He might give them a heads up if he remembered.

Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence, while Harry drank his butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table. Right over by the door he saw Cho with Cedric and a few of her Ravenclaw friends.

What wouldn’t he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn’t come out of the Goblet of Fire. Ron would be sitting with him for one thing. The three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He’d have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was... cheering on Warrington with everyone else, as he would be the only Hogwarts champion, safe in a seat at the back of the stands. Although, he wouldn’t have known that Warrington could actually be decent, and may have supported Krum in the end.

He wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time he had seen Warrington lately, he had been looking mildly irritated, probably from all the whispers about him, but determined. Harry glimpsed Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty, unruffled and like she didn’t want to be there. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books.

Harry thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly. He would be speaking to his godfather in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night they were meeting at the common room fire — assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately.

“Look, it’s Hagrid!” said Hermione.

The back of Hagrid’s enormous shaggy head — he had mercifully abandoned his bunches — emerged over the crowd. Harry wondered why he hadn’t spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, he saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering at what the pair might have been talking about. Maybe they were just the ones on village patrol duties.

Hagrid had an appropriately large tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his usual hip flask. Madam Rosmerta didn’t seem too impressed, unsurprisingly, and she kept looking at Moody with annoyance as she collected glasses from tables around them. Probably for taking up space in the crowded bar and not actually buying anything. Moody had told them all during their last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup.

As Harry watched, he saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave and gave them a wave. Hagrid failed to see him but Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the corner where Harry was sitting. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back, muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub toward Harry and Hermione’s table. Harry wondered why Moody came over too.

“All right, ‘Arry, ‘Ermione?” said Hagrid loudly.

“Hello,” said Hermione, smiling back.

“Hi Hagrid.”

Moody limped around the table. “Alright, Potter? Granger?”

“Hello, Professor,” they said together.

Hagrid was beaming down at Harry, then he bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook and said in a whisper so low that only Harry could hear it, “’Arry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Make sure nobody sees you.”

Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, “Nice ter see yeh, you two,” winked, and departed before Harry could respond. Moody followed him.

“Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?” Harry wondered, very surprised.

“Does he?” said Hermione, looking startled. “I wonder what he’s up too? I don’t know whether you should go, Harry...” She looked nervously around and hissed, “It might make you late for Sirius.”

It was true that going down to Hagrid’s at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed. Hermione suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid’s to tell him he couldn’t go — always assuming she wasn’t still refusing to acknowledge him, of course. Harry, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted him for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked Harry to visit him so late at night. As long as it wasn’t about the skrewts.

At half past eleven that evening, Harry, who had pretended to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over himself and crept back downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. The Creevey brothers had managed to get hold of a stack of Support Cassius Warrington! badges and were trying to do something to them, though what they may be, Harry wasn’t entirely sure. So far, however, all they had managed to do was get the badges stuck on POTTER STINKS.

Harry crept past them to the portrait hole and waited for a minute or so, keeping an eye on his watch. Then Hermione opened the Fat Lady for him from outside as they had planned. He slipped past her with a whispered “Thanks!” and set off through the castle.

The grounds were very dark, which was hardly surprising, given the time. Harry walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid’s cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up. Harry could hear Madame Maxime’s loud voice coming from inside it as he knocked on Hagrid’s front door.

“You there, Harry?” Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

“Yeah,” said Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. “What’s up?”

“Got summat ter show yeh,” said Hagrid.

There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid that make Harry wary. He’d only ever seen Hagrid this excited about his creatures. It was then he noticed the man’s attire. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair — Harry could see the comb’s broken teeth tangled in it. His wariness became confusion. What could Hagrid possibly have to show him that required his attempt at dressing up at this time of night?

“What’re you showing me?” Harry said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub. But neither of those things would warrant combing his hair, or the weird flower thing in his buttonhole.

“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak,” said Hagrid. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it...” Harry felt that if Fang wouldn’t like it, he probably wouldn’t either.

“Listen, Hagrid, I can’t stay long... I’ve got to be back up at the castle by one o’clock —”

But Hagrid wasn’t listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry hurried to follow and found, to his great surprise, that Hagrid was leading him to the Beauxbatons carriage. He frowned.

“Hagrid, what — ?”

“Shhh!” said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands. Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. “Ah, ’Agrid... it is time?”

“Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Harry blinked, both at Hagrid’s mangled attempt at French and at what was going on. Was Hagrid going on a date? And why on earth did this involve Harry?

Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime’s giant winged horses, with Harry, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Hagrid could hardly have wanted to show him Madame Maxime, and he really hoped Hagrid hadn’t just planned on making Harry watch them have a date. But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry, because after a while she said playfully, “Where is it you are taking me, ’Agrid?”

“Yeh’ll enjoy this,” said Hagrid gruffly, “worth seein’, trust me. On’y — don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh’re not s’posed ter know.” That didn’t sound promising either.

“Of course not,” said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

And still they walked, Harry getting more and more irritated as he jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn’t get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime.

But then — when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight — Harry heard something that made him even more wary. Men were shouting up ahead... then came a deafening, earsplitting roar... Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them — for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them — and then his mouth fell open.

Dragons.

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, which Harry hoped were magically protected or they were rather pointless, roaring and snorting. Torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks and he wondered how he hadn’t seen anything before now. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat’s, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn’t tell which... It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream that set him on edge.

“Keep back there, Hagrid!” yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I’ve seen this Horntail do forty!”

“Is’n’ it beautiful?” said Hagrid softly. Not the word Harry would have chosen. He could think of only one reason there would be four dragons in the Forbidden Forest. It was something to do with the first task.

“It’s no good!” yelled another wizard. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!”

Harry saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand.

“Stupefy!” they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides. At first, he thought they’d not done anything but then, as he watched, the dragon nearest to them teetered dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking — then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry could have sworn made the trees behind him quake.

The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

“Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly.

The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Harry saw that it was Charlie Weasley.

“All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be okay now — we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet. Turns out we were wrong about that.” Harry couldn’t exactly blame them. He wondered how long the dragons had been it, Charlie made it sound like it couldn’t have been long. He also wondered how Hagrid knew. Then he realised that the staff would have been made aware that four dragons were being brought onto the Hogwarts grounds.

“What breeds you got here, Charlie?” said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still slightly open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

“This is a Hungarian Horntail,” said Charlie. “There’s a Common Welsh Green over there, a Swedish Short Snout, and a Chinese Fireball, that’s the red.” Charlie looked around pointing to each of the dragons in turn as he mentioned them. Madame Maxime began strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.

“I didn’t know you were bringing her, Hagrid,” Charlie said, frowning. “The champions aren’t supposed to know what’s coming — she’s bound to tell her student, isn’t she?” They wanted them to face dragons completely unawares? And this was the safer version of the tournament? Harry wanted to shake his head in despair. It had taken several fully grown, and properly trained, wizards to deal with one dragon. How was he, a scrawny fourteen-year-old, supposed to beat one?

“Jus’ thought she’d like ter see ’em,” shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

“Really romantic date, Hagrid,” said Charlie, shaking his head. Harry fought to hide a snort.

“Four...” said Hagrid, “so it’s one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What’ve they gotta do — fight ’em?” Harry desperately hoped not.

“Just get past them, I think,” said Charlie. Well, that was so much better. “We’ll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don’t know why... but I tell you this, I don’t envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end’s as dangerous as its front, look.” Charlie pointed toward the Horntail’s tail, and Harry saw it was covered in long, bronze-coloured spikes. Harry had a horrible feeling exactly who would end up with that dragon. He had the Potter luck after all.

Five of Charlie’s fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-grey eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail’s side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing that made Harry wince. Hagrid had better not end up with another dragon egg.

“I’ve got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie sternly. Harry fought back another snort. Then he said, “How’s Harry?” Harry smiled at that.

“Fine,” said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs. Harry’s smile fell. He was most certainly not fine.

“Just hope he’s still fine after he’s faced this lot,” said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons’ enclosure. Harry grimaced. “I didn’t dare tell Mum what he’s got to do for the first task; she’s already having kittens about him...” Charlie imitated his mother’s anxious voice. “‘How could they let him enter that tournament, he’s much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!’ She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. ‘He still cries about his parents! Oh, bless him, I never knew!’” Harry’s grimace deepened. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to look Mrs Weasley in the face ever again. He had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn’t miss him, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle.

He didn’t know whether he was glad he’d seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now.

He didn’t like to think about seeing them for the first time of Tuesday. He was going to be armed with his wand, which really wasn’t all that comforting at the moment, against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And he had to get past it. With everyone watching. How? He had less than a week to work it out. But he supposed it was better than only having a few seconds.

Harry checked his watch and sped up, skirting the edge of the forest. He only had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and he couldn’t remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now.

Suddenly he ran into something very solid. Harry fell backward, his glasses askew, clutching the cloak around him. A voice nearby said, “Ouch! Who’s there?”

Harry hastily checked that the cloak was covering him and lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognized the goatee... it was Karkaroff. Harry wondered if he’d seen Hagrid and Madam Maxime heading this way and followed them. They weren’t exactly difficult to spot. Although how he knew they were up to something and not just on a date or some such, he wasn’t sure.

“Who’s there?” asked Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Harry remained still and silent, wishing Karkaroff would just hurry up and leave. He was wasting valuable time. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were. Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet and set off again as fast as he could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts.

He had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. It wouldn’t exactly be hard to find the dragons if he’d followed Hagrid and Maxime. All Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Warrington.

Although, Harry did briefly wonder. He couldn’t have known Hagrid was going to show Madam Maxime anything related to the first task. Was he following them on the off chance? Or did he just want to spy on their date instead?

He made it back just in time, gasping the password to the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole.

“If you say so,” she muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forward to admit him. Harry climbed inside. The common room was deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smelled quite normal, Hermione had not needed to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that he and Sirius got privacy.

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire. The room was in semidarkness; the flames were the only source of light. Nearby, on a table, the Support Cassius Warrington! badges the Creeveys had been playing with were glinting in the firelight. They now read POTTER REALLY STINKS. He snorted.

Harry looked back into the flames, and jumped. Sirius’s head was sitting in the fire. If Harry hadn’t seen Mr. Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys’ kitchen, it would have scared him out of his wits. Instead, he grinned and scrambled out of his chair, crouched down by the hearth, and said, “Sirius — how’re you doing?”

Sirius looked different from Harry’s memory of him, though it was hard to see his features properly thanks to the fire. When they had said good-bye, Sirius’s face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair — but the hair now barely brushed the top of his shoulders and seemed clean, Sirius’s face was fuller, and he, though the flames made it hard to tell, he looked younger, much more like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potters’ wedding. It suddenly struck him that Sirius was only in his thirties. He wasn’t old by any standard and now he actually looked his age.

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously.

“I’m —” For a second, Harry was about to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking quickly about everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks. He’d spoken sporadically to the twins about this, but telling Sirius everything… Harry felt like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. He finished by telling him what he’d seen that evening.

Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the haunted look that Azkaban had given them. He had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption, but now he said, “Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we’ll get to that in a minute — I haven’t got long here... I’ve broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about.”

“What?” said Harry, feeling his spirits slip a further few notches... Surely there could be nothing worse than dragons coming? At least not between now and Tuesday.

“Karkaroff,” said Sirius. “Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don’t you?”

“Yes — he — what?”

“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I’d bet everything that’s why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.”

“Karkaroff got released?” Harry said slowly — his brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. Although it did explain the animosity between the pair and how Karkaroff knew about his paranoia. “Why did they release him?”

“He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” said Sirius bitterly. “He said he’d seen the error of his ways, and then he gave them names... he put some other people into Azkaban in his place. He’s not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So, watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “But... are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he’s a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.”

“We know he’s a good actor,” said Sirius, “because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn’t he?” Harry frowned. If he’d sold out other death eaters to get out of prison, he wouldn’t need to necessarily be a great actor, unless he gave them fake names. Except to pretend he’d seen the error of his ways, but given the Ministry believed Hagrid to be the Heir of Slytherin and Lucius Malfoy to be innocent, they were hardly difficult to fool. “Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry —”

“— you and the rest of the world,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,” Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, “but I don’t think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.” That did make sense. Harry frowned thoughtfully.

“So... what are you saying?” said Harry slowly. “Karkaroff’s trying to kill me? But — why?” Sirius hesitated. It didn’t make much sense. Even if he was a Death Eater, he was a headmaster now. How would he have been in touch with Voldemort? Harry supposed Voldemort had gotten into Hogwarts during his first year, but still…Karkaroff’s behaviour didn’t strike him as being guilty.

“I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t they? Someone set off the Dark Mark... and then — did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who’s gone missing?”

“Bertha Jorkins?” said Harry, wondering how that could be related.

“Exactly... she disappeared in Albania, and that’s definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last... and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but... it’s not very likely she’d have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” said Harry. Still, it was a possibility. Quirrell had found him after all, though whether he’d been looking for him or not, Harry didn’t know. And, if his dreams were to be believed, Pettigrew had also found Voldemort. In only a matter of months.

“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” said Sirius grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“So... so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” said Harry. It was possible, and, honestly, it was a good way to try and kill him. “Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?”

“I don’t know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don’t know... Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him from the wrath of his other followers. And Voldemort would hardly be happy with him either, putting loyal followers in prison to save his own skin. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

“Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing,” said Harry grinning bleakly. “They’ll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.”

“Right — these dragons,” said Sirius, speaking very quickly now. Harry nodded. Considering the task was only a few days away, he really needed to talk about the dragons more than Karkaroff. “There’s a way, Harry. Don’t be tempted to try a Stunning Spell — dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon —”

“Yeah, I know, I just saw,” said Harry. He didn’t mention that he didn’t know how to perform the stunning spell. He’d seen the twins use it in duelling, but he hadn’t mastered it himself yet.

“But you can do it alone,” said Sirius. “There is a way, and a simple spell’s all you need. Just —”

But Harry held up a hand to silence him, his heart suddenly pounding as though it would burst. He could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind him. Who would be up at this time of night? Harry scrambled to his feet, hiding the fire — if someone saw Sirius’s face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar. Behind him, there was a small popping noise, and he knew Sirius had gone. Harry watched the bottom of the spiral staircase angrily. Who had decided to go for a stroll at one o’clock in the morning, and stopped Sirius from telling him how to get past a dragon?

It was Ron. Of course it was, Harry thought bitterly. Dressed in his maroon paisley pyjamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry across the room, and looked around.

“Who were you talking to?” he said.

“What’s that got to do with you?” Harry snarled. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?”

“I just wondered where you —” Ron broke off, shrugging.

“Now you care, huh? I’ve been working out how to stay alive in less than a week’s time. Go back to bed!” Ron flinched slightly. He opened his mouth but Harry’s frustration at being interrupted rose. He knew that Ron had no idea what he’d walked in on, knew he hadn’t done it on purpose, but he didn’t care — at this moment he hated everything about Ron.

“Right,” Ron muttered awkwardly. “I’ll just…” He shuffled back up the stairs. Harry glanced behind him, back at the fire. Sirius was gone. He closed his eyes. Sirius had just been about to tell him how to get past the dragons. If only he hadn’t gone on so long about bloody Karkaroff. That was hardly the most pressing issue. Still, there was nothing to do now. He made his way up the stairs and to the dormitory.

Chapter Text

Harry got up the following morning and was paying so little attention that it was a while before he realized he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot instead of his sock. He’d barely slept. It had been late enough when he got to bed, but then thoughts of dragons consumed him. Even when he had fallen asleep, the Hungarian Horntail swam before his eyes. He’d seen all four dragons, but Charlie’s voice had echoed around his mind, saying the Horntail was the worst.

When he’d finally got all his clothes on the right parts of his body, he hurried off to find Hermione, locating her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where she was eating breakfast with Ginny. Feeling too queasy to eat, Harry waited until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge, then dragged her out onto the grounds.

There, he told her all about the dragons, and about everything Sirius had said, while they took another long walk around the lake. While she was concerned by Sirius’ warnings about Karkaroff, Hermione still thought that the dragons were the more pressing problem. At least someone was on the same page as him. He knew Sirius had truly thought Karkaroff was the more pressing issue, but, if it was him, he’d already entered Harry into the tournament. Surely surviving the tournament was the more pressing issue?

“Let’s just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening,” she said desperately, “and then we can worry about Karkaroff.” He nodded.

They walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to them, so they retired to the library instead. Here, Harry pulled down every book he could find on dragons, and both of them set to work searching through the large pile.

He found several charms relating to dragons, but none of them were helpful, and seemed more geared to those looking after dragons, rather than trying to beat them. Harry briefly wondered if Hagrid would have any tips, but he was technically a teacher and not supposed to help him. Although, he wasn’t supposed to have shown him the dragons either.

“‘Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate...’ But Sirius said a simple one would do it...”

“Let’s try some simple spellbooks, then,” suggested Harry, throwing aside a book titled ‘Men Who Love Dragons Too Much’. He was unsure why he’d bothered with such a book, but at this point he was willing to try anything. He returned to the table with yet another pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn, Hermione whispering nonstop at his elbow.

“Well, there are Switching Spells... but what’s the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous... The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon’s hide... I’d say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven’t got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall... unless you’re supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they’re not simple spells, I mean, we haven’t done any of those in class, I only know about them because I’ve been doing O.W.L. practice papers...” Hermione kept muttering to himself, stopping him focusing on his own reading.

“Hermione,” Harry said, through gritted teeth, “will you shut up for a bit, please? I’m trying to concentrate.”

But all that happened when Hermione fell silent was that Harry’s brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn’t seem to allow room for concentration. He stared hopelessly down the index of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. Instant scalping... but dragons had no hair... pepper breath... that would probably increase a dragon’s firepower... horn tongue... just what he needed, to give it an extra weapon.

“Oh no, he’s back again, why can’t he read on his stupid ship?” said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the pair of them, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. E suggested they head back to the common room as his fan club was likely to turn up. And sure enough, as they left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.

Instead of going back to the common room, Harry shook Hermione off, and made his way to the twins’ workroom. To his delight, they were both in there.

“Harry!” Fred greeted him enthusiastically. “How are you?”

“Do either of you know anything about getting past dragons?” Their eyebrows rose in unison.

“Dragons?”

“The first task. It’s got something to do with dragons.”

“Merlin’s beard. That’s…dangerous,” Fred looked concerned.

“Well, growing up with Charlie we probably know more than most about dragons,” George said, looking thoughtful. “Their biggest weak spot is their eyes. Do you know what you have to do with the dragons?”

“Get past them, I think. They have nesting mothers. They had eggs.”

“Ouch. Those are the most vicious,” Fred winced.

“Ok, so the task will probably have something to do with their nest. Maybe fetch something? Summoning charm might come in handy after all, huh?” George stated.

“Yeah. Keep things simple. If you have to get something, try to summon it first. They might put anti-summoning charms on whatever it is to stop it being too easy, but it’s always worth a try. If that doesn’t work, like George said, go for the eyes,” Fred advised.

“Conjunctivitis curse, or something to blind it. We could try to teach you a charm to disguise your scent, but I think a disillusionment charm is a bit beyond your level right now. Especially as you’ve only got less than a week to learn it. Being invisible with no scent would get you past.” Harry grinned.

“I don’t need a disillusionment charm,” he said. He didn’t really want the whole world to know he had the cloak, but he’d rather live through the task.

“You don’t?” Fred asked, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hair. Harry smirked at him.

“Nope. I have something else up my sleeve. I’d need to summon it, I’m not allowed anything except my wand.” Fred opened his mouth, clearly curious about his methods, but George beat him to saying anything.

“Ok, so, first plan is to summon the object if that is the task. Backup plan, disguise your scent and summon this mysterious trick up your sleeve. Backup, backup plan, hit it in the eye with a spell to distract it,” George summed up.

“You guys are the best. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Fred told him confidently, though there was a hint of worry shining in his blue eyes. “You’re gonna show all of those doubters that Harry Potter is the most worthy champion and the best of them all, even three years younger.” Harry flushed.

“I don’t know about that. I’ll be happy if I survive.”

“Oh, you’re gonna take them all by storm Harrikins. You’ve got this,” George grinned. Fred hesitated and then reached out. He gripped Harry’s shoulder, firmly but lightly enough for Harry to move back if he wanted to. Then he slowly pulled Harry into a hug. Startled, it took Harry a few moments to hug Fred back. It was completely different to any other hug he had received. Mrs Weasley’s were lovely and how he’d thought a mother’s hugs should be, but also had a tendency to squeeze the life out of him. Hermione’s hugs generally felt like they were about to break his ribs, and she only usually hugged him when something terrible had happened. This was…warm. Harry felt himself practically melting against Fred. It was…strange but not necessarily in a bad way. For a single moment, he felt like nothing bad could touch him here.

Eventually he pulled back. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he didn’t know what to say. Fred just smiled at him. A proper smile, not a smirk and it struck Harry just how handsome the twins actually were. He blinked rapidly at his turn of thoughts. He quickly thanked them once more and dashed from the room.

Harry barely slept that night, but it wasn’t the dragons giving him disturbed dreams this time. It was a pair of striking blue eyes and a mischievous grin.

When he awoke on Monday morning, he felt tired but happier than he had been since he first heard about the dragons. He had a workable plan, and two backup plans which was a heck of a lot more than he usually had. He decided to continue practising his summoning charms. If he had to use his first backup plan, he would need to summon his cloak from the castle, which was a lot further than anything he had summoned before. Maybe he should take his cloak to Hagrid’s hut beforehand, to have it closer. Hagrid wouldn’t mind.

He ate his breakfast and as he and Hermione got up, he saw Warrington leaving the Slytherin table. Warrington still didn’t know about the dragons. And, if Harry was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum, then he was the only one who didn’t know.

“Hermione, I’ll see you in the greenhouses,” Harry said, coming to his decision as he watched Warrington leaving the Hall. He couldn’t leave the Slytherin unawares. It wasn’t fair. Even though he was certain Warrington wouldn’t show him the same courtesy. Fairness wasn’t a well-known Slytherin trait after all, but keeping an advantage was. Still, Harry had asked not to go into Slytherin. “Go on, I’ll catch you up.”

“Harry, you’ll be late, the bell’s about to ring —”

“I’ll catch you up, okay?”

By the time Harry reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Warrington was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Harry didn’t want to talk to the Slytherin in front of them; while they weren’t among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter’s article at him every time he went near them, he didn’t want to take a chance. They were still Slytherins, and he was still Harry Potter. Besides, Warrington might be decent enough, but that didn’t mean his friends were. He followed Warrington at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Transfiguration corridor. Then he had an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, he pulled out his wand, and, after checking nobody else was around, took careful aim.

“Diffindo!”

Warrington’s bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed. He groaned loudly as his friends laughed.

“Don’t bother,” said Warrington in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. “Tell McGonagall I’m coming, go on...” This was exactly what Harry had been hoping for. He slipped his wand back into his robes, waited until Warrington’s friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but himself and Warrington.

“Potter,” greeted Warrington, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just split... brand-new and all... Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you, Potter?” He asked dryly.

“Warrington, listen,” said Harry, ignoring this, “the first task is dragons.”

“What?” said Warrington, looking up quickly.

“Dragons,” said Harry, speaking quickly, in case Professor McGonagall came out to see where Warrington had got to. “They’ve got four, one for each of us, and we’ve got to get past them.” Warrington stared at him. Harry saw panic flickering in Warrington’s brown eyes. At least he wasn’t alone in that. And Warrington had even less time that he had had to prepare for this.

“Are you sure?” Warrington said, clearly suspicious.

“Dead sure,” said Harry. “I’ve seen them.”

“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know...”

“Never mind,” said Harry quickly — he knew Hagrid would be in trouble if he told the truth. “But I’m not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now — Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too.”

Warrington straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Harry, and there was still a highly suspicious look in his eyes.

“Why are you telling me?” he asked. Harry looked at him, not entirely surprised by the question.

“It’s just... fair, isn’t it?” he said to Warrington. “We all know now... we’re on an even footing, aren’t we?”

“You sure you’re not a Hufflepuff, Potter?” Warrington asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d call it even. You’re younger. Surely, you’d keep an advantage to yourself.” As he opened his mouth to respond, and point out that it was hardly keeping it to himself if two other champions knew, Harry heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. He turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom that definitely wasn’t his.

“Come with me, Potter,” he growled. “Warrington, off you go.”

Harry stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them?

“Er — Professor, I’m supposed to be in Herbology —”

“Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please...”

Harry followed him, wondering what was going to happen to him now. He glanced back and saw Warrington watching him, eyes narrowed but more in concern than suspicion now. Was he concerned Harry would get in trouble for sharing? What if Moody wanted to know how he’d found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid, or just turn Harry into a ferret? That would ruin most of his plans, not to mention be quite uncomfortable. He followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Harry, his magical eye fixed upon him as well as the normal one.

“That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter,” Moody said quietly. Harry didn’t know what to say; this wasn’t the reaction he had expected at all.

“Sit down,” said Moody, and Harry hesitated before sitting and looking around.

He had visited this office under two of the previous professors he’d known. In his second year, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Professor Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that Harry supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.

On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top; Harry recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope, because he owned one himself, though it was much smaller than Moody’s. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Harry on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.

“Like my Dark Detectors, do you?” Asked Moody. He was watching Harry closely with both eyes.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, pointing at something that looked like a squiggly golden aerial.

“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies... no use here, of course, too much interference — students in every direction lying about why they haven’t done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn’t stop whistling. It’s extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff,” he added in a growl.

“And what’s the mirror for?” Harry wondered.

“Oh, that’s my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I’m not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That’s when I open my trunk.”

He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harry wondered what was in there, until Moody’s next question brought him sharply back to earth.

“So... found out about the dragons, have you?”

Harry hesitated. He’d been afraid of this. But, he hadn’t known he would be finding out about the task ahead of time, he didn’t know Hagrid had been planning on telling him. Harry hadn’t told Warrington, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules.

“It’s all right,” said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.”

“I didn’t cheat,” said Harry sharply. “It was — a sort of accident that I found out.” Which was true enough. He hadn’t had any idea Hagrid was going to show him the first task.

Moody grinned. “I wasn’t accusing you, laddie. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won’t be. They’ll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.” Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swivelled around so fast it made Harry feel queasy to watch it. There was something odd about the way Moody said that, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

“So... got any ideas how you’re going to get past your dragon yet?” said Moody.

“A few,” said Harry. Moody’s eyebrows rose.

“Good,” said Moody gruffly. “Always have at least one backup plan. And make sure to plan for the worst. I don’t show favouritism, me but I’m still going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is — play to your strengths.”

“I haven’t got any,” said Harry, before he could stop himself.

“Excuse me,” growled Moody, “you’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Think now. What are you best at?” Harry tried to concentrate. What was he best at? Well, that was easy, really. He was only really good at one thing.

“Quidditch,” he said, though he didn’t see what on earth Quidditch had to do with the first task.

“That’s right,” said Moody, staring at him very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. “You’re a damn good flier from what I’ve heard. My second piece of general advice, is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you to get what you need.” Harry looked at him blankly. What did he need?

“Come on, boy...” whispered Moody. “Put them together... it’s not that difficult...”

And then, it clicked. Moody wanted him to summon his broom and outfly a dragon. He wasn’t sure that was the best plan. He much preferred the ones he had come up with, with the twins. But it was another backup option in his pocket. Trying to outfly a dragon would hardly be like playing a Quidditch match, and if he did need to retrieve something it would probably be awkward to carry on a broomstick. Still, he might take his broom and put it at Hagrid’s with his cloak, just in case.

He sped into greenhouse three minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout. She gave him a disapproving look, but Moody had been kind enough to give him a pass, so she didn’t take any house points. As they busied themselves with the lesson, he told Hermione in an undertone what had just happened.

“It was decent of you to tell Warrington, I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite you.”

“I’m a bit more worried about the dragon doing that,” he joked. She shot him a look that said she didn’t find that very funny. “Moody isn’t supposed to be helping you though, and he said Dumbledore doesn’t want to cheat, so I wonder why he would go against Dumbledore’s orders,” she mused. Harry shrugged.

“Dunno, but at least someone doesn’t expect me to manage this stupid tournament by myself. They have dragons Hermione, how is that safer?” She sighed and conceded that he had a point.

Divination was a nightmare. He had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.

“Well, that’s good,” said Harry loudly, his temper getting the better of him, “just as long as it’s not drawn-out. I don’t want to suffer.”

Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught Harry’s eye for the first time in days, but Harry was still feeling too resentful toward Ron to care. He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects toward him under the table with his wand. At one point, he managed to make a fly zoom straight into his hand, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was his prowess at Summoning Charms, more likely the fly was just stupid. Other than that, he was mostly successful. Harry was once again incredibly grateful that the twins were such good teachers.

That evening, he went back to their workroom, and they began teaching him the scent disguise charm which was fairly simple. The conjunctivitis curse was more difficult, but it still came more easily to him than the summoning charm had done. It was almost two in the morning by the time he felt confident enough in both charms to go to bed.

As they entered the common room, he stopped them before they could head to their dormitory.

“Here, I got you guys these as a thanks for all the help.” Harry held out the wand holsters he had forgotten about on Saturday after the news he had to fight a dragon. They both stared at him for a few seconds in surprise, before reaching out to take the holsters.

“Wow. Er, thanks Harrikins, it…you didn’t have to do that. We were happy to help,” Fred muttered.

“I know I didn’t, but you guys showed me your secret, helped me practice every week, and stayed up teaching me these new spells. However well I do tomorrow, well, later today, it’s down to you two. And Hermione, of course.”

They both thanked him again before saying goodnight. Fred ruffled his hair, making Harry complain loudly, and they parted ways.

Lessons were to stop at midday on Tuesday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure — though of course, they didn’t yet know what would be waiting for them. Harry wished he didn’t know either. But he supposed that finding out he would have to face a dragon while in the enclosure wouldn’t have been all that great either.

Harry felt oddly distant from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing snide comments. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch, wondering where on earth the morning had gone. Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching.

“Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... You have to get ready for your first task.”

“Okay,” said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “You’ll be fine!”

“Yeah,” said Harry in a voice that was most unlike his own.

“Remember what we said,” George said, winking at him. Fred offered a thumbs up and a reassuring grin. Harry felt his stomach settle slightly.

He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall, the majority of the hall clapped loudly as he left. She didn’t seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head... We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you... Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Harry heard himself say. “Yes, I’m fine.” She gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him but thankfully didn’t say anything.

She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,” said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there... he’ll be telling you the — the procedure... Good luck.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, in a flat, distant voice. She left him at the entrance of the tent after a final squeeze of his shoulder. Harry went inside.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn’t look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. Warrington was standing in the middle of the room, muttering to himself. When Harry entered, Warrington gave him a short nod, which Harry returned.

“Harry! Good-o!” said Bagman happily, looking around at him. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!”

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again. They still didn’t fit properly.

“Well, now we’re all here — time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag” — he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them — “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different — er — varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too... ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!”

Harry glanced around. Warrington had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing around the tent; he looked paler than usual but determined. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all.

One positive was that they had to get an egg. That meant he could definitely try to summon it first. He wondered if they would have put anti-summoning charms on it. He could hear Hermione’s voice in his head from first year: ‘a lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic’. Maybe they wouldn’t have set up the charms because they didn’t think anyone would try the simplest way in the heat of the moment. He could only hope. Maybe he should cause a distraction, so the dragon wasn’t too enraged by one of her eggs being taken, even by magic.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking... Harry felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then — it seemed like about a second later to Harry — Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

“Ladies first,” he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon that Harry recognised to be a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. And Harry knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that he had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming. He felt better about his decision to tell Warrington.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn’t even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground. Warrington put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. He glanced at Harry who fought to hide his grimace. Knowing what was left, Harry cursed his stupid Potter Luck before putting his hand into the silk bag and pulling out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs. He saw Warrington eyeing the Horntail, eyes moving between that and his own model dragon, concern written all over his face.

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr. Warrington, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now... Harry... could I have a quick word? Outside?”

“Er... yes,” said Harry in surprise, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked him a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face.

“Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?”

“What?” asked Harry, even more surprised. “No, nothing.”

“Got a plan?” said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Because I don’t mind sharing a few pointers, if you’d like them, you know. I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, “you’re the underdog here, Harry... Anything I can do to help...” Harry was somehow, forcibly reminded of Lockhart, offering him seeking tips. He didn’t think Bagman was quite as much of a fraud as Lockhart, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

“No,” said Harry so quickly he knew he had sounded rude, “no — I — I know what I’m going to do, thanks.”

“Nobody would know, Harry,” said Bagman, winking at him. Harry frowned. He wondered why Bagman was so determined to help.

“No, I’m fine,” said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this, and wondering whether he had ever been less fine. “I’ve got a plan worked out, I —” A whistle had blown somewhere.

“Good lord, I’ve got to run!” said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off.

Harry walked back to the tent and saw Warrington emerging from it, greener than ever. Harry tried to wish him luck as he walked past, but all that came out of his mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt. Warrington seemed to understand. He gave a short nod and left.

Harry went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Warrington had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model.

It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed, yelled and gasped, as Warrington did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. It was difficult, hearing the reactions without seeing the corresponding actions. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to pacing, around and around the tent. And Bagman’s commentary made everything much, much worse... Horrible pictures formed in Harry’s mind as he heard: “Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow”... “He’s taking risks, this one!”... “Clever move — pity it didn’t work!”

And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Warrington had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg.

“Very good indeed!” Bagman was shouting. “And now the marks from the judges!”

But he didn’t shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. “Miss Delacour, if you please!”

Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry felt more warmly toward her than he had done so far as she left the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. No matter how snobby she seemed, she was about to face a dragon with her head held high. He could respect that. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other’s gaze.

The same process started again... “Oh I’m not sure that was wise!” they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. “Oh… nearly! Careful now... good lord, I thought she’d had it then!”

Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more... Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur’s marks were being shown, before there was more clapping and then, for the third time, the whistle sounded.

Bagman called for Krum, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry all alone.

As he waited, he heard the crowd and the commentary distantly. After about fifteen minutes, he heard Bagman yelling, “very daring!” Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. “That’s some nerve he’s showing — and — yes, he’s got the egg!”

Applause sounded; Krum had finished — it would be Harry’s turn any moment. He took a deep breath and stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence.

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly coloured dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that had been magicked there since he’d last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Harry didn’t know or care. It was time to do what he had to do... to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance.

He raised his wand. “Accio golden egg!” he shouted.

There was a tense moment where it seemed like nothing was going to happen. Harry was practically vibrating as the dragon roared. Then, like a miracle, the golden egg rose into the air and began to soar towards him. The horntail swiped at the egg as if to catch it but missed and roared even more loudly in frustration. For a moment, Harry thought the dragon would chase after it, but she seemed unwilling to leave the rest of her eggs. Instead, she hissed, spluttered, roared and shot fire in his direction which he easily avoided.

Harry reached out and caught the egg, which was heavier than he had expected, it almost knocked him over. He staggered backwards before turning and headed towards the arena exit, the heavy egg safely under his arm, and it was as though somebody had just turned the volume back up — for the first time, he became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup —

“Look at that!” Bagman was yelling. “Will you look at that! A simple summoning charm! I don’t think anyone was expecting that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!”

Harry saw the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid hurrying to meet him, all of them waving him toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. He walked back over in front of the stands, the noise of the crowd pounding his eardrums, and his heart lighter than it had been in weeks... He had got through the first task, he had survived.

“That was excellent, Potter!” cried Professor McGonagall — which from her was extravagant praise. Especially considering he’d only performed a summoning charm. “That was some good thinking.”

“Yeh did it, Harry!” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Yeh did it! An’ agains’ the Horntail an’ all, an’ yeh know Charlie said that was the wors’ —”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry loudly, so that Hagrid wouldn’t blunder on and reveal that he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. Professor Moody looked very pleased too; his magical eye was dancing in its socket.

“Nice and easy does the trick, Potter,” he growled.

“Right then, Potter, your scores should be up momentarily,” said Professor McGonagall.

While he waited, four figures came running over. Hermione and the twins, followed closely by Ron.

“Harry, you were brilliant!” Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. “You were amazing! You really were!”

“I can’t believe it really worked. Bet the other champions are all cursing themselves they didn’t think of that,” Fred grinned as he pulled Harry into a tight hug. This time Harry had been expecting it and it didn’t take him quite so long to return it. Then Harry pulled back and looked at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost.

“Harry,” he said, very seriously, “whoever put your name in that goblet — I — I reckon they’re trying to do you in!”

It was as though the last few weeks had never happened — as though Harry was meeting Ron for the first time, right after he’d been made champion. Except he could still feel the cold sting of betrayal. Of all the times he’d needed Ron and he hadn’t been there over the weeks.

“Caught on, have you?” said Harry coldly. “Took you long enough.”

“Ronniekins has always been a bit slow,” George said, scowling at his brother. Ron glared right back.

“’A bit’ is being generous,” Fred muttered.

Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly his anger melted away. He found he didn’t need to hear it.

“It’s okay,” he said, before Ron could get the words out. “Forget it.”

“No,” said Ron, “I shouldn’t’ve —”

“Forget it,” Harry said.

Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back. Hermione burst into tears.

“There’s nothing to cry about!” Harry told her, bewildered.

“You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had pulled them both into a hug. Once she let them go, the twins began recounting how the other champions had performed.

“You were the best, you know, no competition. Although, credit to Warrington, it wasn’t a bad plan. He used the model dragon you guys must have gotten. Enlarged it and set it against the other dragon then snuck in to get the egg while the two dragons fought it out. Unfortunately for him, he did get the egg, but he got burned as well — the dragon he enlarged was still pretty small compared to the real thing and it finished it off pretty quickly,” explained Fred. Harry smiled, glad Warrington had put in a good performance.

“And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance — well, that kind of worked too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire — she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum —he was probably the best after you, though. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs — they took marks off for that, he wasn’t supposed to do any damage to them,” George told him. Harry winced at the thought of the poor baby dragons who had probably been killed for this tournament. For entertainment.  

Once the Horntail had been taken away, Harry could see where the five judges were sitting — right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

“It’s marks out of ten from each one,” Ron said, and Harry, squinting up the field, saw the first judge — Madame Maxime — raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure nine.

“Not bad!” said Ron as the crowd applauded.

“Nine? Harry was the quickest by far and didn’t get hurt at all! He should get ten,” Fred yelled in indignation. Harry smiled at him.

“I guess they also gave points for putting on a show,” George said. “Quickly summoning the egg is hardly flashy.”

“I’d rather be alive than do something flashy,” Harry muttered.

Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

“Looking good!” Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back.

Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a ten. The crowd was cheering harder than ever. Ludo Bagman — ten.

“Ten?” said Harry in surprise at the pair of them.

“Harry, don’t complain!” Ron yelled excitedly.

And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too — two.

“What?” Ron bellowed furiously. “Two? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!”

“And Krum killed a bunch of innocent baby dragons!” Fred added.

“We all knew Karkaroff was going to cheat,” George said. “Harry’s survived and is tied for first with Krum. Take the victory.”

But Harry didn’t care, he wouldn’t have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero; their indignation on his behalf was worth about a hundred points to him. He didn’t tell them this, of course, but his heart felt lighter than air as he turned to leave the enclosure.

“You’re tied in first place, Harry! You and Krum!” said Charlie Weasley, hurrying to meet them as they set off back toward the school. “Listen, I’ve got to run, I’ve got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I’d tell her what happened — but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah — and they told me to tell you you’ve got to hang around for a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tent.”

“Thanks Charlie,” Harry grinned. “When do you head back?”

“We’re leaving tonight. We need to get back and explain to our boss about the eggs. He’s not going to be happy.” A dark look crossed Charlie’s face.

“Well, can we come down after dinner and say goodbye?” George asked. “It’s not often we get to see our favourite brother.”

“Oi!” Ron grouched. Fred grinned.

“As long as it’s as soon as dinner’s over. The guys want to be on the road,” Charlie agreed. They made plans to meet by Hagrid’s hut at seven. Then Harry headed over to the champion’s tent. Ron said he would wait, but the twins said they were going to go and get the celebration party set up, leaving Harry to re-enter the tent alone. Hermione went with the twins back up to the school. The tent somehow looked quite different now: friendly and welcoming. He thought back to how he’d felt while waiting for the egg to move, and compared it to the long wait before he’d walked out to face it... There was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.

Fleur, Warrington, and Krum all came in together. One of Warrington’s sleeves had been cut off and his arm was covered in thick, orange paste, which was presumably mending his burn. He grinned at Harry when he saw him.

“Nice work, Potter. Can’t believe I didn’t think to just summon the damn egg.”

“And you,” said Harry, grinning back. “How’s the burn?”

“Alright. Doesn’t hurt anymore at least.”

“You summoned ze egg?” Krum asked. Harry started in surprise. This was the first time one of the foreign champions had ever spoken to him. He nodded.

“I was going to summon my broom and fly around it, but I figured if I was going to use a summoning charm, I should probably just try it on the egg.” He wasn’t about to mention his plan involving the invisibility cloak to these three.

“You are a Seeker?”

“Er, yeah. Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Harry told him, feeling awkward, and a little surprised that Krum had remembered the conversation from Halloween. Krum eyed him.

“Youngest seeker in a century,” Warrington added dryly. “Somehow. Nobody is quite clear on the details of how that happened.” Before Harry could elaborate, he was interrupted.

“Well done, all of you!” said Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth — but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open... see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg — because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”

Harry left the tent, rejoined Ron, who was hovering awkwardly near a Slytherin girl. Warrington emerged and wrapped his good arm around her.

“Potter, this is my girlfriend, Alexia Farley. Lexi, this is obviously Harry Potter.”

“Uh… nice to meet you,” Harry offered her a slight smile. She was quite short and had white-blonde hair that fell to her midback and blue eyes, so dark they were almost black in a certain light, that reminded him of the night sky. She was almost the complete opposite of Warrington.

“A pleasure, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I presume?”

“Er, yeah. Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered awkwardly.

“I hear you’ve been telling people that Cassy is the true Hogwarts champion,” Alexia looked back at Harry. He nodded.

“Well, he is. I’m sorry that awful Skeeter woman did such an awful article.”

“It’s nothing new,” Warrington waved away the apology. “Anyway, we’d better get going. I’m starving. Couldn’t eat a thing earlier.” As they were about to start walking, Krum appeared by Harry’s shoulder. He felt, rather than saw, Ron go completely still. Harry wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“Ve should have a match,” Krum said to Harry abruptly. His mouth fell open.

“Uh, Warrington plays Quidditch too. Chaser. Maybe, since we aren’t using the pitch this year, maybe we could get a Hogwarts team together and play against a Durmstrang team,” Harry suggested. Krum considered this.

“I haff enough friends who vould play,” he agreed finally. “I vill talk viff them and get back to you.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned. Oliver would be horrified that he had graduated the year before. Although he might have originally had a heart attack about no Quidditch, playing against Viktor Krum… that was one chance in a million.

“Do you think we should ask Miss Delacour?” Warrington asked.

“She does not strike me as ze Quidditch type, but ve could ask,” Krum shrugged. Then he strode off without further ado. Harry and Warrington exchanged wide grins.

“We’re going to play against Viktor Krum!” Harry exclaimed.

“It’s going to be brilliant. But how will we get a team together? Who would be captain?”

“I guess if we get the four teams together, we can vote on a captain and the best player for each position? It can’t be either of us, we’ll have enough to do without captaining a team. But Oliver left so Gryffindor doesn’t have a captain at the moment.”

“I’ll speak to my lot and Diggory. I think Davis is still the Ravenclaw captain. You get word to your own team. We’ll all meet on the pitch, say nine Saturday morning?”

“We’ll be there,” Harry agreed.

The four of them started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; Harry wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as they rounded the clump of trees behind which Harry had first heard the dragons roar, a witch leapt out from behind them. It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them.

“Congratulations, Harry!” she said, beaming at him. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring? You are looking cosy with Mr. Warrington over there, getting friendly with the competition?”

“Yeah, you can have a word,” said Harry savagely. “Good-bye.”

And he set off back to the castle with Ron, Warrington and Alexia, the latter of whom were chuckling.

“Nice one, Potter.”

“Someone had to say it. And, you can call me Harry, you know.” Warrington eyed him for a few long moments.

“Alright then. You can call me Cassius.”

Chapter Text

When Harry and Ron finally entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster’s Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas had put up some impressively large new banners, most of which depicted Harry doing many daring and ridiculous acts he most certainly had never completed in his life, including flying around the dragon on a broomstick. A couple showed Cassius with his head or his arm on fire. Harry made them take those down. He hoped that, now the school had seen exactly what the champions were up against, they’d take it a bit easier on the Slytherin champion.

Harry helped himself to food; he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry. He took a seat with Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t believe how happy he felt; he had Ron back on his side, he’d gotten through the first task, and he wouldn’t have to face the second one for three months.

“Blimey, this is heavy,” noted Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands.

“Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”

“He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said swiftly. “It’s in the tournament rules...”

“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Harry muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily.

“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” several people echoed.

Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open. It was hollow and completely empty — but the moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Harry had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw.

“Shut it!” Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.

“What was that?” said Seamus, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. “Sounded like a banshee... Maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next, Harry!” He suggested, sounding a little too eager for Harry’s liking.

“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!” Several people gasped at that idea.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions.” Harry didn’t point out that Moody had used them in front of a bunch of fourth years. He had also used a different Unforgivable, illegal curse on a group of fourth years. “I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Harry.”

“How is that any less ridiculous than Neville’s suggestion?” Harry asked him. George grinned.

“Want a jam tart, Hermione?” offered Fred. Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to them. It’s the custard creams you’ve got to watch —”

Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed.

“Just my little joke, Neville...” Harry grinned, he knew full well Fred wasn’t kidding at all. They had definitely hexed the custard creams. He wondered if their potion to make the effect last longer was ready yet.

Hermione took a jam tart. Then she asked, “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?”

“Yep,” said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. “‘Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!’ They’re dead helpful... get us anything we ask for, no questions asked.”

“How do you get in there?” Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice. Harry fought not to roll his eyes.

“Easy,” said Fred, “concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and —” He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. “Why?”

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly.

“Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?” said George. “Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?” Harry thought he might not actually be wrong about that, even if he was joking.

Several people burst out laughing, but Hermione didn’t answer. Harry could see the gears turning in her mind.

“Don’t you go upsetting them and telling them they’ve got to take clothes and salaries!” said Fred warningly “You’ll put them off their cooking!”

Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.

“Oh — sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted over all the laughter. “I forgot — it was the custard creams we hexed —”

Within a minute, however, Neville had moulted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.

“Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. “George and I invented them — seven Sickles each, a bargain!” Several people were signing up to make orders for the Canary Creams. It made him happy to see so many people wanting the twins’ stuff. Especially having seen all of the work that went into their creations.

The party carried on for hours. Throughout the afternoon, Harry was able to talk to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, all of whom were still around except Oliver, and they all eagerly agreed to meet at the pitch on Saturday morning.

Just before seven, Harry rounded up Fred, George and Ron, ready to go and meet Charlie. At the last second, he realised he should probably invite Ginny. Charlie was her brother as well. Hermione offered to find her in the crowd and only a few moments later, the youngest Weasley joined them. Harry had tried to back out, they didn’t exactly get to see their second eldest brother much, but Ron and Fred both told him not to be stupid, so the five of them headed down to Hagrid’s hut.

Charlie was already waiting for them. “Hey guys.”

“Hey Charlie.” Ginny ran over to her brother who swept her up in a big hug.

“Hey there Gin Gin. How are you?”

“I’m alright.”

The Weasleys all continued catching up while Harry stood awkwardly off to the side. At least until Fred dragged him over and began talking about his performance. Desperate to change the subject, he really hadn’t done all that much except summon an egg, Harry asked about Norbert.

“Ah, you mean Norberta. Turns out she was female all along.”

“Of course,” Ron snorted.

“But she’s doing well. She’s huge now, and pregnant with her first clutch of eggs.”

“Please don’t tell Hagrid,” Ron muttered. Charlie grinned.

“Well, I gotta get going shortly, but I’ll see if I can get some time off to come and see at least one more task.”

“Don’t feel obliged,” Harry told him.

“You’ll do great. You already stole the show in this one,” Charlie pointed out. “If I can’t make it, let me know how you get on. Bill too, for that matter, he was pretty worried once he heard about the dragons as well.” Harry blinked in surprise but agreed. They all said their goodbyes and headed back up to the castle.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery, once Ron and Harry were back, to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry could send Sirius a letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time they entered the Owlery Ron was saying that they ought to have suspected it all along.

“Fits, doesn’t it?” he said. “Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I’ll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he’s going to be feeling really stupid now, isn’t he? Didn’t work, did it? You didn’t even get a scratch. Although maybe that’s why he gave you such a stupidly low score. You didn’t get hurt. Come here — I’ll do it —”

Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry’s head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg. Hedwig glared at him, and Harry sighed. He wished he could use her, but he wouldn’t risk Sirius’ safety. He hated it when she was mad at him.

“There’s no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?” Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. Harry disagreed on that. He didn’t want to know how they could, but he had a feeling they would. “You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I’m serious.”

Harry knew that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behaviour of the last few weeks, but he appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron.

“Harry’s got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament,” she said seriously. “If that was the first task, I hate to think what’s coming next.”

“Right little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” said Ron. “You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime.” Harry thought Hermione had a point. He’d already had to get past a dragon, and that was only task one. He dreaded to think what the other two tasks would have in store.

Ron threw Pigwidgeon out of the window and he plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual. Harry hadn’t been able to resist giving Sirius an account of his conversations with Warrington, given that there wasn’t much to say about the task. And he had mentioned his upcoming Quidditch game against Krum. He knew Sirius had warned him about the Durmstrang champion due to Karkaroff, but Harry wasn’t going to pass up a chance to play against the youngest Seeker who had caught the snitch at the World Cup, even if his team hadn’t won.

They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then made their way back to the common room where the party was still going strong. Harry was surprised Professor McGonagall hadn’t broken it up yet.

It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut, Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point... they were all right, really, dragons. Tiny ones, anyway.

Over the next few days, it became clear that the rest of the school had somewhat accepted Warrington as the Hogwarts champion.

Word had also spread about the possible Quidditch match. On Saturday morning, hundred of people turned up to watch, despite the fact they weren’t even going to be playing right then. Harry arrived with the Gryffindor Quidditch team at two minutes past nine. The Slytherins were already there. Harry recognised Malfoy and Warrington, obviously. Bole and Derrick, both in their seventh year, were also there with Montague, Pucey and Bletchley. Harry assumed Pucey had been drafted back in to replace Flint who had graduated at the same time as Oliver.

Not long after the Gryffindors arrived, Roger Davis crossed the pitch, leading the Ravenclaw team. Harry vaguely recognised most of them, but the only one he actually knew was Cho. When she spotted him, she gave him a small wave and he smiled back. Cedric then appeared, leading the Hufflepuffs. Harry didn’t know any of their names either. There were only four others, aside from Cedric, so obviously they had had a couple of graduates as well.

“Right then. So, what’s the plan?” Cedric asked once he had checked everyone who was supposed to be present, was.

“Well, Krum agreed to a match. A Hogwarts team against a Durmstrang team,” Warrington spoke up.

“I spoke with Fleur, the Beauxbatons champion, and she doesn’t play Quidditch. She said she would ask the other students though, some of them may want to form a team,” Roger Davis put in.

“So, we have to pick one team from all of us?” Cho asked. Warrington nodded.

“Yeah. We should all vote on a captain. Then we can vote on who takes each position. Captain will have final say, but only if it’s a tie to stop any favouritism,” Angelina said. There was a muttering of agreement at that.

“Roger is the longest standing current captain,” one of the Ravenclaws stated.

“Cedric has made the biggest impact though,” a Hufflepuff pointed out. “Everyone knows our team wasn’t that great until he took over.”

“Alright, any other names to put forward?” George asked.

“Warrington is school champion. And it would either be him or Montague that would be our captain this year,” Pucey said.

“He’s a champion, he shouldn’t be captain too,” Alicia frowned.

“But if Cedric is captain, he’ll obviously take the seeker position and we all know Harry is the best,” Fred pointed out.

“I am perfectly capable of playing chaser,” Cedric stated coolly, “as I did before I became seeker.”

“Alright, the vote is between Roger and Cedric. All those for Roger?” Warrington said. All the Ravenclaws naturally raised their hands, but that was it. Everyone else voted for Cedric. “Alright, we have a captain.”

“Alright. First, let’s vote on who should be seeker. I personally, think Potter should take it,” Cedric stated. “But it’s supposed to be a vote.” Cho shot him a betrayed look and he grimaced apologetically.

“Hands for Harry as seeker?” Fred asked with a grin. Almost everyone put their hand up, with the notable exception of Draco, who was looking angry that none of his teammates had put his name forward.

“Alright. Harry is seeker. That makes me a chaser. Now, who should be the other two chasers?”

“I vote Angelina,” George said instantly. “And, well, I guess Warrington or Alicia. Sorry Katie, but Angelina and Alicia have played together longer.” She nodded her acceptance.

“I vote Roger,” one of the Ravenclaws said.

“Applebee is a good chaser,” Cedric stated.

“Montague,” Pucey said.

“Alright. So, the vote is between Pucey, Warrington, Johnson, Spinnett, Applebee and Davis,” Cedric announced. In the end Cassius and Roger Davis were selected to join Cedric as the chasers. Angelina frowned in disappointment, but she was chosen as the stand-in in anyone got injured along with Pucey. Fred and George were chosen as the beaters, everyone agreed that if you picked one, it only made sense to pick them both as they made such an exceptional pairing. Rickett from Hufflepuff and Page from Ravenclaw were the two backups. Fleet, the Hufflepuff keeper, was chosen with Bletchley as the backup.

The team did have a mix of all houses, with three Gryffindors, two Hufflepuffs, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw making up the main seven. One Gryffindor, three Hufflepuffs, two Slytherins and a Ravenclaw as the backups. If Harry was injured, Cedric would take over and Angelina would step in as chaser.

“Right then, with that sorted, we really need to train together to get a feel for working as a team. I’ll check with Krum when he wants the match. I’ll probably suggest in a couple of weeks’ time. Maybe just before the Christmas holidays,” Cedric said. “If we practice twice a week, we should be able to work something out by then.”

“Sounds good, captain,” Fred grinned, saluting Cedric.

With that, they all dispersed. George consoled Angelina about not getting selected while Fred dragged Harry up to their workroom to show him their latest progress. Harry found the whole thing fascinating. He was now contemplating taking Arithmancy or Ancient Runes as an elective to replace Divination, despite knowing Ron would hate them, and was likely to stick with the easy options. Still, the twins made magic fun again.

It reminded Harry of how awesome he had found it when Hagrid first revealed he was a wizard, before knowledge of Voldemort and his first year had ruined it. Honestly, Lockhart had done a good job of ruining it in second year as well, but Harry wanted to go back to when he loved magic. To when he found it…for lack of a better word…magical. The twins had told him that he could drop a subject and take up another as long as he passed the end of year test from the previous year. So, to take either subject, Harry would have to take the third-year test and pass. You were also allowed to take up to three electives, so he could drop Divination and take both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as long as he could study hard enough to get the necessary grades. The twins each took one of the subjects and had offered to coach him. George’s three OWLs were in Potions, Arithmancy and Charms, while Fred’s were Ancient Runes, Defence and Transfiguration.

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. The castle was always drafty in winter, and Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake. It was frequently seen pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. Though it might be cool to sleep with the rocking motion, he wouldn’t fancy the cold.

He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Then he recalled there were such things as warming charms, so it could well be toasty warm inside. It was probably easier to heat the Beauxbaton’s caravan than an entire castle. That probably applied to the Durmstrang ship as well.

Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime’s horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them.

Hagrid’s most recent brilliant idea was to check and find out if the skrewts hibernated. He wanted them to settle the ten remaining ones down in boxes lined with pillows and fluffy blankets. Clearly, he’d learnt nothing from the time he had given a baby dragon a teddy bear, only for said dragon to rip it apart in seconds.

The skrewts were now almost six feet long with thick, grey armour, fire-blasting ends, stings and suckers. They were the ugliest things Harry had ever seen. For some reason, nobody was thrilled with Hagrid’s hibernation plan. It would be nice if they did, the class could have a break if they slept through the winter, but Harry privately thought they wouldn’t be that lucky. He certainly never was. Harry was correct. Skrewts did not hibernate. Or they just didn’t appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Harry didn’t entirely blame them.

Class descended into the typical chaos, with Hagrid telling everyone not to panic as the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch that was currently strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class had fled into Hagrid’s hut, Malfoy, naturally, was in the lead of the fleeing party. Reluctantly, Harry remained outside with Ron, Hermione and a few others. They eventually managed to restrain nine of the ten, though this came at the cost of numerous cuts and burns.

Hagrid yelled at them not to frighten the skrewt as Ron and Harry advanced on it, shooting sparks out of their wands. Harry bit back a sarcastic retort, feeling that the skrewt was very unlikely to be the one scared at this particular moment in time.

“I’m going to kill him,” Ron muttered. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he meant the skrewt or Hagrid, but he agreed with the sentiment given that the skrewt was now advancing on them, sting arched and ready.

“Jus’ try an’ slip the rope ’round his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!” Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid’s cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.

“Well, well, well... this does look like fun.” Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. Harry groaned. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby. “Who’re you?” Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt’s sting and tightened it.

“Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,” Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore,” said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows. Rita acted as though she hadn’t heard what Hagrid had said. Harry didn’t know that. Rita had been banned from the grounds? Clearly, it was doing so much good, he thought to himself angrily.

“What are these fascinating creatures called?” she asked, beaming still more widely.

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” grunted Hagrid.

“Really?” said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. “I’ve never heard of them before... where do they come from?”

Harry noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid’s wild black beard, and his heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, “They’re very interesting, aren’t they? Aren’t they, Harry?”

“What? Oh yeah... ouch... interesting,” said Harry as she stepped on his foot, which he didn’t appreciate. He would have agreed for Hagrid’s sake anyway. Plus, he didn’t want Rita’s attention on himself any more than was absolutely necessary.

“Ah, you’re here, Harry!” said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. He elbowed Hermione angrily and she shot him an apologetic look.

“So, you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favourite lessons?”

“Yes,” lied Harry, trying to sound firm. Hagrid beamed at him.

“Lovely,” said Rita. “Really lovely. Been teaching long?” she added to Hagrid.

Harry noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.

“This is o’ny me second year,” said Hagrid.

“Lovely... I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I’m sure you know. We could feature these — er — Bang-Ended Scoots.” Harry fought to hide a snort at the incorrect name.

“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Hagrid said eagerly. “Er — yeah, why not?”

“I can think of a reason,” Harry said. “She’ll turn everything you say into a load of old rubbish because it suits her story,” he sneered. Hagrid looked at him in surprise while Rita narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why don’t you tell me, Harry, how you feel about these creatures, and how your schoolwork is coming along with you being so busy preparing for the tournament.”

“I’m not saying anything to you,” he scoffed. Hagrid looked between the two of them uneasily. “You didn’t even mention Warrington as the Hogwarts champion in your stupid article, and you made up a bunch of utter rubbish, saying things I’ve never said in my entire life.”

“Oh Harry, you’re the story. The readers want to hear about the underdog, forced into a tournament well above his skill level.”

“Didn’t seem all that above my skill level in the first task.” Her eyebrows rose and Harry immediately regretted his words. Her next article was probably going to be about the arrogant Boy-Who-Lived thinking he’s more capable than seventeen-year-olds because he did ok in one task.

“Well, yeh bes’ be goin’,” Hagrid interrupted. Harry shot him a grateful look as he herded Rita away.

“That wasn’t a good idea Harry, saying something like that to Rita Skeeter,” Ron said gravely.

“Yeah, I know. She just…I hate her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded.

Hagrid dismissed them after that, and they headed to lunch. Harry thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that he and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life.

“I would think,” she said, in a faux mystical whisper that was mostly ruined by her very obvious annoyance, “that some of us” — she stared very meaningfully at Harry — “might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths... and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?”

“An ugly old bat in outsize specs?” Ron muttered under his breath. Harry fought hard to keep his face straight.

“Death, my dears.”

“Nothing new then,” Harry snorted. Several people who had overheard him, chuckled. However, both Parvati and Lavender put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified. “Honestly, if I dropped dead every time she said I was going to, I’d be a medical miracle,” he added in an undertone.

“You’d be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost,” said Ron, chortling. This earnt them both an irritated look and extra homework, but they considered it worth it. The whole thing had only cemented Harry’s desire to drop the stupid subject. Of course, that meant studying extra hard to get into the other two classes. You couldn’t take only one elective, so he couldn’t drop Divination if it didn’t take something else. Or if he failed the entry exam.

But Hermione wasn’t at dinner, nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph — but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.

“Wonder where she’s got to?” Ron said as he and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Dunno.”

Harry had just given the password and the Fat Lady started to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind them made them both turn. Hermione was racing towards them.

“Harry!” she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). “Harry, you’ve got to come — you’ve got to come, the most amazing thing’s happened — please —” She seized Harry’s arm and started to try to drag him back along the corridor. He asked what the matter was, but she didn’t answer, just continued to drag him down the corridor. Ron hurried after them.

“Oh don’t mind me!” the Fat Lady called irritably after them. “Don’t apologize for bothering me! I’ll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?”

“Yeah, thanks!” Ron shouted over his shoulder.

Harry tried once more to find out their destination as they emerged into the entrance hall. She turned left at the bottom of the marble staircase and through a door. Harry narrowed his eyes. He knew the kitchens was the only place in this direction they could possibly be visiting. Unless Hermione was desperate to show them the Hufflepuff common room.

They eventually emerged into in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.

“Hermione? Why are we going to the kitchens? Is this about spew?”

“It’s not spew!” Hermione said hotly.

“Changed the name, have you? Probably for the best,” Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a nasty glare before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken.

“And, anyway, it’s not about that. Oh, Harry, just come on.”

She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside.

He had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, “Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!”

Next second all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly he thought his ribs would break.

“D-Dobby?” Harry gasped in surprise. He hadn’t ever really expected to see the house-elf again. Certainly not at Hogwarts.

“It is Dobby, sir, it is!” squealed the voice from somewhere around his navel. “Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!”

Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him, except the clothes, which were very different.

Previously, Dobby had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Harry had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup, which was saying something. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children’s soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Harry saw, was the black one Harry had removed from his own foot and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. Harry sincerely hoped he had washed it since then but didn’t care to ask or to inspect it closely enough. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes.

“Dobby, what’re you doing here?” Harry wondered in amazement.

“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!” Dobby squealed excitedly. “Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!”

“Winky?” frowned Harry. “She’s here too?”

“Yes, sir, yes!” said Dobby, and he seized Harry’s hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Harry noticed as he passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but he supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above. At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Harry past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied like a toga. Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed.

“Winky, sir!” he said.

Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not cared much about finding herself clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby’s strange collection of garments appeared to be clean and well cared for so that it looked brand new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.

Harry greeted her. She burst into tears which had Ron edging away nervously. Harry followed. However, Hermione and Dobby moved closer to the elf. Harry and Ron exchanged looks before reluctantly following them. Hermione tried to soothe Winky, but failed, only making her cry even harder.

Dobby beamed up at Harry, seemingly unperturbed by the sight.

“Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?” he squeaked loudly, over Winky’s sobs. Harry agreed absently. Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.

“Good service!” Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.

“I’m not surprised Fred and George get so much stuff from the kitchens if they’re this eager to be helpful,” Harry muttered. No wonder they were able to leave him meals all the time. Ron nodded and grinned.

“Good to know, eh?”

“How long have you been working here, Dobby?” Harry wondered as the elf handed out the tea.

“Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!” said Dobby happily. “Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed —” His words were cut off by Winky, who began howling even more loudly at these words.

“You should have come and said hello,” Harry said. Honestly, he was slightly surprised the elf hadn’t already done that. He certainly hadn’t had issues with visiting Harry previously, at the most inopportune times, even if his intentions had been well-meaning.

“Dobby wasn’t sure if he would be welcome to visit the great Harry Potter,” Dobby said, looking a little nervous.

“You’re welcome to visit, as long as you don’t try saving my life,” he replied with a grin. Dobby beamed more widely than ever and flung himself at Harry’s leg, clinging on for dear life.

“Oh, the great Harry Potter is so kind to Dobby, so generous, so…”

“So, why are you at Hogwarts?” Harry cut him off, feeling embarrassed. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to give Dobby an open invite. Ron was smirking at him.

“Dobby has travelled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!” Dobby squeaked. “But Dobby hasn’t found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!” The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing.

Hermione, however, said, “Good for you, Dobby!”

“Thank you, miss!” said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. “But most wizards doesn’t want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. ‘That’s not the point of a house-elf,’ they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby’s face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter... Dobby likes being free!” Harry couldn’t help but smile at Dobby’s enthusiasm. Maybe Hermione did have a point. He still hated the name spew, but no elf should be subjected to what Dobby had been through at the Malfoy’s. Or even to be treated the way Crouch had treated Winky at the World Cup. Maybe there was another way to go about things.

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume of her crying.

“So, you like being free, but you also like working?” Harry asked.

“Oh yes, Dobby likes work, Harry Potter,” Dobby nodded, ears flapping madly. “Dobby is liking work and freedom.”

“So, are you being paid here?”

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Sir.” Winky’s wails reached an all-time high at this. The Hogwarts house-elves were also glaring at Dobby as they continued on with their chores.

“But before Hogwarts, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!” said Dobby delightedly.

At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Harry and Ron both flinched at the volume. 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, but Harry still had to strain to hear him.

“And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! ‘Why doesn’t Dobby and Winky find work together?’ Dobby says. ‘Where is there enough work for two house-elves?’ says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So, Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!” Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again. “And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so, Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!”

“That’s not very much!” Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor.

“Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off,” said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, “but Dobby beat him down, miss... Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn’t wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.”

Harry thought about this. He agreed with Hermione that a Galleon a week didn’t seem like much, but what did house-elves spend money on? Clearly Dobby was powerful, he could probably magic up most of what he needed, and he most likely got his food from Hogwarts. Could house-elves own bank accounts? He wasn’t sure, but he doubted it.

“Well, as long as you’re happy, Dobby,” he said eventually. Dobby nodded enthusiastically.

“Dobby is very happy, Harry Potter, Sir.” Ron was looking bewildered at the whole conversation, but he smiled at Dobby’s enthusiasm.

“And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?” Hermione asked kindly. Harry winced. If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up, she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole 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!” Harry felt bad for her.

“Ashamed?” said Hermione blankly. “But — Winky, come on! It’s Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn’t do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you —” Harry had to agree with Hermione on this. Winky had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and tried to escape being killed. It was hardly worthy of being fired.

But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn’t hear a word, and screeched that Crouch had been right to sack her and for them not to say anything bad about him.

“Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter,” squeaked Dobby confidentially. “Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won’t do it.”

“Well, it is quite a change. And not everyone had to put up with the Malfoy’s after all, but that doesn’t mean she can’t say anything bad at all about Crouch, does it?”

“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 honour, and we never speaks ill of them — though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to — to —” Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry closer. Harry bent forward. Dobby whispered, “He said we is free to call him a — a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!” Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle. Harry snorted. He certainly thought it was a fitting description of the headmaster at the moment. Ron chuckled, while Hermione looked scandalised. “But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter,” he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. “Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him.”

“So, you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?” Harry asked him, grinning.

A slightly fearful look came into Dobby’s immense eyes.

“Dobby — Dobby could,” he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders bravely. “Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were — were — bad Dark wizards!”

Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring. Then, without further warning, he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” Harry, very used to this, quickly seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table.

“Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you,” said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head.

“You don’t need to do that anymore, Dobby. I’m sure Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to.”

“Oh, no, Sir. Professor Dumbledore bes telling Dobby he is not to punish himself.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded. “It’s barbaric.”

“What about if you’re sick?” Harry wondered. “Do house-elves get sick?”

“It is rare, Harry Potter, Sir. House-elves only stops working when they is having a baby or if they is being too old,” Dobby told him.

“And you enjoy working?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You’re ok with working all the time?” All of the house-elves nearby nodded vigorously.

Winky began howling even more, sobbing about how Crouch must be struggling without Winky to look after him.

“Winky,” said Hermione firmly, “I’m quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We’ve seen him, you know —” Harry wasn’t entirely sure about that. He thought back to the stupid ceremony where his name had come out. Crouch had looked rather unwell.

“You is seeing my master?” said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. “You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, “he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Mr. Bagman comes too?” squeaked Winky, and to Harry’s great surprise, and Ron’s and Hermione’s too, by the looks on their faces, she looked angry again. “Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn’t liking him, oh no, not at all!”

“A bad wizard? Bagman?” said Harry. Other than clearly being a bit biased towards helping Harry in the tournament, Bagman seemed alright. He wasn't surprised someone like Crouch didn't like Bagman, given the differences in personality, but he didn't see why he'd think the man was a bad wizard.

“Oh yes,” Winky said, nodding her head furiously. “My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying... Winky — Winky keeps her master’s secrets....” She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, “Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more! They couldn’t get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.

“Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!” he said happily, pointing at his bare chest.

“Tell you what, Dobby,” said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, “I’ll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don’t mind maroon, do you?” Dobby was delighted. Harry and Hermione both smiled at Ron for his offer.

“We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you,” Ron told him. Harry snorted. There was no ‘might’ about it. There was absolutely no way a jumper made to fit Ron would ever fit Dobby. It’d probably drown him in fabric. “But it’ll go well with your tea cozy,” Ron continued, ignoring Harry. Dobby was beside himself, hugging Ron delightedly. Ron was a bit bemused but hugged the elf back briefly.

As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron were more than happy to load their pockets with cream cakes and pies.

“Thanks a lot!” Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. “See you, Dobby! Come and visit when you want.” Dobby beamed.

“I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know,” said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. “I mean, Dobby coming to work here, it means the other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it’ll dawn on them that they want that too!”

“Let’s hope they don’t follow Winky's example instead” muttered Harry. He felt bad for the elf.

“Oh, she’ll cheer up,” said Hermione, though she sounded a bit doubtful. “Once the shock’s worn off, and she’s got used to Hogwarts, she’ll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man.” Harry doubted this, but said nothing. He was well aware that Hermione wouldn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention except to scoff that he thought her idea anything less than perfect. It wasn’t that he disagreed with stopping the elves being in situations like Dobby’s at the Malfoy’s, but the Hogwarts elves seemed happy. They actively disliked it when Hermione or Dobby mentioned being free and especially being paid. Maybe Hermione should pay a little more attention to them rather than deciding what was best for them all by herself. But he knew better than to say that out loud.

“She seems to love him,” said Ron thickly, having just shoved a cream cake into his mouth.

“Doesn’t think much of Bagman, though, does she?” commented Harry.

“Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?”

“Probably says he’s not a very good Head of Department,” said Hermione, “and let’s face it... he’s got a point, hasn’t he?”

“I’d still rather work for him than old Crouch,” said Ron. “At least Bagman’s got a sense of humour.”

“Don’t let Percy hear you saying that,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

“Yeah, well, Percy wouldn’t want to work for anyone with a sense of humour, would he?” said Ron, now starting on a chocolate eclair. “Percy wouldn’t recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby’s tea cozy.” Harry couldn’t disagree with that.

Chapter Text

“Potter! Weasley! Will you pay attention?” Professor McGonagall’s irritated voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class on one Thursday afternoon, and Harry and Ron both jumped and looked up.

It was the end of the lesson; they had finished their work; the guinea fowl they had been changing into guinea pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall’s desk. Neville's still had feathers, Harry's still had a beak and several others had legs of various sizes that were too large for their tiny bodies. They had copied down their homework from the blackboard which was an essay on adapting Transforming spells when performing Cross-Species Switches.

The bell was due to ring at any moment, and Harry and Ron, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George’s fake wands the twins had given Harry at the back of the class, looked up, Ron holding a tin parrot and Harry, a rubber haddock.

Once she had their attention, Professor McGonagall gave them an angry look, just as the head of Harry’s haddock drooped and fell to the floor having been severed by Ron’s parrot’s beak moments prior. A few people hid their sniggers.

“The Yule Ball is swiftly approaching. It is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialise with our foreign guests. The ball will only be open to fourth year and above, however you may invite a younger student if you wish, though preferably only third years.”

Lavender let out a shrill giggle. Parvati nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which Harry thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just told off him and Ron. He didn’t like the way the two girls were eyeing him either. He certainly had no plans to go to any ball. He might use the fact that everyone would be at the ball or home for the holidays to try and work on his egg.

“Dress robes will be required,” Professor McGonagall continued, “and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class. “The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to — er — let our hair down,” she said, in a disapproving voice.

Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Harry could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense.

“But that does not mean,” Professor McGonagall went on, “that we will be relaxing the standards of behaviour we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way.”

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone stood up and swung their bags onto their shoulders.

Professor McGonagall called above the noise, “Potter — a word, if you please.”

His first thought was that this had something to do with his headless rubber haddock. But then he realised that Ron would have been called with him if that was the case and the Professor waited until everyone else had left the classroom before she began speaking. And he really wished she hadn’t as she proceeded to inform him that the champions and their partners were required. He didn’t hear much more, his brain having stalled at the word ‘partners’.

“What partners?” He interrupted. Professor McGonagall glared at him for the interruption and then her expression turned to suspicion as though she thought he was attempting to be funny.

“Your partner for the Yule Ball, Potter,” she explained. “Your dance partner.”

Harry had a sudden mental image of himself in a top hat and tails, accompanied by a girl in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon’s work parties. He wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t dance,” he replied immediately.

“At the ball you will. The champions are required to open the ball with their partners.”

“But I’m not a proper champion.”

“It is tradition.”

“It’s also tradition to have three champions. That didn’t work. Why do I have to open the ball?”

“Because you do, Potter. You will represent Hogwarts and behave as a representative of this school is required to behave. So, I suggest you find yourself a partner,” McGonagall told him huffily.

“But — I don’t —”

“You heard me, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall in a very final sort of way.

In terms of tasks, Harry much preferred the prospect of facing a dragon to finding a partner to open a ball with. He had absolutely no idea who to ask. His first choice would have been Cho, but after spending time together practicing for Quidditch, he knew Cedric liked her and would probably ask. And, honestly, why would anyone go with him over Cedric? Even if he wasn’t the champion, he was vastly more impressive than he, Harry, was. After Cho, he had no idea who to ask. He didn’t want to dance at all.

Harry had never known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas; he always did, of course, because the alternative was usually going back to Privet Drive, but he had always been very much in the minority before now. He and Ron always had the Gryffindor common room pretty much to themselves. This year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all seemed to Harry to be obsessed with the coming ball.

It was amazing to Harry, how many girls Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; he had never quite noticed that before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear on Christmas night.

“Do they always have to walk around in packs?” He wondered, as he eyed a group of at least a dozen girls walking past them one Tuesday afternoon. At least half of them stared at Harry, giggling and sniggering. “Who wants to ask someone to the ball in front of all their giggling friends?

“Lasso one?” Ron suggested. Harry snorted. “Any ideas who you’re going to ask?” Harry shrugged. Even after a couple of days, he still had no idea who to ask. “You’re a champion. The youngest champion who is currently tied for first. They’ll be queuing to go out with you.” Funnily enough, that wasn’t all that reassuring. In tribute to their recently repaired friendship, Ron had kept the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. It also turned out, to Harry’s amazement, that he was quite right.

A curly-haired third-year Hufflepuff girl to whom Harry had never spoken in his life asked him to go to the ball with her the very next day. Harry was so taken aback he said no before he’d even stopped to consider the matter. The girl walked off looking rather hurt, and Harry felt momentarily bad for her. But then he had to endure Dean’s, Seamus’s, and Ron’s taunts about her all through History of Magic and he ended up just feeling embarrassed. The following day, two more girls asked him, a second year, which made him mightily uncomfortable, and, to his horror, a burly fifth year who looked as though she might knock him out if he refused.

“She was quite good-looking,” said Ron fairly, after he’d stopped laughing.

“She was a foot taller than me,” said Harry, still unnerved. “Imagine what I’d look like trying to dance with her.” He’d also never spoken a word to any of the people who had asked him out. He couldn’t imagine a whole evening spent with them.

Hermione’s words about Krum kept coming back to him. “They only like him because he’s famous!” Harry doubted very much if any of the girls who had asked to be his partner so far would have wanted to go to the ball with him if he hadn’t been a school champion. He supposed being Harry Potter might still have gotten him some attention, it usually did.

Then he wondered if this would bother him if Cho asked him instead of going with Cedric. Probably, but that wouldn’t stop him being happy about it. At least he knew Cho a bit and had something in common with her, which was more than anyone who had asked him out so far.

During the last Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the term, they were grateful to find that Hagrid had given up on direct contact with the skrewts now, and they were merely sheltering behind his cabin today, sitting at a trestle table and preparing a fresh selection of food with which to tempt the skrewts.

“You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?” said Ron.

“Though’ I might look in on it, yeah,” said Hagrid gruffly. Harry figured he’d likely be going with Madam Maxime, given Hagrid had taken her on a date to see the dragons. They would certainly make an interesting couple.

“Should be a good do, I reckon. You’ll be openin’ the dancin’, won’ yeh, Harry? Who’re you takin’?”

“No one, yet,” said Harry, feeling himself going red again. Hagrid didn’t pursue the subject much to his relief. The twins had been asking him for ages who he planned to take.  

The last week of term became increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumours about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though Harry didn’t believe half of them — for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he had booked the Weird Sisters. Harry had never heard of them before, but Seamus brought a wireless into the dorm and the five of them had spent an enjoyable evening in the dormitory listening to music.

Some of the teachers, like Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed them to play games in his lesson on Wednesday, and spent most of it talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns from ploughing on through his notes on goblin rebellions. Which made sense, Binns hadn’t let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, let alone a small thing like Christmas wasn’t going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as boring as Percy’s cauldron-bottom report.

Harry used the time to continue his research into magical languages and translations spells. The twins had listened to the egg once more in their workroom and suggested the screeching noise might be trying to tell him something. He’d been looking up languages and translation spells ever since. Unfortunately, the twins knew none as it wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence in their pranks.

Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes too, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let them play games in class than adopt Harry. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term. Harry wasn’t entirely surprised. He knew Snape had been angling to poison him ever since the wand weighing nonsense.

“Evil, he is,” Ron said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. “Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying.”

“Mmm... you’re not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?” said Hermione, looking amusedly at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack. Harry grinned.

“It’s Christmas, Hermione,” pointed out Harry lazily; he was rereading Flying with the Cannons for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

Hermione looked severely over at him too. “I’d have thought you’d be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don’t want to learn your antidotes!”

“Like what?” Harry said as he watched Joey Jenkins of the Cannons belt a Bludger toward a Ballycastle Bats Chaser.

“That egg!” Hermione hissed.

“Come on, Hermione, I’ve got till February the twenty-fourth,” Harry said. “Besides, I’ve got an idea now, but if I read another book on translation spells, I’m going to go mad.”

“But it might take weeks to master the spells!” said Hermione. “You’re going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is, and you don’t!”

“Leave him alone, Hermione, he’s earned a bit of a break,” said Ron, and he placed the last two cards on top of the castle and the whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows. Harry laughed and Hermione smirked, giving him a look that said he deserved it.

“Nice look, Ron... go well with your dress robes, that will.”

It was Fred and George. They sat down at the table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Ron felt how much damage had been done. Harry smiled at them, and Fred ruffled his hair. Harry’s smile turned to an irritated glare as the twin smirked at him.

“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?” George asked.

“No, he’s off delivering a letter,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” said Fred sarcastically. Harry snorted. Fred winked at him.

“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” George told him.

“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” asked Ron.

“Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So... you lot got dates for the ball yet?”

“Nope,” said Ron. Harry shook his head.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred.

“Who’re you two going with, then?” wondered Ron.

“Angelina,” said George promptly, without a trace of embarrassment. Harry wasn’t surprised.

“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”

“Good point,” said George, looking like he hadn’t thought of that. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!” Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

“What?” she called back.

“Want to come to the ball with me?” Angelina gave George a look that said it was about time he’d asked.

“All right, then,” she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

“There you go,” said George to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.” Harry laughed, but he was feeling slightly jealous. He wished he had George’s confidence.

George got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We’d better use a school owl then, Fred, come on.”

“You can use Hedwig if you want, she’s not had much to do lately. She’d appreciate it,” Harry offered suddenly. Fred smiled gratefully.

“Cheers, Harry,” Fred thanked him.

“Who are you taking to the ball then?” Harry asked him without thinking. He wondered if Fred would go with Alicia or Katie.

“Nobody yet. George here took the best girl.” George smirked at his brother. “Hey, you wanna go with me, Potter?”

“W…what?” Harry spluttered. Ron stared at his brother like he’d grown another head.

“Well, neither of us have dates yet. You’ll look really stupid opening without a partner. Should be a right laugh. Or was my proposal not right? Hang on.” He took a deep breath and put on a highly pretentious voice. “My dearest Harry, would you do me the absolute honour of accompanying my undeserving self to the Yule Ball?” He asked, giving a dramatic bow. Harry was still staring at him in shock. Glancing around uncertainly, he saw half the common room were now staring at the spectacle with great interest. He felt his cheeks heating up.

“Is that…I mean, we’re both guys?” Now Fred was the one staring at him.

“So?”

“Is that even allowed?” Harry had heard Uncle Vernon going on about ‘faggots’ and all sorts of other terrible names. He considered them as freaky as he did Harry. Which, Harry supposed, should really be an indication that it was actually perfectly acceptable. All three Weasleys were looking at him in surprise.

“Yeah. Course,” Fred said, looking a little uncertain now. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s looked down on in Muggle society,” Hermione explained, lips pursed. “It was illegal for a long time for two people of the same gender to…have intercourse. It was made legal for those over twenty-one in the late sixties, but it is still looked down on and considered wrong by many people. They still aren’t allowed to get married.”

“What?” Fred looked appalled.

“Muggles are weird,” Ron muttered. George nodded in agreement.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, though he really should know better than to ask Hermione how she knew something. Still, he thought it was an odd topic for her to have researched.

“My cousin,” she said simply. “Ellie and Alice have been together for years, but they aren’t allowed to get married.”

Harry looked between them all and then back to Fred thoughtfully. His mind darted back to his dream of those piercing blue eyes. He swallowed and then took a breath. It didn’t mean anything. Fred had asked him as a laugh. To save him from the humiliation of not having a partner. It wasn’t a real date.

“So, how about it?” Fred prompted. “You don’t have to if it’ll make you uncomfortable or something,” he added, looking both confused and saddened by the prospect.

“Er, no. I’ll go with you. Thanks, Fred. At least I know it’ll be a good laugh, yeah?” Fred’s expression cleared and he beamed.

“Of course. Can’t have my famous date getting bored. I promise it’ll be a delight.” Hermione and Ron both looked concerned by this statement, but Harry grinned. Anything that took the attention off of him would be good.

“Right, well, we’d best get this letter sent off,” George stated. “Thanks for letting us use Hedwig, Harry.”

“No problem.” Fred ruffled his hair once more and offered a wink before they both left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smouldering wreck of his card castle at Harry, a frown on his face.

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised wizards do allow homosexuals to be together, considering how…backwards they seem to be in other things. Like the pureblood hierarchy, or even using quills and parchment,” Hermione said, a little absently.

“Well, why wouldn’t we be alright with it? Who cares who you love?” Ron frowned.

“Well, in the wizarding world I would have assumed because they can’t have children. And family legacy is highly important to the purebloods who seem to make all the rules,” Hermione stated.

“Of course they can have kids,” Ron told her, looking confused. Harry and Hermione both gaped at him.

“What?” Harry asked in shock.

“Well, not naturally of course, but there are potions and stuff,” he shrugged, looking awkward. Hermione’s eyebrows rose dramatically.

“Well, anyway, that’s me sorted for the ball,” Harry interjected, changing the subject because he didn’t really know how to feel about everything he’d just learnt. He’d never given it a thought before, but the whole idea of a guy getting pregnant was just too hard to wrap his mind around.

“Just me and Hermione then,” Ron sighed.

“Speak for yourself,” she told him haughtily. “I have a date.”

“What?” Ron gasped. Harry looked at her in surprise.

“Who is it?” He wondered.

“I’m not telling you. You’ll tease me.”

“No, we won’t,” Harry frowned.

“Maybe you won’t, but Ron will.”

“Oh, just tell us. It’s not a Slytherin, is it?” Ron asked, looking disgusted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Is that really all that matters? House? And no, it’s not a Slytherin. I’m not telling you anything else though, so stop badgering me.” With that, she got up and headed towards the girl’s dormitory.

“She’s lying,” Ron stated. Harry frowned at him.

“Why would she lie?”

“Because she doesn’t want to admit nobody asked her.” Harry thought this faintly ridiculous, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled another piece of homework towards him, putting the Cannons book away, and started writing.

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, Harry noticed that they were the most stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armour had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear a variety of different carols sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words.

Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armour, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

The first interschool Quidditch game was quickly approaching. Beauxbatons had indeed decided they wished to play, so they decided on a mini tournament with each team playing the others once before the two highest scorers over the games would play each other again in a final. Hogwarts vs Durmstrang was up first.

Cedric had been training them almost as hard as Wood would have done. Harry and the twins distinctly approved while the others were slightly less enthusiastic. At least he kept the practises to the evenings and didn’t wake them up at the crack of dawn. That was a distinct improvement over Wood’s regimes.

The Saturday a week before Christmas dawned cold and bright. Snow covered the ground, but it had stopped falling in a small moment of mercy. The Hogwarts Quidditch team met in the Great Hall. By unspoken agreement, they all sat together at the Hufflepuff table, which caused quite a stir as everyone stared in astonishment. Cedric had managed to procure some Quidditch robes for all of them which were all black with four stripes of colour, one for each house, going down the sleeves. The Hogwarts crest was on the breast.

The Durmstrang lot came into the hall about halfway through breakfast. Those on their team were all wearing blood red robes with the Drumstrang crest on. Krum brought up the rear of the group and looked almost excited. It was hard to tell. He looked less grumpy than usual anyway, Harry thought.

Once they’d finished eating, Cedric led them out towards the pitch. They were using the Gryffindor changing rooms, while the Durmstrang team would use the Slytherin ones. When everyone was changed, Cedric stood up, clearing his throat.

“Right, this is it. I know we might only have been practising together for a few weeks, but we’re the best team Hogwarts has to offer,” Fred and George let out cheers and whistles at this which Cedric ignored. “We’re going to give it our all and, let’s face it, if anyone can beat Viktor Krum, it’s Harry Potter, youngest seeker in a century,” he said. They all cheered at that. “FOR HOGWARTS!”

“For Hogwarts!” They all echoed. Then Cedric led them out to the pitch. The stands were absolutely rammed. Harry had never seen them so full as the entire school had come to watch, along with the other schools. Madam Hooch was waiting in the centre circle. Krum led the Durmstrang team out and shook Cedric’s hand. Everyone mounted their brooms and kicked off.

Harry grinned as he felt the rush of wind against his face. Lee Jordan was commentating as usual, and the game started. He was determined to play his own game, not just tail Krum around like a lost puppy so he made sure to fly off in the opposite direction to the Bulgarian seeker. He did make sure to keep an eye on the other seeker, but mainly concentrated on trying to find the snitch.

As the game progressed, the teams were seemingly even. The Hogwarts team seemed to have the more skilled players, but they hadn’t been working together long and sometimes communication let them down. Fred and George were often the saving graces, firing bludger after bludger, constantly interrupting the Durmstrang chasers. As the game reach 40-50 in Durmstrang’s favour, Harry saw Krum dive. Instinctively, he followed, eyes darting around for the familiar flash of gold. He was about halfway to the ground when he realised Krum was fainting. There was no snitch. He pulled up sharply and cast his eyes around frantically, hoping to spot the snitch while the other seeker was still in his dive.

As Krum pulled up, a heartbeat from the ground, Harry saw what he was looking for. A brief flash near Fleet’s goalpost. Unfortunately, it was still closer to Krum. Harry saw the other seeker looking directly at him, and so flew towards the Durmstrang chasers, hoping to interrupt their move, while also keeping the snitch in his peripheral vision. He succeeded in making one of the chasers veer off course in an effort to avoid a collision and abruptly pulled his broom in the direction of the snitch, which was still hovering at the foot of the goalposts. But Krum had now risen back up and the two seekers were roughly equidistant.

Harry flattened himself to his broom and dived. Krum immediately followed and the two of them were neck and neck. With the same model of broom, they were equally matched. Krum was the slightly better flyer, but Harry was lighter.

A whistling sound warned him a bludger was on its way. Harry waited until the last possible second before going further down, turning his already steep dive into an almost vertical one. The bludger whistled over his head, so close he felt it ruffle his hair, and slammed straight into Krum who hadn’t been expecting it. The Durmstrang seeker grunted but wasn’t thrown of course as Harry had hoped. However, in the brief second of distraction, the snitch had vanished. Harry groaned and pulled his broom up.

He circled above the game, keeping one eye on Krum and one out for the snitch. He heard Lee Jordan announce Cedric had scored, making it 90-70 in Hogwarts’ favour.

It was another several minutes before Harry saw Krum dive again. Harry followed immediately, scanning for the snitch. Unfortunately, this time, Krum wasn’t fainting. The snitch was hovering about a foot above the ground pretty much in the centre of the pitch. Krum was gaining on it too quickly. Even with dives being Harry’s speciality, he wasn’t going to make it in time. Until two bludgers in quick succession from the twins forced the Durmstrang seeker off course. The snitch changed direction, flying upwards right past the two seekers. Harry flung out an arm in an attempt to catch it but missed. He was so close, he could feel the wings but his fingers, stiff from the cold, could only close on thin air. He pulled his broom upwards with Krum hot on his tail.

Harry urged his broom on under his breath. The snitch was fluttering a few feet in front of him when it lurched sideways. Harry followed but Krum overtook him, able to turn at a speed that Harry simply couldn’t match, even being lighter than his rival. He could only watch as Krum’s fingers closed around the fluttering golden ball.

“KRUM GETS THE SNITCH! HARD LUCK POTTER! DURMSTRANG WINS!” Lee Jordan announced. The game finished 120-230 in Durmstrang’s favour. The Hogwarts team had put on a good showing though, especially as it was their first game as a team. Harry tried not to be disappointed as he lost his second ever game. Krum truly was a spectacular flyer. He landed on the ground and dismounted, his teammates surrounding him.

“It was a good try, Potter. You almost had him,” Cedric said, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Yeah. You so nearly got it when it flew past you. Considering you were up against an international player, and the youngest seeker who caught the snitch at the World Cup final, even if his team didn't win, you did yourself proud, Pot…Harry,” Cassius told him with a faint smile.

“Don’t beat yourself up. You’ll get him next time,” Fred stated confidently.

“You guys all did brilliantly,” Harry told them. A little despondent at losing, but also pleased with their general performance, the team showered and changed before they made their way back towards the castle.

They were met about halfway by the Durmstrang team. All of the players shook hands. Krum shook Harry’s and was actually smiling as he did so. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Krum smile before.

“You did vell,” Krum told Harry, looking impressed. “You could play professionally.” Harry blinked at him.

“You really think so?”

Krum nodded. “It vos a pleasure to play against you.”

“Uh…it was an honour to play against you,” Harry stuttered. “You really are incredible.” Somehow, despite losing, Harry currently felt like he was floating on a cloud. The two teams made their way to the castle. They bid each other farewell in the Great Hall. Cho was already waiting for Cedric, and Lexi was greeting Cassius as Harry gave his goodbyes. Cho flashed him a smile and commiserated on the loss.

Harry made his way to Gryffindor tower with the twins who were discussing strategy for the next game against Beauxbatons. They were much more confident than against Durmstrang but didn’t plan on underestimating them. It was Beauxbatons vs Durmstrang next, so they could observe how they played before Hogwarts had to play them.

They stopped off at the twins’ rooms to check on their latest products. Since the Canary Creams had been so popular, they’d had to produce more at an unprecedented rate. Harry sat himself in a corner and read a book while the twins worked. They were only there for half an hour or so before they stated there was nothing more that they could do for now, so they headed for the common room.

“Fairy lights,” Harry said dully to the Fat Lady — the password had been changed the previous day.

“Yes, indeed, dear!” she trilled, straightening her new tinsel hairband as she swung forward to admit him. Entering the common room, Harry looked around, and to his surprise he saw Ron sitting ashen-faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice.

“What’s up, Ron?” said Harry, joining them. The twins joined him, looking both amused and curious about what could have put their brother in such a state. Ron looked up at Harry, a sort of blind horror in his face.

“Why did I do it?” he said wildly. “I don’t know what made me do it!”

“What?” said Harry.

“He — er — just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron’s arm sympathetically. The twins immediately started guffawing. Harry hit them both on the arm and they stopped, although they were still smirking widely.

“You what?” said Harry.

“I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped again. “What was I playing at? There were people — all around — I’ve gone mad — everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall after the game, she was standing there talking to Diggory — and it sort of came over me — and I asked her!”

Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.

“She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn’t even answer. And then — I dunno — I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it.”

“She’s part veela,” said Harry. “You were right — her grandmother was one. It wasn’t your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it — but she was wasting her time. He’s going with Cho.”

“Yeah, blame it on her ‘charm’,” Fred snorted quietly. “Not just Ronniekins being an idiot.” Ginny and George both laughed.

“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” said Hermione loftily. “Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone somewhere who’ll have you.” But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.

“Hermione, Neville’s right — you are a girl...” Harry winced, though he wondered what Neville had to do with the comment.

“Oh well spotted,” she said acidly.

“Well — you can come with me!”

“No, I can’t,” snapped Hermione.

“Oh, come on,” he said impatiently, “I really need a partner, I’m going to look really stupid if I’m the only person that hasn’t got one, everyone else has...”

“Pretty sure you’re going to look stupid anyway, Ronnie,” Fred muttered.

“I can’t come with you,” said Hermione, now blushing, “because I’m already going with someone.”

“No, you’re not!” said Ron. “You just said that to get rid of Neville!” Harry raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t realised Neville had asked Hermione to the ball. When had that happened?

“Oh, did I?” said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!” Harry and Ginny exchanged bemused looks. Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again.

“Okay, okay, we know you’re a girl,” he said. “That do? Will you come now?” Harry hid his face in his hands at his friend’s stupidity. The twins were both shaking their heads while Ginny glared at her brother.

“I’ve already told you!” Hermione said very angrily. “I’m going with someone else!” She stormed off and Harry just sighed. He felt bad for his friend. Ginny told Ron that Hermione wasn’t lying and then confessed that she was going with Neville as Ron began to wonder who on earth Hermione was going with.

“Well, even if she was lying, I don’t think she’ll be wanting to go with you,” George told his brother, rolling his eyes.

“I think Ron was dropped on his head as a baby,” Fred stated.

“Ron, just leave it. Hermione isn’t going to tell us who, especially after that,” Harry told him in exasperation. Ron sulked for the rest of the afternoon.

Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays, Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual.

Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the centre. The twins had even allowed him to help to speed up production.

Harry found that, under George’s instructions, potions weren’t all that difficult. The older boy had taken the time to explain about how different ingredients reacted to each other and why, as well as many other small things that were highly important, but Snape had never informed them of. It wasn’t in any of the textbooks Harry had read either, and George had given him a few of his old supplemental books for further reading. It would never be his favourite subject, but it was rather like cooking and Harry found himself doing well with their Canary Cream concoction.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

“It is too ’eavy, all zis ’Ogwarts food,” they heard her saying grumpily as they left the Great Hall behind her one evening. Ron ducked down behind Harry at the sound of her voice, keen not to be spotted by Fleur. “I will not fit into my dress robes!”

“Oooh there’s a tragedy,” Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. “She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she?”

“Hermione — who are you going to the ball with?” said Ron.

He kept springing this question on her, as if, somehow, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, “I’m not telling you, you’ll just make fun of me.”

“You’re joking, Weasley!” said Malfoy, behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?”

Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy’s shoulder, “Hello, Professor Moody!”

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

“Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” said Hermione scathingly, and she, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, “your teeth...”

“What about them?” she said.

“Well, they’re different... I’ve just noticed...” Harry frowned and turned to look at his friend.

“Of course they are — did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?”

“No, I mean, they’re different to how they were before he put that hex on you.... They’re all... straight and — and normal-sized.” Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Harry noticed it too: It was a very different smile from the one he remembered.

“Well, when I went to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she explained. “And I just... let her carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely. “Mum and Dad won’t be too pleased. I’ve been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they’re dentists, they just don’t think teeth and magic should — look! Pigwidgeon’s back!” They all turned to look at where Hermione was pointing.

Ron’s tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing. A small group of third-year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he cute?”

“Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. “You bring letters to the addressee! You don’t hang around showing off!” Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron’s fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked.

“Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. The owl really was weird. Hedwig would have killed him if he did that to her. Not that the snowy owl would fit in his hand as Pigwidgeon did. “Here — take it, Harry,” Ron added in an undertone as the third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled Sirius’s reply off Pigwidgeon’s leg, and Harry pocketed it. Together, they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it.

Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:

Dear Harry,

Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point —

“That’s what Krum did!” Hermione whispered.

— but your way was better, I’m impressed. Many people overlook the simplest option. Don’t get complacent, though, Harry. You’ve only done one task; whoever put you in for the tournament’s got plenty more opportunity if they’re trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open — particularly when the person we discussed is around — and concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble. As for the Slytherin Champion, keep your wits about you. I don’t know much about the Warringtons, but they certainly aren’t a light family. Enjoy your Quidditch but DO NOT allow yourself to be alone with the Durmstrang Champion. Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual.

“He sounds exactly like Moody,” said Harry quietly, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. “‘Constant vigilance!’ You’d think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls...” He was more than a little disgruntled with Sirius’ lack of useful advice. Of course, he was going to keep his eyes open around someone who used to work for his parents’ killer. He frowned at the mention of Cassius. What exactly did he mean the Warringtons weren’t a ‘light’ family? What made one’s family ‘light’? Was it as simple as they sided against Voldemort? And why shouldn’t he be alone with Krum?

“What does he mean don’t be alone with Viktor Krum?” Hermione asked, frowning at the parchment. She seemed upset at the comment.

“Well, if Karkaroff was a Death Eater, I guess Sirius thinks he’s training all of Durmstrang to be like him. It is well known for the Dark Arts. But Krum seems ok,” Harry mused.

Krum had taken to joining different house tables during meals, rather than just sitting at the Slytherin one, mingling with the other players on the Hogwarts’ Quidditch team. When he sat with Gryffindor, he had started sitting next to Harry, where they often talked about Quidditch. Ron still couldn’t say two words in his presence and Hermione frequently hid behind her books, so it was usually just the two of them talking unless the twins joined them. The rest of the Gryffindors tended to just stare at them jealously.

Harry had found that the other seeker was surprisingly shy but eventually they branched out into topics other than Quidditch. Krum favoured Transfiguration as a subject and had top marks in his year despite his intense Quidditch schedule. He trained with his team, the Varna Vultures, three times a week after classes and played for them on weekends during the season. He had taken this season off to compete in the tournament. Harry was in awe of his work ethic and could see exactly why the older boy had been chosen as a Tri-Wizard Champion. He felt quite pathetic in comparison with his average marks, even with Oliver Wood as his Quidditch Captain for three years.

“But he’s right about one thing, Harry,” said Hermione, “you have still got two tasks to do. You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means...”

“Hermione, he’s got ages!” snapped Ron. “Want a game of chess, Harry?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Harry. Then, spotting the look on Hermione’s face, he said, “Come on, how am I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? I won’t even be able to hear the egg over this lot.”

“Oh, I suppose not,” she sighed, and she sat down to watch their chess match, which culminated in an exciting checkmate of Ron’s, involving a couple of recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose.

“Dobby!” Harry yelled, scrambling away from the elf so fast he almost fell out of bed. “What are you doing?”

“Dobby is sorry, sir!” squeaked Dobby anxiously, jumping backward with his hand over his mouth. “Dobby is only wanting to wish Harry Potter ‘Merry Christmas’ and bring him a present, sir! Harry Potter did say Dobby could come and see him sometimes, sir!” He began wringing his hands together anxiously.

“It’s okay,” said Harry, still breathing rather faster than usual, while his heart rate returned to normal. “Just, next time, please prod me or something, all right, don’t lean over me like that...”

Harry pulled back the curtains around his four-poster, took his glasses from his bedside table, and put them on. His yell had awoken Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavy-eyed and tousle-haired.

“Someone attacking you, Harry?” Seamus asked sleepily. Harry grinned.

“No, it’s just Dobby,” he told them. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nah... presents!” exclaimed Seamus, spotting the large pile at the foot of his bed. Ron, Dean, and Neville decided that now they were awake they might as well get down to some present-opening too. Harry turned back to Dobby, who was now standing nervously next to Harry’s bed, still looking worried that he had upset Harry. There was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy.

“Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively. Harry blinked.

“’Course you can,” said Harry. He suddenly felt guilty for not getting Dobby anything and blurted out, “er... I’ve got something for you too.” It was a lie; he hadn’t bought anything for Dobby at all, but he quickly opened his trunk and sifted through before pulling out a particularly knobbly rolled-up pair of socks. They were his oldest and foulest, mustard yellow pair, and had once belonged to Uncle Vernon. The reason they were extra-knobbly was that Harry had been using them to cushion his Sneakoscope for over a year now. He felt bad giving the elf something that had once belonged the Vernon, but he didn’t exactly have many pairs of his own he could afford to lose, and he felt worse giving Dobby nothing. And it didn’t hurt imagining the look on his uncle’s face if he found out what become of his socks.

He pulled out the Sneakoscope and handed the socks to Dobby, saying, “Sorry, I forgot to wrap them...”

But Dobby was utterly delighted. “Socks are Dobby’s favourite, favourite clothes, sir!” he said, ripping off his odd ones and pulling on Uncle Vernon’s. Harry felt even worse at how much Dobby liked the gift. He vowed that next year he would get Dobby a more thoughtful present. The elf had caused him an awful lot of trouble, but he had also saved his life. “I has seven now, sir... But sir …” he said, his eyes widening, having pulled both socks up to their highest extent, so that they reached to the bottom of his shorts, “they has made a mistake in the shop, Harry Potter, they is giving you two the same!”

“Ah, no, Harry, how come you didn’t spot that?” teased Ron, grinning over from his own bed, which was now strewn with wrapping paper. “Tell you what, Dobby — here you go — take these two, and you can mix them up properly. And here’s your sweater.”

He threw Dobby a pair of violet socks he had just unwrapped, and the hand-knitted sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent. Dobby looked quite overwhelmed. Harry quickly shrank it so the elf didn’t drown in the fabric.

“Sir is very kind!” he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing deeply to Ron. “Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Harry Potter’s greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as noble, as selfless —”

“They’re only socks,” said Ron, who had gone slightly pink around the ears, though he looked rather pleased all the same.

“And a jumper,” Harry added, with a smile. Ron went even pinker.

“Wow, Harry —” He had just opened Harry’s present, a wand holster made of Norwegian Ridgeback hide that had been dyed an icy blue. “That’s really cool.” Harry grinned. Dobby now handed Harry a small package, which turned out to be — socks. He grinned.

“Dobby is making them himself, sir!” the elf said happily. “He is buying the wool out of his wages, sir!” The left sock was bright red and had a pattern of broomsticks upon it; the right sock was green with a pattern of Snitches.

“They’re... they’re really... well, thanks, Dobby,” said Harry, and he pulled them on, causing Dobby’s eyes to leak with happiness again.

“Dobby must go now, sir, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens!” said Dobby, and he waved goodbye to Ron before disapparating.

Harry’s other presents were much more satisfactory than Dobby’s odd socks, with the obvious exception of the Dursleys’, which consisted of a single tissue, a new all-time low. Harry supposed they too were remembering the Ton-Tongue Toffee. Honestly, he wondered why they even bothered. It was difficult imagining them interacting with an owl long enough to send him anything, especially something like this. Unless it was just to show him exactly how much they hated him.

Hermione had given Harry a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland; Ron, a bulging bag of Dungbombs; Sirius, a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot; and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all Harry’s favourites: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees. The twins had given him a package of all their products, including some of their prototypes. They had also procured a book on wandless magic, as they were hoping to start teaching him that after the holidays. There was also, of course, Mrs. Weasley’s usual package, including a new sweater (green, with a picture of a dragon on it — Harry supposed Charlie had told her all about the Horntail), and a large quantity of homemade mince pies.

Cassius had sent him a bundle of mini treacle tarts and Harry had sent him Honeydukes’ biggest basket of sugar quills, which were his favourite. The rest of the Hogwarts team had also done something similar and so he had far more sweets than he usually did.

To his even bigger mortification than the Dobby issue, Krum had sent him a book on becoming a professional Quidditch player, along with a written note suggesting that he could get some talent scouts to attend Hogwarts’ next game to view Harry play, along with the others. Harry was gobsmacked. Not only was it incredibly generous and thoughtful, but he felt terrible he hadn’t gotten his fellow seeker anything. He also had no real idea what he would have gotten him, even if he had thought about it.

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione in the common room, and they went down to breakfast together. They spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents. The twins thanked him profusely for his gift card for Mulpeppers Apothecary so they could buy better quality ingredients for their products. He had given the gift card to George while he gave Fred two books, one on how to create your own potions from scratch and one on creating your own spells, knowing the twins would share. He had been treated to a grateful hug from both twins this time and was left with the uncomfortable feeling that George’s hugs somehow didn’t make him feel as…safe, as Fred’s did. He didn’t know why.

Eager to get away and think about something else, Harry used the twins to cover for him as he used the One-Eyed Witch passageway to head to Hogsmeade. Naturally, it was closed, but Harry managed to grab a gift card to give to Krum and leave the correct amount of gold for it. He knew nothing would measure up to what Krum had given him, but it was better than nothing.

He got back just in time to return to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers. Krum sat with the Gryffindors again, and this time a lot of his fellow students did the same rather than staying at the Slytherin table.

“Merry Christmas,” he grunted as he sat down.

“Merry Christmas, Krum,” Harry replied. He glanced around to make sure Ron wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to test his friend’s jealousy issue by informing him that Krum had gotten him a Christmas present. He was busy in deep discussion with Dean about something. “Thank you so much for the book. And the offer.” He didn’t know what he wanted to do in the future, he’d never really thought about it. But playing Quidditch professionally would be pretty awesome.

“You are vellcome. And call me Viktor.”

“Call me Harry. Um, here,” Harry handed him the gift card in an envelope. “I didn’t know what you would like best. Sorry.” Viktor opened it, looking slightly startled. Harry felt marginally better that Viktor clearly hadn’t expected something in return, and more pleased that he had at least gotten the other boy something.

“Thank you. I prefer Pumpkin Pasties, for future.” Harry grinned, promising to remember that.

“Merry Christmas Viktor,” Hermione said from across the table. Harry frowned as he noticed her cheeks were very pink. Viktor offered her a smile and returned the sentiment, causing her to go even pinker. But, with Ron on his other side, he made no comment on it.

“Have you got a date for your game versus Beauxbatons yet?” Harry asked.

“Ve vill play at the end of January.”

They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch Harry and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o’clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at her incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head.

“Who’re you going with?” he yelled after Hermione, but she just waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle.

There was no Christmas tea today, as the ball included a feast, so at seven o’clock, when it had become hard to aim properly, the others abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room. The Fat Lady was sitting in her frame with her friend Violet from downstairs, both of them extremely tipsy, empty boxes of chocolate liqueurs littering the bottom of her picture.

“Lairy fights, that’s the one!” she giggled when they gave the password, and she swung forward to let them inside.

Harry got changed into his dress robes up in their dormitory with the other four boys. Harry had his bottle green robes on over his school shirt and trousers. Honestly once Mrs Weasley had bought his robes, he hadn’t thought much about the rest of his outfit. Seamus was also in green, but a much brighter one than Harry’s, with his top hat, he looked a little like the Leprechauns they’d seen at the World Cup. Dean stood next to him in a dark blue set of robes over a lighter blue shirt and black trousers and Neville wore a black robe over a white shirt, much like their uniform except plain, and no tie.

All of them looking very self-conscious, but none as much as Ron, who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he had asked the rest of them to help him with a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn’t done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.

The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colours instead of the usual mass of black. Fred and George were already there. They looked completely different for a change and absolutely everyone, even their mother, would be able to tell them apart. Fred looking incredibly handsome, wearing bright gold robes over a white shirt and a bottle green waistcoat that matched Harry’s robes. A white bow tie was around his neck. Harry’s throat suddenly felt very dry, and he stared for several seconds. His attention was eventually drawn by George who wore a hideously bright orange jacket and trousers, more in the style of a muggle suit, with a magenta shirt that matched Angelina’s dress.

“Where did you get those?” Ron demanded furiously, marching up to the twins, looking thunderous. It did seem odd that they had such nice outfits when Ron got a clearly second-hand, ugly set of robes, but, as their outfits matched their partners’, Harry assumed the twins had bought their own. And he honestly couldn’t see Molly Weasley buying anything like either of those outfits.

“We bought them,” George stated, eyeing his brother. “We didn’t know you had such…well, that. Look, if you want, you can use the robes mum got for one of us.”

“A quick shrinking charm should do the trick,” Fred agreed. Ron perked up at that. George squeezed Angelina’s hand before dashing back up the staircase to the dormitories. A few moments later he reemerged with a set of navy-blue robes. Ron’s eyes widened. They looked a lot nicer than his. They were clearly second-hand but were at least plain and had no lace. He took them from his brother and ran to get changed.

“You look great,” Fred told Harry with a smile as they waited. “You clean up pretty well, Potter.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself. If one ignores the chance of blindness from looking at you,” he grinned. Fred smirked, looking pleased with himself.

Five minutes later, Ron came back down. The robes were a little long on him, but Ron wasn’t actually too much shorter than the twins, who, like Charlie, were the shorter Weasleys. George cast a quick shrinking charm and they fitted reasonably well.

Parvati was waiting for Ron by the portrait hole. He had been unable to find himself a date until Ginny took pity on him and asked Parvati on his behalf a few days previously. She looked very pretty indeed, in robes of shocking pink, with her long dark plait braided with gold, and gold bracelets glimmering at her wrists. For once she wasn’t giggling.

“Where’s Hermione?” Ron asked with a frown as they headed out of the portrait hole.

“She already left to meet her date,” Ginny informed him as she and Neville joined them. Ron’s frown deepened at that.

The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o’clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another.

Ron was peering around, clearly looking for Hermione when suddenly, he bent his knees slightly to hide behind Harry, because Fleur Delacour was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-grey satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies. When they had disappeared, Ron stood straight again and resumed his staring over the heads of the crowd.

“Where is Hermione?” he said again.

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Harry’s opinion made him look like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Malfoy’s arm. Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-coloured boulders, and neither of them, Harry was pleased to see, had managed to find a partner.

The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, wearing blood red robes over a black shirt and trousers. He was accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harry didn’t know. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Fred grinned and he and Harry said “See you in a minute” to Ron and Parvati and walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through. Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her although he did give Harry and Viktor a brief nod in greeting. Cassius and Alexia were close to Harry too. Warrington was in all black while Lexi wore a pretty, sleeveless, emerald-green dress with a black bow in the middle.

“Hello, Harry, Weasley,” Warrington greeted, nodding as they approached.

“Warrington,” Fred replied.

“Hey Cassius. Please tell me you’re looking forward to this as little as I am,” Harry asked hopefully. Cassius chuckled.

“I’m not a big fan of dancing, but my family frequently attend Yule Balls, so I am used to it,” he admitted. Then he leaned in closely and whispered so quietly Harry could barely hear him over the noise. “I owe you for warning me about the dragons. If you haven’t worked out the egg yet, listen to it underwater.” Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Uh, all the languages I looked at and I didn’t think of an underwater one,” he muttered to himself. Cassius grinned. Then Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Giving away an advantage in the name of fairness, are you sure you aren’t a Hufflepuff?” Harry teased. Cassius glared at him while Lexi, who had obviously heard his last comment, stifled a giggle.

“Repaying a debt is just good manners,” he said huffily. Harry just grinned at him. Then he looked over at Viktor, wondering if he and Fleur knew about the egg yet. His eyes fell instead on the girl next to Viktor. His jaw dropped.

It was Hermione.

But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she seemed to be holding herself differently, somehow, or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling — rather nervously, it was true — but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Harry couldn’t understand how he hadn’t spotted it before.

“Hi, Harry!” she said as she caught his eye. “Hi, Fred!”

“Hermione,” Harry said, stunned. “You look…great.” She blushed and smiled at him. “Hi Viktor,” he added. He wondered how Ron was going to react to this.

“Harry, Fred,” he greeted them with his usual stiff nod.

When the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum’s fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her. Ron, however, walked right past Hermione without looking at her.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. Fleur and Roger were at the front with Viktor and Hermione behind them. Harry and Fred were next with Cassius and Lexi bringing up the rear. They followed the professor and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had been replaced with about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Harry concentrated on not tripping over his feet. Fred strode confidently at his side, ignoring all of the jaws dropping at the sight of the duo. He caught sight of Ron and Parvati as he neared the top table. Ron was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes. Parvati was looking sulky.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron’s as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer.

Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars that almost rivalled George for garishness, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. Harry suddenly realized that Mr. Crouch, however, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley. When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Fred groaned quietly but allowed Harry to sit down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that Harry thought it ought to be fined.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy said before Harry could even ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. “I’m now Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

“Why didn’t he come?” Harry asked. He wasn’t looking forward to being lectured on cauldron bottoms all through dinner. Thankfully, Hermione and Viktor were on Fred’s other side while Cassius and Lexi were directly opposite Harry and Fred giving him other, far more appealing, conversational options.

“I’m afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising, he’s been so overworked recently. He’s not as young as he was, though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehaviour of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called.” Harry scowled as he thought of poor Winky bawling her eyes out in the kitchen.

“Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but — well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left,” Harry distinctly heard Hermione snorted at that statement, “and then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with. Not to mention that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around, no, the poor man is having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I’m just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

Harry wanted very much to ask whether Mr. Crouch had stopped calling Percy “Weatherby” yet, but resisted the temptation. Fred had no such compunction and Percy’s ears turned bright red as he snapped at Fred to shut up. Fred just winked at Harry who was trying to smother his laughter.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up uncertainly and looked around — there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!”

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too. Harry glanced up at Hermione as he ordered his own food to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining, as it likely meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves, but for once, Hermione didn’t seem to be thinking about S.P.E.W.

She was deep in talk with Viktor and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating. He was surprised by how much the pair were talking, considering Viktor had been sitting with them all week and she had barely said three words to him the entire time. Harry figured she must have been deliberately not talking to him so Ron wouldn’t find out he was her date and that made him sad.

“Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable,” he was telling Hermione. “Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these — though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —” Harry thought it sounded fantastic. Flying out over the Hogwarts valley sounded brilliant.

“Now, now, Viktor!” said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn’t reach his cold eyes, “don’t go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Igor, all this secrecy... one would almost think you didn’t want visitors.”

“Well, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, “we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school’s secrets, and right to protect them?”

“Oh, I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ secrets, Igor,” said Dumbledore amicably. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.” Harry snorted into his plate of pork chops. Percy frowned, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore had given him a very small wink. Fred looked intrigued by this room.

Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies. “Zis is nothing,” she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. “At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we ’ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course... zey are like ’uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we ’ave choirs of wood nymphs, ’oo serenade us as we eat. We ’ave none of zis ugly armor in ze ’alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, ’e would be expelled like zat.” She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently. Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harry had the impression that Roger was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying. He shook his head. While he thought Fleur could do with complaining less, he felt a bit sorry for her that her date wasn’t even listening to a word she said. And that she drew attention like Ron asking her out simply because of her aura.

“Absolutely right,” he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. “Like that. Yeah.”

Harry looked around the Hall. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. Harry saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight.

Seeing Percy gearing up to start talking again, Harry quickly asked Cassius and Lexi about other balls they had attended. Apparently, the pureblood families took turns to thrown balls at Yule and New Year. It was an opportunity to show off and to network with other pureblood families. It sounded terribly boring.

After a little while, he was distracted by Hermione teaching Viktor to say her name properly; he kept calling her “Hermy-own.”

“Her-my-oh-nee,” she said slowly and clearly.

“Herm-own-ninny.”

“Close enough,” she said, catching Harry’s eye and grinning.

All in all, it was a pleasant meal. When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up.

“Come on!” Fred said cheerfully. “It’s showtime!”

Harry tripped over his dress robes as he stood up. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, carefully avoiding catching anyone’s eye, though he could see Seamus and Dean waving at him and sniggering out of the corner of his eye, and next moment, Fred had grabbed him. One hand settled on Harry’s waist and the other held his tightly. Harry felt the heat rising in his face.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Harry thought. Fred took the lead and was a much more graceful dancer than Harry would have expected, making it easy to simply follow him. He kept his eyes fixed over the heads of the watching people, and very soon many of them too had come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the centre of attention. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby — he could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet — and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

“Nice socks, Potter,” Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry’s robes. It took a second before he realised why his socks would be worth commenting on.

“Oh, yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me,” said Harry, grinning.

“That’s a bit creepy, looking through kid’s clothes like that,” Fred noted, glaring at Moody through narrowed eyes. Harry looked at him in surprise.

“It was just my socks.”

“That he mentioned. If he’s looking through robes, who knows what else he’s looking at. I don’t like it,” Fred stated stubbornly.

“Maybe he’s just checking to make sure nobody brought anything dangerous.”

“That does sound like something Moody would do,” Fred conceded. “But it’s still inappropriate. There are charms that can do the same thing.”

Just then Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe. He was surprised to note that time had flown by, and he was almost disappointed. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall once more. Fred didn’t immediately let him go and Harry found himself reluctant to pull away from the embrace.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” He suggested somewhat reluctantly. He felt torn. The dance hadn’t been as bad as expected, but he didn’t fancy doing much more in case he messed up.

“Na. This is a really good one!” Fred grinned as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster. Without giving him a chance to reply, Fred grabbed him once more and began spinning him enthusiastically, but carefully, through the crowd. After several moments trying to adjust to the rapid change in pace, Harry found himself having fun.

Glancing around he spotted Ron sitting at a table. He was glaring at Hermione and Viktor, who were dancing nearby. Parvati was sitting with her arms and legs crossed, one foot jiggling in time to the music. Every now and then she threw a disgruntled look at Ron, who was completely ignoring her.

He didn’t have time to see much else as Fred spun him around, making him lose track of everything. As they cut through the crowd, Harry found himself going past Cedric and Cho, who was looking incredibly pretty, and eventually ended up dancing next to Viktor and Hermione. They changed partners and Harry found himself dancing with Viktor, who was much less graceful than Fred, but managed not to stand on his foot and Harry didn’t stand on his.

“I much prefer being on a broom,” Harry said loudly, straining to be heard over the loud music. Viktor grunted and nodded in agreement.

After several more moments, Harry was back dancing with Fred. Soon enough the song ended and another, equally fast-paced one started up. People were barely even dancing anymore, most of them were simply jumping up and down on the spot, waving their arms wildly. Fred did the same, incredibly enthusiastically and people began giving him a wide berth to avoid being hit in the face. It was incredibly entertaining to watch. George and Angelina came over and George joined his twin while Angelina stood next to Harry, Hermione and Viktor who were all simply nodding in time to the music while watching the twins.

By the end of the next song, thankfully a much slower one, Harry was feeling quite warm, and not just from Fred holding him rather closer than seemed necessary for the latest song.

“I vill get drinks,” Viktor offered as they all agreed to take a break. Fred and George went with him to help carry them. Harry, Hermione and Angelina all moved to find a table. Harry led them over to where Ron was sitting, now alone.

“Where’s Parvati?” Harry asked. Ron shrugged but didn’t answer.

“Viktor and the twins have gone to get drinks. Do you want to join us?” Hermione offered tentatively.

Ron gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?” Harry stared at him.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. “What’s up with you?” she said.

“If you don’t know,” said Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

Hermione stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged.

“Ron, what — ?”

“He’s from Durmstrang!” spat Ron. “He’s competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you’re —” Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione’s crime, “fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!” Hermione’s mouth fell open. Harry struggled to keep his from doing the same thing.

“Don’t be so stupid!” she said after a moment. “The enemy! Honestly you were the one who was all excited when you saw him arrive. You were the one who wanted his autograph. And don’t you have a model of him up in your dormitory?”

Ron chose to ignore this. “I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?”

“Yes, he did,” said Hermione, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. “So what?”

“What happened, decided to try and get him to join spew?”

“No, I wasn’t! If you really want to know, he — he said he’d been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage!” Harry smiled at that. He thought it was quite sweet. Hermione was blushing deeply now.

“Yeah, well — that’s his story,” said Ron nastily.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Obvious, isn’t it? He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with... He’s just trying to get closer to Harry — get inside information on him — or get near enough to jinx him —”

“So, that’s why he hangs out with me too, is it? Just to get information out of me about my plans for the tournament?” Harry interrupted, frowning at Ron. Ron stared at him, open-mouthed. “You know he’s been sitting at the Gryffindor table all week, as well as the others. He’s been trying to get to know the Hogwarts Quidditch team. That includes me and Cassius. He hasn’t asked us anything about the tournament, we’ve never discussed it.”

“Yeah, well, even Si..Snuffles warned you against him,” Ron shot back disdainfully. Harry glared at him for the almost slip up. He would not forgive Ron if he gave Sirius away. Thankfully, Ron looked chagrined by his near miss and stopped talking.

“Come on, there’s a free table over there,” Angelina said, sensing the tension and dragging Hermione and Harry away from Ron. Harry spared a look back at his best friend, who was pale and sad looking, sitting by himself. He felt for Ron, he did, but he knew Hermione had done nothing wrong.

The three boys arrived back, each clutching two butterbeers. Fred handed one to Harry with a smile.

“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully.

“How are you enjoying the ball so far?” Fred asked.

“It’s…better than I thought it would be,” he admitted.

“It’s all in the company.”

“Well, that could be better.” Fred pressed his free hand to his chest with a faux wounded expression.

“You hurt me, dearest Harry. Cut me to the core.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m not all that bad, am I?” Harry was about to reply with another teasing comment, but he saw the earnest expression on Fred’s face. He wanted a genuine answer. Surely Fred knew Harry liked his company? Why would he spend so much time with the twins if he didn’t like them?

“Na. You’re pretty great. But I’ll deny it if anyone asks.” Fred smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes which somehow seemed even bluer in the lighting. Blinking, Harry tore his gaze away from the intense gaze and looked out over the dance floor.

Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall; Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. When the next song ended, everybody applauded once more, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman kiss Professor McGonagall’s hand and make his way back through the crowds.

“Excuse us,” Fred said suddenly. He and George stood up and hurried over to Ludo Bagman.

“I wonder what they need to talk to Bagman about?” Angelina frowned.

“No idea,” Harry said, confused. “As far as I know, they only met him at the World Cup. Maybe they are betting on the tournament,” he suggested. But, as they watched, it certainly didn’t seem that way. Bagman looked like he wanted to escape, and the twins looked as serious as Harry had ever seen them. Was Bagman who they kept mysteriously writing to? And why? Clearly Angelina didn’t know either.

Bagman shook off the twins and headed over to where Ron was sitting, surprisingly next to Percy. It wasn’t long before Ron stood up and left the hall. Harry was about to follow him when Fred arrived back and hauled Harry to his feet.

“Come on. This next one should be fun.” Smiling, Harry followed Fred to the dance floor, followed by the other two pairs.

The next song was of middling tempo and, thankfully, fairly simple. Fred easily guided him through the steps and, as the song finished, easily spun Harry away from him, right into the arms of Lexi. Harry blinked in surprise as the older girl laughed at his clear discomfort.

“I don’t bite,” she said with a grin as she reorganised his hands to the appropriate positions. The problem was, he was supposed to lead, and the next song sounded much more complicated than the last one.

“I’m more worried about being hexed for breaking your foot,” he muttered. She laughed brightly at that.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She began steering him, clearly an accomplished enough dancer to take the lead herself, while making it look like Harry was doing so. Harry felt much more awkward dancing with Lexi than he did with anyone else so far. He’d only exchanged a handful of words with her since they’d met after the first task.

“Er, how’s things?” He asked, simply for something to say. She smiled.

“Perfectly well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Er, I’m alright, I guess.”

“How are you doing, with the tournament?”

“A bit better having made it through one task. Worried about what in Merlin’s name they’ll come up with next considering they started with dragons,” he admitted. She nodded, looking mildly concerned herself.

“I know Cassy is concerned. You know he’s a bit worried about you too.”

“Me?” Harry asked in surprise. Lexi nodded.

“Yes. You must understand, we grew up on tales of the Boy-Who-Lived and his life of luxury,” Harry scoffed at this but didn’t interrupt, “you come across as hating everything Slytherin, getting away with breaking dozens of school rules and eschewing all proper wizarding traditions.”

“People didn’t seem to think I hated Slytherin when they were all convinced I was his heir,” Harry replied bitterly. Her mouth thinned at that. As the song died down, she led him to the edge of the dancefloor and to a secluded table.

“Nobody with any common sense thought that. Mostly lower years, or older students who simply didn’t like you,” she said as they sat down. Harry grimaced. “But anyway, when Cassy heard you defend him as the Hogwarts Champion when nobody else really did, he realised what we thought we knew about you must be wrong. At least some of it. Then you apologised for the article and warned him about the dragons. He was intrigued, and so was I. We wanted to know the truth and I know that after training with you for Quidditch, he considers you a friend, almost a younger brother, I suppose. Make no mistake, he wants to win this tournament, and I will be supporting Cassius all the way, but he doesn’t want you to get hurt either.”

Harry stared at her in astonishment. He tried to sort through all of that statement in his head.

“I admit, I was a bit biased against Slytherin when I was introduced to the wizarding world. I mean, I learnt that a Slytherin killed my parents, was told that there wasn’t a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in that house, something I now know to be untrue,” he added quickly, seeing her expression, “and then I met Malfoy. He didn’t make a great first impression. Or second. Or third.” Lexi chuckled at that. “And frankly, I didn’t want to share a house with him for seven years.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally realised bad people come from more than Slytherin.”

“There might even be a couple of half-decent ones,” he grinned. She laughed.

“High praise indeed from the Gryffindor Golden Boy.” His grin turned to a grimace at the title. Then he thought about what she had said about eschewing wizarding traditions. Maybe that was linked to what Sirius had said about ‘light’ families. He wanted to ask about it, but figured here probably wasn’t the best place for that conversation. Something told him it would be a long one.

“Look, I know it’s difficult to hang out. People would talk if a Slytherin and a Gryffindor started hanging out, especially the two champions, but Professor McGonagall said I could use her classroom to train when it’s empty. Maybe you and Cassius could meet me there sometimes and we can…clear up whatever else you got wrong about me?” He offered, before he could truly think about it. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late to take it back. And he trusted Lexi and Cassius. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes. I think that would be a nice idea. Feel free to bring Weasley along if you must. Keep things even and all that. We’ll arrange a time, maybe you and Cassius can decide and discuss it as Quidditch,” she suggested. Harry nodded. “Well, we’d best get back.” Harry glanced up and saw Fred watching him, a look of concern and surprise on his face. Harry nodded and they went back to their respective partners.

“What did she want?” Fred wondered as soon as Harry reached him. Harry drew him onto the dance floor and automatically stood closer to him so he could talk quietly. Fred was momentarily surprised but quickly put his hands around Harry’s waist and Harry explained his conversation with Lexi as briefly as possible.

Fred’s brow furrowed at the news. “Not wanting to make it worse for him when the whole school was against him was one thing. But friends? With Warrington?” He asked incredulously. Harry shrugged.

“He’s been pretty nice to me so far. And he told me about the egg just before we came in here.”

“Alright,” he said after a few moments of consideration. “I know you’ve got good instincts, and if you think you can trust ‘em then you probably can. But I want to go with you. Just to make sure they don’t pull anything.”

“Lexi said you could come. Well, she said ‘Weasley’ but somehow, I don’t think she meant Ron.” Fred rolled his eyes.

“I highly doubt it. You know how he is.”

“Yeah. He got into it with Hermione about Viktor earlier.”

“That’s not about liking or disliking Slytherins. That’s just Ronnie being a jealous git,” Fred snorted.

“What? You think Ron likes Hermione?” Harry asked in surprise. “But…they barely tolerate each other half the time.” He thought back to the previous year where they spent almost half of it not speaking at all and a fair chunk of the rest of the year arguing. Fred chuckled.

“Yes. Ron probably doesn’t even realise it himself yet. He’s always been a bit thick.” Harry stared at him. “But anyway, let’s not talk about my idiotic little brother. I have been quite remiss and have not yet told you how brilliant a dancer you are.” Harry scoffed at the words.

“It’s not me that’s brilliant. I’d be completely lost if you weren’t so good at this.” Fred beamed at his words.

“Why thank you, good sir. You are too kind.”

The song ended and another, very slow, one started up. Harry realised they were already very close, but Fred pulled him even closer. Harry looked up at him. Their faces were inches apart, and most of that was height. He could count the freckles splashed across the bridge of Fred’s nose. Feeling his face heating up, he looked away and ended up with his nose practically touching Fred’s chest. He felt the other boy stand a little straighter and rest his head on top of Harry’s. They were barely even dancing now, just swaying on the spot. Harry felt his heart beating in his chest, much faster than was warranted. His mouth felt dry, but he didn’t want to move to go and get a drink. What was wrong with him?

“Harry! There you..!” Ron’s voice interrupted them, and Harry pulled away from Fred as quickly as he could, cheeks burning. “What are you two doing?”

“Dancing,” Fred replied stiffly, glowering at his brother.

“That didn’t look like dancing.”

“What do you want, Ronald?” Fred asked through gritted teeth.

“I need to talk to Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry said quickly. He shot Fred what he hoped was an apologetic look and practically ran away, with Ron trailing after him. They grabbed two butterbeers and sat at an empty table. “So, what did you need?”

“What’s going on with you and Fred?”

“What? Nothing!” Harry said quickly. Ron looked sceptical. “Surely you didn’t want to ask me that?”

“No.” He paused and then decided to change the topic to why he was there. “Did you know Hagrid’s half giant?” He whispered, looking a bit disturbed. Harry frowned. He hadn’t known that, but why was Ron acting like it was such big news?

“No. So what?” Ron stared at him in astonishment.

“Well, giants, they’re ... they’re ...” Ron struggled for words. “... not very nice,” he finished lamely. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Who cares?” Harry said. “There’s nothing wrong with Hagrid!”

“I know there isn’t, but... blimey, no wonder he keeps it quiet about his mum being a giantess,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I always thought he’d got in the way of a bad Engorgement Charm when he was a kid or something. Didn’t like to mention it...”

“But why does it matter if his mother was a giantess?” wondered Harry.

“Well... no one who knows him will care, ’cos they’ll know he’s not dangerous,” said Ron slowly. “But... Harry, they’re just vicious, giants.” Harry frowned. Hagrid was very far from vicious. Although the same couldn’t be said about some of his pets. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Hagrid for Aragog. “It’s like Hagrid said, it’s in their natures, they’re like trolls... they just like killing, everyone knows that. There aren’t any left in Britain now, though.”

“What happened to them?”

“Well, they were dying out anyway, and then loads got themselves killed by Aurors. There’re supposed to be giants abroad, though... They hide out in mountains mostly... Apparently Maxime is one too.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Harry nodded. “How did you find out, anyway?”

“They were talking about it. In the gardens. I was trying to avoid Snape and I heard them. Maxime tried to pretend she’s just big boned,” Ron snorted. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Big boned? Who does she think she’s kidding? If Hagrid’s half-giant, then she definitely is.” Ron nodded. Harry checked his watch and saw it was half-past eleven. The ball was supposed to end at midnight, so there was only a little bit left. “Look, mate, I’m gonna go and find Fred and the rest before it’s over. Do you wanna come?” Ron wrinkled his nose.

“No thanks. Are you sure nothing’s going on with you and Fred? You looked right cozy earlier?”

“We were talking. Easier not to be overheard,” Harry said quickly. It wasn’t exactly a lie and, honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was. He stood up and left before Ron could say anything else.

He found Fred with Angelina, George, Lee Jordan and his date, Alicia, all standing at the edge of the dance floor talking. As he arrived, Fred smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Harry blinked but didn’t move. They were talking about the twins’ products, and he found himself joining in. The others all were happy for his input into the conversation and actually listened to his ideas, which made a bit of a change. Eventually Fred pulled away from him and Harry immediately felt the loss of warmth more keenly than he expected to.

“How about one last dance before it’s over?” Fred asked. “And then we have a display to put on?”

“We do?”

“Oh, just some fireworks to end the night,” he grinned wickedly. Harry swallowed harshly, and then realised he was obviously talking about literal fireworks. He wondered where he and George had them hidden.

“Yeah. One last dance then,” he agreed. Fred grinned and led him to the dancefloor once more. Hermione and Viktor were still dancing, as were Cassius and Lexi, and Cedric and Cho. As they danced, Harry watched Cho with Cedric. She caught him watching and his stomach clenched when she offered him a small wave. Harry waved back automatically. He looked between Cho and Fred and was hit with a realisation. Thankfully, he didn’t have time to dwell on it before the song finished and it was announced that the night was over.

Before everyone could leave, there was a loud explosion, and the air was suddenly filled with splashes of colour as fireworks exploded everywhere. Several cheers went up. The twins ushered everyone out of the room quickly as Professor McGonagall started heading in their direction. Everyone was laughing as they made their way out to the entrance hall. Harry spotted Hermione saying goodnight to Viktor. Then she swept up the marble staircase, shooting Ron an angry glare. He wondered if she was still upset about earlier or if Ron had said something else to upset her.

He chose not to dwell on that, hurrying over to say goodnight to Viktor himself before the Bulgarian headed out to his ship. Then he caught Cassius and Lexi before they headed down to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room. Once their goodnights were done, Harry found George, Angelina, Lee and Alicia waiting for him and Fred at the foot of the marble staircase. Together they headed up to Gryffindor tower.

The Fat Lady and her friend Vi were snoozing in the picture over the portrait hole. They had to yell “Fairy lights!” several times before they woke them up, and when they did, the duo were extremely irritated. Harry climbed into the common room in front of Fred and found Ron and Hermione having a blazing row. Standing ten feet apart, they were bellowing at each other, each scarlet in the face. Everyone else was standing, staring at the pair.

“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 —”

Harry didn’t say anything. He liked being back on speaking terms with Ron too much to speak his mind right now — but he somehow thought that Hermione had gotten the point much better than Ron had. Once again, the twins had no such compunction.

“Ron, you’re an idiot,” George told him. Ron spluttered. “You’re jealous and it’s not her fault you didn’t realise she was a girl until a couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s not…of course I knew she was a girl…”

“Really? I seem to recall the moment where you had such a revelation,” Fred snorted. Ron glared at his brother and then turned to Harry once more who could only shrug helplessly. Ron stormed up the boys’ staircase.

“Well, that was entertaining,” George said, rolling his eyes. He turned to say goodnight to Angelina while Fred looked at Harry. Which immediately reminded him of his earlier revelation.

“I had a great time tonight. Thanks,” Fred said quietly, smiling. Harry fought to keep his voice even.

“Me too. Er, thanks for asking me. Night.” With that, he fled up the staircase. Ron had thankfully already drawn the hangings around his bed. Harry drew his own curtains and hurriedly changed into his pyjamas. Then he flung himself onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was in so much trouble. How on earth had he gone and gotten himself a giant crush on Fred?

Chapter Text

Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione’s hair was bushy again. She confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion on it for the ball, but that it took far too long and was too much effort to do on a daily basis.

Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. In fact, Ron wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation he had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn’t seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did.

“Well, I thought he must be,” she said, shrugging. “I knew he couldn’t be pure giant because they’re about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can’t all be horrible... It’s the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves... It’s just bigotry, isn’t it?”

Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn’t want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn’t looking. Harry remained silent too, because he was once again on Hermione’s side.

Her comment about werewolves made him think of Remus, and that sent a pang through him that the man hadn’t contacted him at all since he’d left Hogwarts. Harry had hoped to get to know his father’s old friend better. Not that he’d been exactly forthcoming during the school year they had been in the same castle, but given what he’d believed about Sirius, and with him escaping, Harry could sort of understand why Remus hadn’t wanted to dwell on the topic of his old friends. But now…he’d debated sending Hedwig with a letter but if Remus didn’t want to bother with him, he didn’t want to bother the man with foolish letters. Sirius, despite being on the run, had given him permission to go to Hogsmeade, written to him several times, sent him presents and tried to offer advice. Harry had sometimes wondered if Sirius did it simply due to the obligation of being his dad’s best friend, but Remus seemed to have no such feeling, and the two men had made it sound like the four had all been thick as thieves.

It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over — everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting to feel slightly nervous once more. The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas. Thankfully, he had Cassius’ advice to get him started.

He started with looking up underwater creatures and their languages. The most likely option seemed to be merpeople. He would have asked the twins if there were any in the Black Lake, but he was currently set on avoiding Fred.

Since his revelation at the ball, Harry had no idea how to act around the older boy. He felt like his feelings would be obvious, written all over his face, let alone what would happen the second he opened his mouth, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d look a right idiot if he just blurted out that he had a crush on him. The twins were hugely popular, and Fred could have his pick of anyone in Gryffindor, probably all the other houses too, why on earth would he look twice as his younger brother’s best friend, just because he’d done him a favour and accompanied him to the ball so he wouldn’t look like an idiot with no partner? It was a night Harry would treasure the memory of, but it had been clear they had gone as friends. Nothing more.

But then Harry thought on some of Fred’s behaviours, like how it had seemed really important to him that Harry enjoyed his company. And a couple of times there had been a look on Fred’s face, not to mention the moment just before Ron had interrupted them on the dance floor. But it was hard to tell. Even after all this time he barely understood why Ron and Hermione liked him, let alone the cool, handsome, intelligent and popular Fred. Having seen how much work went into their inventions, Harry frequently felt completely stupid in their presence. He knew ignoring the twins was not a long-term solution, but hopefully it would give him time to get himself under control, for the novelty of such a revelation to pass by and then he wouldn’t say or do anything stupid.

“Hermione,” Harry asked as they were doing homework by the fire one evening. “Does Hogwarts A History talk about any creatures that live in the lake?” She looked up at him in surprise, then she frowned thoughtfully.

“Yes. There are definitely some Grindylows in there. The giant squid obviously. I believe there is also a colony of merpeople.” Harry grimaced.

“I think the next task has to do with the merpeople.” Now Ron was staring at him as well.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Well, Cassius told me to listen to the egg underwater. I looked up underwater creatures and their languages. Apparently, Mermish sounds like screeching above water, exactly like the egg. And if the clue is in Mermish, then you can bet the task is going to have something to do with the merpeople.”

“But the task is set in February!” Hermione exclaimed. “They can’t expect you to go into the lake in February, can they?”

“They expected us to get past mother dragons in the first one,” Harry reminded her dryly. She winced.

“Good point. You’d better learn some warming charms, or you’ll freeze.”

“Also, the small matter of being able to breathe,” he reminded her. There was also the issue of him not being able to swim, but he didn’t much fancy bringing that up now.

“Well, if we look up the charms you’ll need, then you can use them to listen to the egg in the lake. That way you can test they actually work and find out exactly what you’ll have to do at the same time,” she suggested.

“But shouldn’t he listen to the egg first, just in case?” Ron put in. “Just because the clue might be in Mermish doesn’t automatically mean he has to go into the lake. And if he waits until he’s learnt all the spells it might be too late to prepare properly.”

“That’s a good point,” Harry agreed. But where to listen to the egg? The dormitory bathrooms only had showers and he didn’t think that would work. Then he had an idea. He glanced around and saw the common room was still packed. “Hang on, I’ll ask Dobby. He works here, maybe he’ll know of a place.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea. He might know somewhere, but it also might kill you,” Ron grimaced.

“It’s Hogwarts. It can’t be that bad,” Harry tried to reassure himself. It didn’t particularly work as he thought on the Chamber of Secrets and all the other dangers that had befallen him in the castle. “Still, I can ask. I don’t have to go where he suggests. I’m going to go up to the dorm though. It’s a bit crowded down here.”

“Why don’t we go down to the kitchens,” Ron suggested eagerly.

“You just want more food. Honestly Ron, we’ve only just had dinner,” Hermione said disapprovingly.

“I’m a growing boy,” Ron told her, patting his stomach. It was still early enough so they decided to head down now. As they packed their things away, Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm and said to her quietly,

“Do you want to go to the library and get a head start on the spells I might need? Viktor might be there?” Hermione turned slightly pink but gave him a grateful smile.

“Would you mind?”

“No. Just, don’t tell Ron if you do see him there.” She nodded. Then announced in a louder voice that she was going to go to the library and look at spells while they went to the kitchens, using the pretence that the house-elves didn’t seem to like her much, which wasn’t really a pretence in Harry’s mind, but it worked. Ron just rolled his eyes and muttered about how they would like her if she didn’t keep trying to set them free when they didn’t want to.

Harry and Ron went down to the kitchens together. It was a rare thing to just spend time with Ron these days. The chatted about Quidditch and the possibilities for the upcoming task and Harry was, not for the first time, pleased to have his friend back.

Dobby was thrilled to see him so soon after Christmas. The other house-elves were more than happy to provide them with plenty of snacks while they talked. Harry sipped on a delicious hot chocolate with tons of tiny marshmallows while Ron snagged several biscuits, putting plenty in his pockets for later.

“Dobby is knowing of a room called the Come and Go Room,” Dobby told them once he got over his excitement that the Great Harry Potter was asking for his help.

“The Come and Go Room?” Harry asked. He’d never heard of it.

“Oh, yes, Sir. Dobby is using it to be helping Winky, Sir,” Dobby added in a quiet voice, glancing over at his friend, who was in a similar position to the last time they had visited. This time she was sleeping, but she still wore the same clothes, they just had more stains on now.

“And this room will have a pool in? Or a bath, or something?” Harry asked. Dobby nodded eagerly, ears flapping violently.

“The room has anything you could be needing, Harry Potter Sir.”

“And, where do I find this room?”

“Dobby can be showing you?” The elf offered.

“That would be great. Thanks, Dobby,” Harry smiled gratefully. If this room truly had what he needed, he would really owe the elf.

“Now, sir?”

“Er,” Harry blinked in surprise, “sure, why not?” Dobby beamed. Then he grabbed Ron and Harry’s hands and one sickening sensation of being squeezed through a too-tight tube later, Harry found himself in a completely different place. “Urgh! What was that?” He asked, trying not to be sick.

“Dobby is sorry, sir!” Dobby shrieked. Harry reacted instinctively to stop the elf hitting his head against a nearby wall.

“I’m alright, just surprised.”

“That was apparition,” Ron told him. “Like how Percy, Bill and Charlie got to the World Cup.”

“It’s awful,” Harry grumbled.

“Useful though,” Ron laughed. “We can get a license once we’re seventeen.”

“I prefer my broom. Floo powder, portkeys, apparition, that damn Knight Bus, I swear all wizarding methods of transport are designed to make you ill,” Harry complained. Ron laughed harder.

“You know brooms are a wizard method of travel too,” he pointed out through his laughter. Harry glared.

“It doesn’t count.”

When he had recovered, Dobby showed them how to get into the Come and Go Room. Harry felt a bit stupid walking past the same stretch of wall three times while thinking about a bath. But on the third pass the stone wall seemed to melt and a door appeared.

“Wicked,” Ron exclaimed. Harry reached out a pushed the door open. Inside was a large room with the biggest bath Harry had even seen. Honestly, it would really be called a swimming pool. Hundreds of taps sat at one end, and he wondered what on earth they were all for.

“Well, this will work perfectly. Thanks Dobby.”

“Mr Harry Potter Sir is welcome. Dobby is pleased to be able to help.” Dobby then left to go back to the kitchens. Harry and Ron headed back to Gryffindor tower. Harry didn’t have the egg with him or anything to swim in. Luckily, the bath was big enough he could at least practise swimming laps in it. Although swimming underwater would be an entirely different matter.

Hermione wasn’t there when they got back, so decided to wait and see if she’d found any spells to help him breathe underwater before going back to the Come and Go Room.

She came back about an hour later, cheeks pink and looking pleased. Thankfully, Ron didn’t seem to notice, or, if he did, he wisely didn’t comment. She sat down next to Harry by the fire and produced a large book which she placed in his lap.

“I found something called a Bubble-Head Charm which produced a bubble of air around your head, but the length of time it lasts depends on how well cast it is. So, if you cast it incorrectly it might only last seconds. Perfectly done it lasts an hour,” she told him. “Other than that, I can’t find a single spell.” Harry flipped through the book to the page containing the charm.

“Thanks Hermione. Dobby showed me somewhere I can use, and I can also use it to practise the charm and find out how long I can make it last,” he said. She nodded.

As it was now past seven in the evening, he decided to put off the trip to the Come and Go Room, promising himself he would go the next day.

He didn’t. He got distracted with yet more homework and then there was a Quidditch practise in the evening that drove everything else out of his mind.

At the end of practise, Harry spoke to Cassius and arranged to meet up in McGonagall’s classroom on the Sunday of the next Hogsmeade Weekend at midday. That should give them some privacy. Then they all enjoyed a warm shower to help them unthaw. Then Harry was forced to walk back to the tower, accompanied by the twins who he’d been unable to shake. And Angelina, who was occupying George, leaving Fred’s full attention on Harry.

“We’re in good shape, huh?” Fred said as they climbed the marble staircase.

“Definitely,” Harry replied, a little too quickly, desperately trying not to stare at Fred. He’d never really thought about how attractive people were before. Sure he’d noticed when a girl was pretty, like Cho, and he’d had passing thoughts about how good looking Cedric was, but he’d never thought much more deeply than that. But throughout the Quidditch practise, he’d found himself distracted by Fred’s form as he smacked the bludgers, not to mention he’d gotten more than a little flustered when he’d caught a glimpse of Fred’s ass as they undressed to get into the showers.

“Should beat Beauxbatons, but we’ll have a better idea after we see them play Durmstrang,” he added trying to distract himself.

“So, I, er,” Fred coughed and ran a hand through his still damp hair making it stick up at odd angles. Harry fought the urge to reach out and smooth the hairs down. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and frowned. Fred looked nervous. “I was wondering, there’s a Hogsmeade weekend in a couple of weeks. Would you…uh, wanna go with me?” Harry blinked. He was struggling to process exactly what Fred meant. He must have paused a fraction to long because Fred was suddenly talking again, looking crestfallen. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m sure you’ve already got plans.”

“I don’t,” Harry found himself shouting, before he could think about it. Fred looked surprised at the sudden volume. George and Angelina also paused to look back at the pair. Harry felt like his face was on fire. “I mean, I don’t have any plans already,” he corrected in a quieter voice. The corners of Fred’s mouth lifted slightly as he began to smile.

“So, you’ll go with me? On a date?” Harry couldn’t have stopped the grin breaking out on his face even if he’d wanted to. Fred Weasley was asking him, Harry Potter, on a date. An actual date. He felt giddy.

“Yeah. I’d love to,” he replied honestly. Fred whooped, even more loudly than Harry’s outburst had been. Then he grabbed Harry and picked him up, spinning him round and laughing. Harry couldn’t help laughing himself.

“Finally asked him then?” George’s voice broke the moment. He sounded amused.

“Course I did,” Fred stated.

“I dunno, I thought you’d never get round to it after you chickened out with the ball.”

“What?” Harry frowned. Fred glowered at his twin.

“Freddie here wanted the Yule Ball to be a date,” George told Harry with a smirk in his twin’s direction.

“Is that true?” Harry turned to Fred, not quite trusting the expression on George’s face. Fred nodded mutely, his eyes promising retribution on his twin.

“Yeah. Anyway, Georgie, shouldn’t you be off with your own date?” George grinned but did head off ahead of them with Angelina. Once they were out of hearing range, Fred turned back to Harry. “I’d been trying to ask you out since the start of term,” he admitted. “When you didn’t have a date to the ball, it seemed like the right moment and then you seemed to get a bit freaked out about two guys, so I left it as just going as friends. But, at the ball, I dunno, you seemed comfortable. Thought I’d give it a try. Knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised. “Why would you regret it?” Fred looked at him.

“Because, Potter, you’re hot, smart, funny. It wouldn’t be long before someone snapped you up. Then I’d have to hex them.” Harry wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. He highly suspected not, but didn’t want to ask.

“I’m not smart. Definitely not compared to you guys. You and George are absolutely incredible. The stuff you come up with and actually make work…” Harry trailed off, still awed. Fred grinned at the compliment.

“Don’t put yourself down so much. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. I’ve seen it when you help us with our stuff. Maybe you’re not as smart at the specific things school teaches us, that doesn’t make you stupid. Look at me and George. Three OWLs each. To most people, that makes us stupid, but you said yourself how awesome, handsome and amazing we are.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that,” Harry pointed out with a laugh. “Just that you’re incredibly smart.”

“Ah well, it’s what I heard,” Fred smirked.

When they arrived back at the common room, Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting in the comfy chairs by the fire. He took a seat next to Hermione and Fred sprawled out on the floor by his feet, resting his head on Harry’s knees.

“How was practice?” Ron asked, eyeing his brother weirdly.

“It was good. Hopefully it’ll be a Hogwarts vs Durmstrang final,” Harry said, still smiling widely.

“You’ll get Krum next time,” Fred stated with certainty. “You almost had him in that game.”

“Viktor is a professional player and Harry is only fourteen,” Hermione pointed out absently, ignoring Ron’s scowl at her use of Krum’s first name.

“Yeah, but our Harry is still the best,” shrugged Fred. Harry blushed. Without thinking, he began threading his fingers through Fred’s hair as it rested in his lap. The ginger strands were thick but silky.

“What are you doing?” Ron demanded, spotting the movement. “And why are you grinning like that?” Hermione looked up from her book at that, glancing between Harry and Fred. She smiled instantly.

“Honestly, Ron,” she said, rolling her eyes. Ron frowned at her and then back at Harry.

“Fred asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him and I said yes,” Harry told him. Ron looked momentarily confused.

“But we always go to Hogsmeade together.” He elected to ignore the Hogsmeade visit during the period in which he hadn’t been talking to Harry.

“Ronald. They are going on a date,” Hermione told him in exasperation. Ron blinked.

“What? But…” he looked at Harry, “you said there wasn’t anything going on.”

“There wasn’t. At the time,” Harry shrugged. “I didn’t think…” he glanced at Fred and stopped.

“You and my brother?” Ron grimaced. “But Ginny…you didn’t tell me you liked blokes,” he looked at Harry, hurt shining in his eyes. Harry shrugged once more. He felt Fred wince slightly at the mention of his sister.

“Didn’t know I did. Didn’t know it was an option ‘till a few weeks ago remember. Besides, I dunno, I guess I like both?” He said, more as a question than a statement. He wasn’t really sure. He still thought Cho was very pretty, but Fred was…Fred.

“Don’t tell Ginny about this, Ron,” Fred said in a low voice. “Let me handle it.” Ron looked confused but shrugged and agreed.

“Why is telling Ginny such a big deal?” Harry wondered. All three of them turned to stare at him. He blinked.

“You don’t know?” Hermione asked, in a tone that suggested it should be obvious.

“She’s had a crush on you for years,” Ron told him. Harry stared at him in surprise. Of course he’d known that Ginny was seriously shy around him and barely spoke in his presence, but he’d put that down to his weird celebrity status. He’d heard Petunia gushing about hot celebrities before and, as much as he hated his fame, he knew it was a thing. He’d never really thought about people having crushes on ‘celebrity him’ until Ginny. It was the only thing he could think of to explain her behaviour around him throughout the summer before second year, and then having saved her life at the end of the year hadn’t really helped.

“But that’s just…because I’m famous. Right?” Hermione sighed.

“Maybe at first,” she allowed, “but now she’s gotten to know you I think it’s an actual crush now.” Harry winced.

“I didn’t know.”

“Anyway. Like I said, I’ll speak to Ginny,” Fred cut in, looking uncomfortable. With that, the matter was closed.

The first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but feeling lighter than ever.

Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn’t see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking particularly forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather. Though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm them up nicely, either by chasing them, or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid’s cabin would catch fire.

When they arrived at Hagrid’s cabin, however, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped grey hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

“Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago,” she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow. Harry was tempted to point out that the snow wasn’t exactly good for moving quickly but a more burning point was at the forefront of his mind.

“Who’re you?” asked Ron before Harry could. “Where’s Hagrid?”

“My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,” she said briskly. “I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.”

“Where’s Hagrid?” Harry repeated loudly.

“He is indisposed,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly. Harry frowned.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry’s ears. He turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank. Harry wondered what Malfoy could possibly have done now to make Hagrid not show up for a lesson. Even after the Buckbeak incident, he kept teaching.

“This way, please,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid’s cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?

“What’s wrong with Hagrid?” Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.

“Never you mind,” she said as though she thought he was being nosy.

“I do mind, though,” said Harry hotly. “What’s up with him?” Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn’t hear him which greatly irritated him. She led them past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered. Many of the girls “ooooohed!” at the sight of the unicorn.

Harry blinked; suddenly hit with a vision of the last time he’d seen a unicorn. Lying dead on the forest floor. He cringed. They truly were beautiful creatures, but he couldn’t help his feeling an unease at seeing them.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” whispered Lavender Brown. “How did she get it? They’re supposed to be really hard to catch!” Harry twitched. Really hard, unless you were Voldemort. Morbidly he wondered if it was easier to kill one rather than catch them for a lesson like this.

The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look grey. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

“Boys keep back!” barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. “They prefer the woman’s touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it...”

She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot, Harry turned to Ron.

“What d’you reckon’s wrong with him? You don’t think a skrewt — ?” He hardly thought the skrewts would be a danger to Hagrid. He’d dealt with far worse after all, but he couldn’t think what else would be able to hurt Hagrid.

“Oh he hasn’t been attacked, Potter, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Malfoy softly. “No, he’s just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Harry sharply.

Malfoy put his hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded page of the Daily Prophet. “There you go,” he said. “Hate to break it to you, Potter...”

He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty. Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw the author.

The article, written by Rita Skeeter, was about as awful as Harry had come to expect from the foul woman.

Harry finished reading and looked up at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open. “How did she find out?” he whispered.

But that wasn’t what was bothering Harry. “What d’you mean, ‘we all hate Hagrid’?” Harry spat at Malfoy. “What’s this rubbish about him” — he pointed at Crabbe and scoffed — “getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven’t even got teeth!” Surely people wouldn’t believe this rubbish? Then he thought about what people had believed Lockhart was capable of.

Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.

“Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf’s teaching career,” said Malfoy, his eyes glinting. “Half-giant... and there was me thinking he’d just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young... None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all... They’ll be worried he’ll eat their kids, ha, ha...”

“You —” Harry was ready to hex Malfoy but he was interrupted.

“Are you paying attention over there?”

Professor Grubbly-Plank’s voice carried over to the boys; the girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. Harry was so angry that the Daily Prophet article shook in his hands as he turned to stare unseeingly at the unicorn, whose many magical properties Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too.

“I hope she stays, that woman!” said Parvati Patil when the lesson had ended, and they were all heading back to the castle for lunch.

“That’s more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like... proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters...”

“What about Hagrid?” Harry said angrily as they went up the steps.

“What about him?” asked Parvati with a frown. “He can still be gamekeeper, can’t he? I want to learn about creatures, but you can’t tell me those horrible skrewts will be in our OWL exams?” Harry grimaced, hating that she had a fair point.

“That was a really good lesson,” said Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. “I didn’t know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni —”

“Look at this!” Harry snarled, and he shoved the Daily Prophet article under Hermione’s nose. Hermione’s mouth fell open as she read. Her reaction was exactly the same as Ron’s.

“How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don’t think Hagrid told her?”

“No,” said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. “He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn’t do the interview after I interrupted that she went digging for dirt on him.”

“Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball,” said Hermione quietly.

“I’d have seen her in the garden!” said Ron. “Anyway, she’s not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her...”

“That hasn’t exactly stopped her. Maybe she’s got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. “Sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it, hide in bushes listening to people.”

“Like Ron did, you mean,” said Hermione.

“I wasn’t trying to hear him!” said Ron indignantly. “I didn’t have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!”

“We’ve got to go and see him,” said Harry. “This evening, after class. Tell him we want him back... you do want him back?” he shot at Hermione who was looking unconvinced.

“I — well, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once — but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!” Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry’s furious stare. He sighed. Hermione wasn’t strictly wrong. It was clear Hagrid wasn’t cut out for teaching. He was incredibly knowledgeable about magical creatures, there was no denying that, but the Skrewts were a bit much.

However, Hagrid did not deserve to be driven into hiding because of scum like Skeeter. And it wasn’t right that he could only be the gamekeeper because he hadn’t finished Hogwarts and gotten his OWLs. He had been framed by Riddle, an injustice that had never been set right, even after what had happened in Harry’s second year. Hagrid had been released and cleared of involvement, but as far as Harry knew, hadn’t been allowed to have a wand again. So, he would always defend Hagrid because he was not only the first person to introduce Harry to the magical world, the first person he could remember being actually nice to him, but also, he just deserved it. He deserved someone in his corner, other than Dumbledore.

So that evening after dinner, the three of them left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid’s cabin. They knocked, and Fang’s booming barks answered.

“Hagrid, it’s us!” Harry shouted, pounding on the door. “Open up!

Hagrid didn’t answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn’t open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.

“What’s he avoiding us for?” Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. “He surely doesn’t think we’d care about him being half-giant?”

But it seemed that Hagrid did care. They didn’t see a sign of him all week. He didn’t appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn’t see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity.

“Missing your half-breed pal?” he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry’s retaliation. “Missing the elephant-man?”

In retaliation, Harry had used some of his Christmas present from the twins and in a stroke of genius, also given to him by Fred, had a house-elf put them into Malfoy’s food at dinner one evening. Once he told the house-elf, he didn’t use Dobby just in case, that Malfoy had been insulting members of staff and that the sweet wouldn’t do any serious harm to him, Blinky was happy to help.

It worked almost instantaneously and as soon as he’d taken a bite out of his shepherd’s pie, Malfoy began throwing up all over the Slytherin table. All of the other Slytherins immediately moved away from him, and several put up shield charms. The Gryffindors all burst out laughing, Harry amongst them. Snape swept down from the staff table and escorted the still vomiting Malfoy from the Great Hall, a disgusted look on his face, which was an added bonus in Harry’s book.

Malfoy had also been terribly late to Potions, the morning that Harry had had Blinky swap his soap with the frogspawn kind. Naturally Snape didn’t punish him, but the dishevelled state of Malfoy, and the disgusted expression on his face made up for it.

The Hogsmeade weekend approached, and Harry grew nervous. It was his first date. His first date with Fred, and he didn’t know what to expect. Hermione was going with Viktor which had left Ron in a foul mood for the entire week leading up to the weekend after she told him. Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes. He wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the model was in more pieces following this revelation.

On Saturday morning, Harry got dressed and went down to the common room. Fred was already waiting, wearing an eclectic mix of colours as was usual.

“Hey, Harry,” Fred smiled. “Looking good.” Harry felt his cheeks warm, and he smiled back.

“You’re looking…interesting.”

“A good kind of interesting?”

“Of course.” Fred’s smile widened.

“George already left with Angie, so it’s just us.”

“Oh. Great.” He hadn’t expected that, and the thought of being alone with Fred made his stomach flutter with uncertainty and anticipation. “Ready to go then?” Fred nodded and they set off out of the castle.

They kept up a casual conversation for most of the walk. One thing Harry appreciated most about Fred was that he could carry a conversation practically by himself, but it never felt forced or awkward. They talked Quidditch and pranks, revenge on Malfoy and briefly, the upcoming task. Harry hadn’t gotten around to taking a bath yet and Fred offered to teach him to swim. The cold seemed to vanish as Harry pictured Fred in swimming shorts in the giant bathtub in the Room of Requirement.

Hogsmeade was fairly busy, but Harry made sure to keep an eye out for Hagrid. He didn’t have high hopes, considering it seemed his friend hadn’t left his hut in weeks, but it was worth a check.

“Where would you like to go?” Fred asked. “Anywhere specific?” Harry shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I don’t need anything specific. You want to visit Zonko’s?”

“Always good to scout out the competition,” Fred grinned. They headed in direction of the joke shop. As they made their way through the crowd, Harry felt Fred grab his hand and pull him slightly closer. The shop was packed. Harry was happy to let Fred pull him around, pointing out different items and telling him about various pranks he and George had done with them. At one point he spotted George and Angelina on the other side of the store laughing at something. Harry ended up purchasing some more frogspawn soap, along with a few other bits for continued revenge on Malfoy. Fred had a bagful of items which he shrunk and put into a pocket.

“Well, it’s your turn to pick where we go,” Fred told him as they walked back outside into the cold. He threaded his fingers through Harry’s and Harry smiled widely.

Harry remembered he needed a new pair of gloves for Quidditch, so they stopped by the Quidditch store. Fred looked at the different Beater bats while Harry found a suitable pair. He also found some goggles that would fit over his glasses, so he didn’t need to keep casting impervious charms on them. He made a note of the bat Fred spent the longest looking at. Fred’s birthday wasn’t until April, but it never hurt to be prepared.

After that they stopped by J.Pippins Potions and The Magic Neep for some ingredients for the twins’ potions. Once they emerged, Fred let Harry pick their next stop. They’d been walking around for over an hour, and he was getting hungry.

“Uh, how about a Butterbeer and some food?” He suggested. Fred nodded, smiling. They made their way to the Three Broomsticks, Harry still keeping an eye out for Hagrid.

The pub was bustling as ever, and it only took a quick glance to establish his friend wasn’t present. Sighing with disappointment, he made his way to the bar with Fred.

“Two butterbeers please.” Fred ordered as Madam Rosmerta came over. He paid and, as they turned to find a table, Fred spotted Ludo Bagman who was talking to some goblins who had their arms crossed and were looking unhappy. Harry thought it was odd that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared.

“Sorry, Harry, would you mind if I went and had a word with Bagman?”

“Er, sure. Why?”

“Just some business.”

“Alright. I’ll find us a table.” Fred left and Harry made his way through the crowd, trying to find a spare table. Eventually he sat down and tried to catch a glimpse of Fred and Bagman through the crowd. Neither of them was still by the goblins and eventually Fred sat down opposite him with a grumpy expression.

“So, why do you and George keep trying to talk to Bagman?” Harry wondered. Fred looked away. “Have you been betting on the tournament or something?”

“No.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s about our bet on the World Cup. He paid us our winnings in Leprechaun gold.”

“He what?”

“Yeah. At first, we thought it was a mistake, so we just wrote to him. We didn’t get any reply and he keeps blowing us off when we try to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, Fred. That’s awful. Do you want me to try and talk to him? I’m pretty sure he’ll talk to me.” Fred smiled slightly at that.

“Thanks, Harry, but it’s fine. George and I should deal with this.” Harry nodded, though he made a mental note to mention it if Bagman did try to talk to him again like he had before the first task. Then they turned to more pleasant conversation.

George, Angelina, Hermione and Viktor all joined them after a while, and it was great fun. They ordered food which was shared amongst the table so Viktor could try some of everything. Viktor made a great effort with his pronunciation and could almost get Hermione’s name correct now.

Ron made no appearance and Harry worried a little for his friend. With both him and Hermione in relationships his friend was being left out. Mostly because he refused to hang out with them if Viktor was there, but he also had no desire to be around the couples when he was single. Harry would have to make sure to spend more time with his friend, just the two of them. He really didn’t want a repeat of earlier in the year.

Fred was in the middle of a particularly funny tale of pranking the Slytherin Quidditch team when Harry heard a most unwelcome voice.

“... 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?” said Harry loudly. Fred stopped talking and they all looked at Harry, before glancing over at Skeeter.

A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jewelled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.

“Harry!” she said, beaming. “How lovely! Why don’t you come and join — ?”

“I wouldn’t come near you with a ten-foot broomstick,” said Harry furiously. “What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?”

Rita Skeeter raised her heavily pencilled eyebrows. “Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. 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?” Fred flicked his wand and the quill burst into flames. Skeeter dropped it immediately and opened her mouth, looking furious when she was interrupted.

Hermione 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. Harry wondered what she meant.

“Harry, let’s go,” Hermione said firmly. Harry frowned, glancing at Fred who smiled tightly and nodded.

“Go. Let’s not get in the way of a furious Granger,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll bring your stuff back to the castle.” Harry smiled gratefully. Skeeter’s eyes flicked between the pair, eyes widening in a way that made him distinctly nervous. Harry followed Hermione towards the exit when he spotted her withdrawing another quill that Fred also set on fire.

“Hermione, you know she’s going to target you next,” Harry told her as they hurried down 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 you, then Hagrid...”

“Yeah. It’s terrible. Although, she might go after Fred if he keeps setting her quills on fire,” Harry mused worriedly. He didn’t want Fred’s name being dragged through the mud Skeeter style.

“Well, I’m not letting Hagrid hide anymore,” she fumed. The last time Harry had seen her this angry she had punched Malfoy. He was almost sad she hadn’t punched Skeeter. “He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!” It was all Harry could do to keep up with her furious strides despite the fact he was normally the fastest.

As they approached Hagrid’s hut, they saw the curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.

“Hagrid!” Hermione 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 ti —!” and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, Professor with  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. Harry fought his smother his laughter, he still wasn’t overly happy with the headmaster.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“Oh... um... okay,” said Hermione.

She and Harry 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. Instead of trying to comb it into submission, 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 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 and Harry 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!” Harry said, staring at Hagrid. “And Ron does too. You don’t think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor,” 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,” said Harry 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 —”

“Not all of ’em,” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Not all of ’em wan’ me ter stay.”

“Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I’m afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time,” said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. Harry had to agree with that. Snobs like Draco and his little gang would never like Hagrid, and neither would their parents. “Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven’t had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?”

“Yeh — yeh’re not half-giant!” said Hagrid croakily.

“Hagrid, look what I’ve got for relatives!” Harry said furiously. “Look at the Dursleys!”

“An excellent point,” said Professor Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Did Dumbledore know about the Dursleys? “My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery...” Harry blinked, surprised at the news Dumbledore had a brother. He also wondered what counted as ‘inappropriate charms on a goat’.

“Come back and teach, Hagrid,” said Hermione quietly, “please come back, we really miss you.” Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.

Dumbledore stood up. “I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday,” he said. “You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.” Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang’s ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, “Great man, Dumbledore... great man...”

Harry remained silent at this. He agreed to some extent, but that didn’t mean he was quite an enamoured as he had once been.

“Ar, he’s righ’, o’ course — yeh’re all righ’... I bin stupid…  my ol’ dad woulda bin ashamed o’ the way I’ve bin behavin’...” More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, “Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here...”

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid’s crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid’s shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

“Tha’ was taken jus’ after I got inter Hogwarts,” Hagrid croaked. “Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh’ not be a wizard, see, ’cos me mum... well, anyway. ’Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year... Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does.”

Harry had to wonder at that. Hagrid had been expelled in his third year. How had Dumbledore managed to get him a job at thirteen years old? Had Hagrid just lived alone in his hut ever since then, watching his year mates and school friends grow up and graduate while he couldn’t do the same? Watched Voldemort graduate and continue to use magic while he was forced to take the blame and give that up?

He was jolted out of his thoughts as he realised Hagrid had continued talking. “There’s some who’d always hold it against yeh,” he was saying as Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts, “there’s some who’d even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an’ say — I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.’ An’ he was right. I’ve bin an idiot. I’m not botherin’ with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I’ll give her big bones.”

Harry and Hermione looked at one another nervously; Harry would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that Ron had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime. Thankfully Hagrid continued talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.

“Yeh know wha’, Harry?” he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, “when I firs’ met you, you reminded me o’ me a bit. Mum an’ Dad gone, an’ you was feelin’ like yeh wouldn’ fit in at Hogwarts, remember?” Harry wasn’t quite sure he saw the resemblance as clearly as Hagrid did. Yes, they were both uncertain of their place at Hogwarts, but at least Hagrid had been raised by his dad, who, judging by the photo, had loved Hagrid a lot. He’d had a family who loved him regardless of his differences, who told him to never be ashamed of himself. Quite the opposite of the Dursleys, who thought he absolutely should be ashamed of himself and his differences.

“Not sure yeh were really up to it... an’ now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!” Harry hardly saw this as an achievement the way Hagrid seemed to think it was.

He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, “Yeh know what I’d love, Harry? I’d love yeh ter win, I really would. It’d show ’em all... yeh don’ have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don’ have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It’d show ’em Dumbledore’s the one who’s got it righ’, lettin’ anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin’ with that egg, Harry?”

“Great,” said Harry. “Really great.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Hagrid anything else.

Hagrid’s miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile. “Tha’s my boy... you show ’em, Harry, you show ’em. Beat ’em all.”

Harry met up with Fred back in the common room and they had finish at Hagrid’s.

“I’m sorry we left like that. But, on the plus side, we finally convinced Hagrid not everyone hates him and to come back to work,” Harry explained as they sat by the fire in the comfy chairs. Hermione was in the library with Viktor, who had come to check on her. Ron was studiously avoiding them and was nowhere to be seen.

“That’s good,” Fred smiled. Harry ran his fingers through his hair. Despite the free seats, Fred had chosen to sit between Harry’s knees once more, which was fast becoming his usual spot.

“Still, not how I pictured our first date ending.”

“How exactly did you picture it?” Fred asked, craning his neck to stare at Harry who flushed.

“I…uh, I don’t know. Not with me running out after a furious Hermione though.”

“Fair enough,” chuckled Fred.

“Hey, are you still up for teaching me to swim?”

“Of course.”

“I was thinking after we meet Cassius and Lexi tomorrow. I really should get started so I can plan.”

“You mean let me and George come up with the plan that Hermione checks?” Harry grinned.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

They stayed by the fire until nearly midnight before Harry yawned so many times that Fred told him to get some beauty sleep as they had a big day the following day. Harry laughed and agreed. They both stood up and as Harry made to head up the stairs to the dorms, Fred grabbed his hand gently and he turned back to face him. Fred pulled him closer, until their faces were inches from each other.

“This is how I pictured our first date ending,” Fred whispered. Then he leant down slowly, giving Harry time to back away if he wanted to. He didn’t. He stayed still, tilting his head to meet Fred’s. It was like nothing Harry had experienced before. His first thought was how warm Fred’s lips were. His second thought was why they hadn’t done this before now. All too soon the older boy was pulling away, smiling softly.

“Good night, Harry.” It took him a few seconds to get his brain working well enough to realise he was supposed to reply.

“Uh, night, Fred.” He made his way up to the dormitory, feeling like he was in a daze.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry woke up and almost immediately a grin broke out on his face as he recalled the day before. He just lay there for several minutes, grinning to himself and recalling every detail of his time with Fred. Checking the time, he saw it was just after nine. He stuck his head through the hangings and saw Ron’s were still drawn.

He got washed and dressed before deciding not to wake Ron and heading down to the Great Hall by himself. Hermione was already there. There was no sign of Viktor or the twins.

“Hey,” he said as he took a seat next to her.

“Oh, morning, Harry.”

“Where’s Viktor?”

“He’s off, doing some preparation for the second task. How are you getting on with that?”

“Pretty good. I’m going to go to the room tonight and listen to the egg. I’ve already started studying the Bubblehead Charm. I can cast it, but it only lasts for a few seconds at the moment.”

“At least you can cast it successfully. Now it’s just a matter of practice,” she smiled confidently. He nodded and dug into his bacon and eggs.

About halfway through breakfast, the twins entered. They spotted Harry and headed over. Fred took the free spot on Harry’s other side while George sat opposite them. They helped themselves to huge platefuls of food while Harry and Hermione watched in bemusement.

“Where do you Weasleys put all of that food?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

“We’re growing boys,” Fred grinned, patting his stomach.

“So am I,” Harry put in, “and I don’t eat half what you and Ron manage.”

“Are you sure you’re growing?” George teased. Harry glared at him, and he chuckled.

“So, we’re meeting Warrington and Farley at midday, yeah?” Fred leaned over to ask Harry quietly.

“Yeah. Transfiguration classroom.” Fred nodded, kissed his cheek and turned back to his breakfast. Harry felt his cheeks warming up and he ducked his head, focusing on his own plate. There was a gentle chatter around him and once he’d finished eating, he rejoined the conversation in time to hear Fred ask Hermione about her plans for the day.

“Well, I have an essay for Ancient Runes, two chapters to read for Arithmancy and some questions for Potions to do. After that, I’ll see if Viktor is free, or maybe spend some time with Ron. We’ve been neglecting him a bit recently, even if he’s been a giant prat.” Fred snorted.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Fred’s going to be helping me prepare for the second task. Then I’ve got some homework too. I’ve decided to try and study for Arithmancy so I can drop Divination. I just don’t think I’ll be able to do both that and Ancient Runes, but I want to try at least one.

“Good for you. Good choice too,” George grinned.

“What are you planning to do with it? Got anything picked out?” Fred wondered, smiling and he grabbed Harry’s hand.

“Nothing specific. I was looking at jobs you can do with Arithmancy, and it seems to be mostly used in spell crafting, and things like curse-breaking.”

“Like Bill,” Fred nodded.

“Yeah. That sounds pretty cool. But I also thought of maybe going into Healing. I spend enough time in the Hospital Wing,” he joked.

“Yeah. Bit too much for my liking,” Fred muttered.

“Madam Pomfrey keeps threatening to put a plaque above my usual bed, declaring it mine,” he laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes while George laughed.

They all finished eating and headed back to the Gryffindor common room. Harry worked on his homework for the rest of the morning. Fred offered him some pointers and then had a game of chess with Ron when he finally emerged.

Hermione lent him her third-year book on Arithmancy which Harry browsed through until Fred reminded him of the time. They put their stuff away and told the others they were going to work on tournament stuff. Instead, they vanished down to the kitchens to grab some food to take to the Transfiguration classroom with them. The elves were delighted to see them and more than happy to give them enough food for lunch for four.

Cassius and Lexi met them in the Transfiguration corridor as they happened to arrive at almost the exact same time. Harry had spoken to McGonagall and confirmed she would let him use the classroom at that time. She would be in her office marking if he needed her.

“Harry, Weasley,” Cassius greeted as they settled themselves into the room.

“Hey Cassius,” Harry smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten so we brought food.”

“No, we haven’t. Thanks.” They pulled out the various food items the house elves had handily packed into a picnic basket and hungrily all four of them dug in. There was some small talk as they ate, leaving the heavier stuff for later. Harry was pleased that Fred, Cassius and Alexia all managed to get on well enough with no arguments or tension. Being friends with Ron and Hermione, he was used to his close friends fighting, frequently, but he still hated it.

“So, did you have anything specific in mind for this little meeting, Harry?” Cassius asked once they’d packed away all the leftovers. Which was barely anything.

“Nothing really, I just…when Lexi told me you all thought I’d been raised in some sort of luxury I wanted to set things straight. And find out what other rubbish people have been saying about how I grew up.” Cassius nodded.

“Well, the public story is that you were being raised away from the public eye due to the level of fame but that you were well looked after and cared for. Most people assumed you were raised by muggles because if you’d been raised by a wizarding family it would have gotten out eventually. And no wizarding family went into complete seclusion. However, some people thought that was ridiculous because you are the only heir to the Potter family and would need to be trained which muggles wouldn’t be able to do.”

“Heir to the Potter family?” Harry frowned.

“Yes,” Cassius looked at him with a confused frown. “You will be Lord Potter once you’re seventeen.”

“Lord?” Harry squeaked. Cassius and Lexi’s eyes went wide.

“You don’t know?” Lexi breathed. “Anything?”

“Assume I don’t know anything and please explain,” Harry asked. Cassius took a deep breath.

“Merlin, I thought you deliberately chose not to follow any traditions, not that you had no idea about any of them. Alright, so you know about the pureblood families?”

“I know they exist. Like you and Malfoy.”

“Yes. There is something called the Sacred Twenty-Eight which, according to Cantankerous Nott, are the only remaining families to still be completely pure. Well, as of like the thirties. Neither my family nor Lexi’s are actually on the list, but Malfoy is. Weasley is as well, despite being considered blood traitors, they’ve never actually married muggles or muggle-borns. The Potters might actually belong on the list, given that they hadn’t married any muggle-borns until your parents married bringing a muggle-born into the family. The rumours are that they were excluded because ‘Potter’ is considered a common muggle surname and because your great-grandfather, I think¸ was pretty pro-muggle.”

“My great-grandfather?” Harry blinked.

“If I remember by genealogy correctly, Henry Potter was the father of Fleamont Potter who married Euphemia and they had your father, James Potter,” Cassius explained. Harry stared at him. Fleamont. His grandfather was called Fleamont? He must have asked this question out loud because the other three stared at him.

“You didn’t know?” Lexi asked, astonished. “You didn’t know the name of your grandfather?”

“No. I didn’t know my dad’s name until I was eleven,” Harry admitted. All three of them gaped.

“Yes,” Cassius managed after a moment. “I believe Henry Potter’s wife was a Fleamont, could be his mother, and, as the last living member of the family, it’s possible she didn’t want the name to die out completely.”

“Wow,” Harry muttered. “Seems cruel to force your kid to have a name like that just so it doesn’t die out.” Fred chuckled at that but grew serious again almost immediately.

“Right, what’s this about not even knowing your dad’s name until you were eleven?”

“Well, so, I was sent to live with my mother’s sister, her husband and their son. All muggles. And they don’t, well, they don’t exactly like magic,” Harry admitted slowly. “Or me. Or my parents. I only knew my mum’s name because I heard my aunt muttering to herself a few times and worked it out.” Nobody spoke after this declaration for several long seconds and Harry avoided their gazes.

“When you say they don’t exactly like you, what does that mean, exactly?” Lexi asked slowly.

“It means that, at the very least, they put bars on his window, more locks on his door than a Gringotts vault and he always looks horribly thin after every summer he spends there,” Fred stated grimly, eyes firmly fixed on Harry. He moved so that he was sitting right beside him and slung an arm over his shoulder. Harry wanted to glare at him, but none of his statements were untrue and glaring would only draw attention to that.

“Bars on his window? That’s barbaric,” Cassius said, wrinkling his nose. “And locks on his door, are you sure they aren’t to keep that family out?”

“Wrong side of the door for that,” Fred told him darkly. “Not to mention they lock all his stuff in a cupboard under the stairs.”

“What?” Lexi frowned.

“They don’t like magic. They don’t want me doing magic in my room, so they lock it all away.”

“But you’re not allowed to use magic outside of school,” Cassius pointed out.

“Well, I didn’t tell them that. But they know now anyway, and they still lock my stuff away so I can’t even do my homework.” He didn’t mention that they hadn’t done that the summer just gone because of his threat to tell Sirius. But he wasn’t about to tell Cassius and Lexi about Sirius just yet.

“We’re both seventeen now. If you like we can come back with you and hex those muggles for you,” Lexi offered brightly. Harry smiled slightly, though he was wary about the amount of enthusiasm in her suggestion.

“Er, no. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think it would help. Besides, I don’t think anyone can use magic without getting me into trouble. A house-elf did it once and they thought it was me. I got a warning.”

“What? What do you mean a house-elf did magic at your house?” Cassius asked, visibly confused.

“Long story, but he was visiting and wanted to get me into trouble so levitated a pudding and I got a warning.”

“That’s not right. The Trace tracks underage magic. House-elf magic is different and shouldn’t register. Unless…well there are only really two explanations. One, this house-elf somehow managed to mimic your magical signature. I know they are powerful, but nobody really knows all the things they can do. Or someone placed extra wards around your house to register all magic, not just underage magic, but those are illegal and should register with whoever placed the wards, not the Ministry.”

“Mr. Weasley performed magic when he came to pick me up in the summer,” Harry said.

“So probably the house-elf mimicking your magical signature somehow then. Which is despicable,” Cassius frowned in disgust.

“Although, why it would do such a thing is the big question. Let’s have the whole story then,” Lexi said. So, Harry began explaining the insanity that was his second year at Hogwarts. The others interrupted to ask questions throughout. Both Slytherins were both impressed by their genius at infiltrating the Slytherin common room, and horror at the same thought. Fred was in awe and had no such horror. Both Slytherins eyed him warily at his glee, but they were soon distracted. Cassius, in particular, expressed his disgust that they had gotten in so easily and that Malfoy hadn’t recognised that his two supposed best friends had been replaced by his enemies.

All of them were absolutely horrified by the news that there was an acromantula nest in the forest and that he and Ron had been in the middle of the nest. Harry saw Fred’s growing respect for his brother after finding out how Ron had faced his worst nightmare for the chance to help Hermione. They were all gaping at their narrow escape from the lair, while Fred laughed hysterically at the revelation that their father’s enchanted car had saved them. He clutched Harry tightly like he thought he was about to vanish in front of his eyes.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter,” Cassius breathed.

“You certainly don’t do anything by half, do you?” Lexi asked. “What was Hagrid thinking, asking you to go in there?”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thinking,” Fred growled.

“I assume he was thinking that Aragog wouldn’t hurt his friends,” Harry sighed.

“Well, he was wrong,” Lexi pointed out.

“Not technically. He wouldn’t have hurt us. He’d have just let his family kill us.”

“That’s not any better,” scowled Fred angrily. “I’m going to be having words with Hagrid.

“Honestly, Fred, we were fine.”

“Through sheer, dumb luck,” Lexi stated grimly. “If that car hadn’t come and saved you, you’d have been toast.”

As she had a point, Harry decided to switch topics and carry on with his tale. His throat was growing sore by the time he reached the part about him and Ron taking Lockhart into the chamber.

“Of all the teachers you could go to, you went to Lockhart?” Cassius asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “It was Ron’s idea.”

“All the more reason not to,” Fred cut in.

“And, well, I didn’t think Professor McGonagall would listen to us. Snape would sooner cut his own arm off before helping us and I didn’t know any of the other teachers well enough,” Harry explained. “We knew he wasn’t the best or anything, but we thought he’d be doing something.”

“Why did you think McGonagall wouldn’t listen? You’re a Gryffindor after all? And Snape might not like you, but he’d still help if you knew something about a student being in danger,” Cassius stated, frowning.

“And what was he doing?” Lexi wondered at the same time.

“Before or after he gave us detention for being out of bounds to go and give him the information? He wouldn’t listen, he’d be too busy being happy he got to punish me. And Lockhart was packing so he could run away,” said Harry, ignoring Cassius’ question. Thankfully, all three of them made noises of disgust at his explanation, forgetting the question he hadn’t answered. Harry explained how he’d disarmed Lockhart, to their appreciation, and how they’d gone to the chamber.

“You pushed him down first? At wandpoint? Knowing there might be a basilisk down there?” Cassius whistled. “That’s diabolical.” Harry blushed.

“I didn’t really think about that. I just…I wasn’t really thinking. I…” he trailed off trying to explain his behaviour. The other three all grinned at him reassuringly.

“Cassie wasn’t criticising,” Lexi told him with a smirk Harry wasn’t sure he liked.

“It’s fine, I was just surprised,” Cassius assured him, agreeing with his girlfriend. “But, please, carry on.” Harry did so. There were several interruptions and exclamations of horror as he explained how they had gone down the tunnel to find the shed skin and then the tunnel collapsed after Lockhart had tried to wipe their memories.

“That…swine!” Lexi exclaimed, clearly retraining herself from saying much worse.

“His charm backfired. He had no recollection at all,” Harry assured her.

“And it is that which saves him from me marching to Saint Mungo's and cursing him,” she stated. Harry had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t joking. Although Fred was looking like he might join her. His expression of rage was not one Harry could ever recall seeing on the twins and it was unsettling. They were made for laughter, not anger. He quickly took a sip of water and continued with his tale.

“The Dark Lord is a half-blood?” Cassius breathed in astonishment as Harry told them about the connection between the name in the dairy and Voldemort. Harry nodded while Fred cackled, delighted at the revelation.

“A half-blood with a muggle father,” Lexi added, wrinkling her nose. “Not even a half-blood or muggle-born father. Pure muggle. A blood relative of Salazar Slytherin or not, that’s a big deal.”

“Surely you jest, Potter,” Cassius frowned.

“No,” Harry assured him. “That is what Tom Riddle told me. He was originally Tom Riddle and became Lord Voldemort.”

“It makes sense,” Lexi told her boyfriend. “If he was a true descendant of Salazar Slytherin, he wouldn’t want to be known by a muggle name.”

“That’s pretty much what he said,” agreed Harry. Cassius and Lexi both looked like the carpet had been pulled out from under them. Eventually, they both rallied, and Lexi asked him to continue his story. Harry told them about the rest of his conversation with Riddle and then how he had fought the basilisk.

“You actually fought against a basilisk?” Fred asked, looking faint. “How did you get out of that?” Harry explained about the hat and how the sword appeared and how he had killed the basilisk.

“You killed a basilisk with a sword provided by the sorting hat?” Lexi asked in disbelief. Harry nodded.

“Not without a price. I…” he grimaced, wondering if he should continue or not. Eventually, he caved. “I was bitten.”

“WHAT?” Fred screeched. Harry winced. Fred immediately began looking him over, as if searching for a bite. Harry reluctantly showed them his arm. The phoenix tears hadn't been able to prevent a slight scar.

“What do you mean you were bitten?” Lexi wondered, having gone very pale. “Basilisk venom is incredibly deadly.” Cassius was just staring at him, unable to form words.

“Fawkes. He saved me,” Harry admitted. “Apparently, Phoenix tears trump basilisk venom.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Cassius breathed. “That’s incredible.”

“A phoenix shedding tears for anyone, especially not their bonded, is incredible,” Lexi added, looking completely astonished. Harry shrank slightly under the astonished gazes of the other three.

“You were bitten by a basilisk!?” Fred yelled. Harry winced at the volume right next to his ear again.

“I’m fine now,” he offered, uncertainly. Fred just shook his head and hugged him tightly.

Lexi’s mind was racing. The Dark Lord’s followers were fickle. Coveting power and following the line of Salazar Slytherin over Albus Dumbledore. However, she suspected that at least some of them might defect if it was discovered that the Dark Lord was the son of a muggle. Some of the younger crowd at any rate, it was likely the older generation already knew, they must have attended Hogwarts when he was still known as Tom Riddle.

Harry Potter could also speak parseltongue and, while his mother was a muggle-born, she possessed magic, which was more than the Dark Lord could claim about his father. With some training, he could be considered charming and sway people to his cause, though he was highly unlikely to match what she’d heard about the Dark Lord in his prime.

By the time he’d finished his tale, all three others had their mouths hanging open.

“You mean…Ginny was behind it all?” Fred exclaimed in horror.

“NO!” Harry replied in horror. “She was possessed.”

“She was possessed to begin with, but then she broke it and threw the diary away. Once she took it back, she wrote in it again to make sure the diary hadn’t told you her secrets instead of handing it in,” Cassius pointed out grimly. His feelings for the Weasleys had never exactly been positive. He’d revised his feelings after seeing how close the twins were to Harry during the year, but his opinion of the youngest two Weasleys remained at rock bottom.

“But if she was enchanted…” Harry began only to be cut off by Lexi.

“It doesn’t matter. If she was enchanted to begin with, which seems likely, she broke the enchantment enough to dispose of the diary in Myrtle’s bathroom where you found it. To reestablish that relationship several months later would require her to write in the diary once more at the very least. As soon as she wrote in it once again, the enchantment would likely take hold once more.” Cassius nodded in agreement. Harry frowned.

“Either way, you saved everyone, Harry,” Fred told him, awe written all over his face and not wanting to dwell on the subject of his sister. “You defeated the basilisk, destroyed the diary and escaped alive.”

“Indeed. That was an incredibly impressive feat,” Cassius agreed. “An awful lot could have gone wrong, but you did well, Potter.” Harry smiled, unused to the praise that the trio gave him so lavishly.

“I don’t think I want to know about your first year,” Lexi muttered.

“As it’s almost dinner, I think we can leave those revelations for another time,” Cassius suggested. “One heart attack at a time.” They all agreed.

“I still want to know more about this whole Lord thing,” Harry told them. Cassius and Lexi both nodded and promised to tell him more after they heard about his first year. They would even bring him some books on the topic. The two Slytherins left first. Lexi hugged Harry before leaving while Cassius ruffled his hair with a grin and a final, “Well done, Potter.”

Once they were gone, Fred pulled Harry into another hug, burying his face in his hair. “You could have died! Not even just once. You could have died multiple times in a single year!” Harry was about to point out that he was used to it, but he didn’t think Fred would be happy about that.

“I’m alright now. No harm done.”

“Even from those relatives of yours? Don’t think I didn’t notice you skipping most of the questions about them.” Harry felt his cheeks going red.

“I don’t…”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. I can wait until you’re ready,” Fred said softly.

“Even if I’m never ready?” Harry wondered quietly.

“Even then. But I would like you to consider getting checked out. Madam Pomfrey is good, but she only really checks current injuries. She wouldn’t notice any long-term issues from living with those people for so long. So, I promise I won’t pry and will let you tell me in your own time, but can you promise to at least think about it?” Harry grimaced. He was sure he was fine really. But Fred seemed so earnest. The problem was, if he went to Madam Pomfrey, what if someone found out? What if Malfoy somehow found out?

“I…I’ll think about it,” he promised.

“If you’re worried about privacy, Madam Pomfrey is good at that. But if you don’t want to, I know the goblins can do medical checks. They do for their employees because Bill gets all of his medical stuff from them rather than St Mungo’s, but I don’t know if they will do that for someone who isn’t employed by them. It might still be worth an ask if you really don’t want a wizard to do it. Goblins certainly won’t tell anyone. They take client confidentiality incredibly seriously. I could even ask Bill. He would probably know,” Fred offered. Harry couldn’t help smiling as a bubble of warmth filled his chest. He didn’t think anyone had considered his feelings as much as Fred did, especially without him even voicing his concerns.

“Could you ask Bill? But don’t mention it’s for me.” Fred nodded, privately thinking that Bill would likely guess exactly who he was asking for. His brother was highly intelligent and had met Harry during the summer so had seen how thin he was when he arrived. Not to mention all the stories he and George had told him about the Dursley family.

“Right, let’s go and get some dinner. Then we can head up to the room and go swimming.”

They made their way down to the Great Hall. Most people were already there so he and Fred sat between George and Hermione, who both moved up to make room. Ron was opposite Harry and clearly sulking as Viktor was on Hermione’s other side.

“Hey Ron, did you get any work done this afternoon?” Harry asked him.

“I finished that stupid potion’s essay. But then I went to the library to try and find some more spells that might be useful.”

“You went to the library?” Fred spluttered. Ron scowled.

“I’ve been to the library before.”

“When Hermione makes us,” Harry grinned. He suspected that Ron had been trying to spy on Hermione and Viktor but didn’t say anything. “Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately, not. Sorry mate.”

“At least you tried. I appreciate it,” Harry smiled gratefully. Regardless of Ron’s motivations, he didn’t doubt he had tried to look up some spells.

After they finished eating, Fred and Harry took their leave once more and made their way to the Room of Requirement. They made a stop by Gryffindor tower to fetch the golden egg first. Once they got to the correct corridor, Harry walked up and down in front of the patch of wall. After the third walk, the door appeared. They went inside and it was exactly the same as when Harry had come with Dobby and Ron.

“Wow,” Fred whistled. “This place is incredible.”

“And it’s not on the map,” Harry told him. “I checked.”

“I wonder if it’s because it’s unplottable or if the Marauders never found it.” Harry made a mental note to ask Sirius in his next letter.

This time, the room had also provided swim shorts (Harry didn’t own a single pair himself) and privacy screens for them to change behind. While he was used to sharing the Quidditch changing rooms with Fred and several others, this felt…different and he was glad for the screen. Picking up a pair of emerald swim shorts and disappeared.

A minute later he reappeared to see Fred already standing by the pool wearing a pair of bright blue shorts. And nothing else. Harry’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he could feel his cheeks heating up. It didn’t help that Fred was staring at him, gaze slowly moving all the way up his body before their eyes met. It might have been the lighting, but his normally bright blue eyes seemed darker than Harry remembered.

“Right then,” Fred grinned, breaking their staring contest, “let’s try out some of these gadgets.” He turned and began turning on various taps. One began pouring water while all of the others produced bubbles in all sorts of shapes, sizes, smells and colours.

Once the pool was filled to their satisfaction, they turned all the taps off and stared at it for a second. Then, Fred took a single step and dive-bombed into the pool, sending a wave of bubbly water all over Harry. When he surfaced a few moments later, he was grinning widely. His hair had darkened with the water and was plastered to his head, with a few strands falling into his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it spiky and all over the place.

“Come on in,” Fred encouraged. “It’s great in here. If you get in at this bit,” he moved slightly closer to the edge and to his left, “it’s shallow enough even you could stand up without your head being underwater.” Harry narrowed his eyes at the slight to his height but grudgingly moved to get into the water. It was delightfully warm and, as promised, he could stand on the bottom and still see above all of the bubbles sitting on top of the water. “Right, it’s going to be a bit difficult to swim with all these bubbles for the time being, so we’ll focus on treading water first.” Fred took his hand and led him to a deeper section of the pool.

Harry was wary, but he knew Fred wouldn’t let him drown. He’d never spent any extended amount of time in the water. His bathroom time at the Dursleys was strictly limited so he wouldn’t use all the hot water, leaving him with tepid showers most of the time. And they had certainly never paid for him to have swimming lessons like Dudley. Which was probably for the best, he definitely worried about Dudley trying to drown him if he had a chance.

“Right, feeling ok? When treading water, you need to move your arms and kick your legs calmly. Watch me first.” Fred moved away from him and began moving his arms in circles slowly. “Just copy me and make sure to kick your legs at the same time.” Fred came back towards him and put his hands on Harry’s waist, guiding him to the deeper section. Once Harry’s feet could no longer touch the floor and be able to see over the bubbles, he felt a wave of panic. The only thing keeping him up was Fred, who was still able to touch the floor.

“I’ve got you. I promise I won’t let you drown,” Fred reassured him gently. Harry swallowed and nodded before starting to kick his legs and move his arms like Fred had. After a minute, Fred cleared a small space around them and guided him to lie flat on the water. “Keep going.” He could feel the other boy’s hands lightly holding his back as he got used to the motions.

Slowly but surely, Harry began to relax. He barely even noticed when Fred carefully took his hands away, so he was floating on his own.

“You’re doing really well,” promised Fred.

They kept this for a bit, but Harry’s limbs grew tired and heavy. Fred immediately grabbed him and guided him to the shallower section once more. The bubbles had receded slightly, and Fred suggested they listen to the egg. Harry nodded and fetched the egg from the side of the pool. Harry sucked in a large breath and they both ducked under the water. He opened the egg and a voice, now perfectly intelligible, could be heard singing. It was definitely eerie, and the words didn’t help:

“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.”

They both surfaced, and Harry’s lungs felt like bursting. He shook his hair out of his eyes.

“Well, that was…creepy,” Fred said matter-of-factly. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill. “Let me write it down.” He began scribbling at the edge of the pool. Once he was done, they both stared down at the words.

“So, they are going to take something of mine, something important to me and hide it in the middle of the lake? And I only have an hour to get it back?” Harry asked, feeling panicky.

“Sounds that way. But I imagine the hour is just a recommended limit. That line is just there to scare you.”

“It’s working.”

“You’ll lose points if you go over it, but it won’t mean you lose whatever they’ve taken forever.”

“How do you know? They made us fight nesting dragons in the last task,” Harry pointed out worriedly.

“Well, yeah. But they won’t be able to get away with taking and potentially destroying a champion’s personal property. What if they take Viktor’s broomstick or something? They’d never get away with destroying an International Seeker’s broomstick just because he didn’t complete the task in an hour.”

“Yeah. Ok.” Harry nodded, allowing the words to reassure him. He felt even better when Fred put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a sideways hug. Even so, given his track record at Hogwarts, he didn’t much fancy taking the risk with things like his map, his invisibility cloak or his photo album. When he said this out loud, Fred suggested he could look after the stuff for Harry, or they could stash it in his and George’s workroom temporarily. Harry nodded gratefully.

“So, we need to make sure your bubble-head charm can last for at least an hour, preferably longer just in case. Although, if you are able to learn to cast it silently, you could recast it underwater, so it doesn’t matter how long it lasts, as long as it isn’t only a few seconds or something.” Harry nodded. “We know the language is Mermish, so I guess you’ll have to find the Merpeople colony in the lake. There might be some information in the library. Hermione will know.” Harry nodded again, smiling gratefully. It made him feel so much better to have someone else take charge. Reassuring him. He’d never had that before. Ron and Hermione tried where they could, but they often were just as nervous as he was, if not more so. Fred, if he was nervous or worried, didn’t show it at all. He seemed perfectly confident that Harry could handle this and calmly offered up plans and solutions to problems Harry hadn’t even considered yet.

They spent the next little while working on the bubble-head charm. Once Harry was able to hold it for a solid half an hour, Fred suggested they take a break and began teaching him how to actually swim, rather than just tread water. They didn’t do too much, Harry was exhausted from the emotional toll of their talk with Cassius and Lexi, as well as so much swimming and magic. He could manage a few laps of the pool and Fred deemed that a good enough start. They planned to come up several times a week to build up his stamina and practise casting the charm and swimming at the same time.

When they finally got out, all of the bubbles had disappeared, and they were both incredibly pruny. Once they were both dry and dressed, they met up by the door. Before they left, Harry impulsively threw his arms around Fred and hugged his tightly, face pressed against the other boy’s incredibly well-built chest. “Thanks, Fred.” Warm arms hugged his back.

“You’re welcome. Anytime.” Harry felt Fred press a kiss to his hair and grinned into his chest.

When they pulled apart, Fred was smiling. His proper smile. The one that made Harry feel warm all over. He found himself staring at the other boy’s lips and immediately distracted himself pulling out the map to check the coast was clear. They’d been so long in the pool that it was past curfew. Seeing nobody nearby, they headed back to the Gryffindor common room.

Once he was alone in bed, Harry mused that, despite everything, this had been the best weekend of his life.

Chapter Text

Harry spent the next week devoting most of his time to learning the charms he needed. Fred worked with him almost every night until he was confident swimming several lengths of the pool underwater without any help. He knew it wasn’t the same as swimming in the Black Lake, but he wasn’t quite ready to try that just yet. He could also hold the bubble-head charm the entire time he was swimming, which was currently about half an hour. Then he grew too tired to both swim and keep the charm going.

He had also been learning the warming charm. He could cast one that would last an hour, if necessary, but he had yet to master casting either spell wordlessly. Fred assured him that it was incredibly difficult, not taught in Hogwarts until sixth year, but Harry was determined. Without a warming charm, he would almost certainly freeze to death in the lake in February and, if it gave out, he wouldn’t be able to recast it unless he surfaced, which might not be possible.

George had also been helping him with the theoretical side of silent casting, but Harry really wished he had a backup option.

Thankfully, Hermione had found information on the location of the merpeople colony under the lake, but that meant Harry needed to learn yet another spell to direct him under the water. He knew the vague direction, but he didn’t want to rely on his own sense of direction with everything else he also had to focus on while down there. It was pretty much in the centre of the lake, but he doubted that his vision would be any good underwater. Even with a water-repelling charm on his glasses, visibility deep underwater in the gloom of February was likely to be minimal.

One night as they were checking the map coming out of the Room of Requirement, Harry spotted something unusual. He nudged Fred with his elbow and pointed to the name ‘Bartemius Crouch’ that was currently in the Potions storeroom.

“Why is Mr. Crouch in Snape’s storeroom?” He wondered.

“Why is Mr. Crouch in Hogwarts when he was too ill to attend the ball, and reportedly still isn’t going into work?” Fred replied curiously. Harry cursed internally that he hadn’t brought the cloak. The Room was close enough to the Gryffindor common room that the map had been perfectly sufficient so far.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.”

“So would I, but we still don’t know who put your name in the goblet. If Mr. Crouch is sneaking around and faking illness, that’s not his usual behaviour and I think we should be careful.”

“You? You’re advocating caution?” Harry asked in surprise.

“When it comes to your safety? You bloody bet I am. Enough crap has happened to you in the supposedly safest place in the UK. If anyone is acting even the slightest bit weirdly, I think we should be careful. No, I don’t think Mr. Crouch put your name in, that’s just too weird, but something isn’t right.”

“Maybe he suspects Snape.” Harry couldn’t blame him if that was the case.

“Then why wouldn’t he search it in the middle of the day?”

“Probably because he isn’t supposed to be. Snape would be livid, and Dumbledore seems to trust him,” Harry suggested. Fred frowned.

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Look, Moody is still in his office, maybe we could talk to him,” he pointed to the map. Fred thought for a second and nodded.

They quietly made their way down to Moody’s office, constantly checking the map and having to take a long detour to avoid Mrs Norris and Filch. Eventually, they arrived and Harry quietly knocked on the door. There was no reply. He knocked a bit louder.

“Professor Moody? I have something important to tell you.” There was still no reply. The map said he was still in his office. Tentatively, Fred tried the door, but it was locked.

“Maybe he fell asleep in there.”

“Crouch is coming this way,” Harry hissed. They both retreated down the corridor quickly, not wanting to be found by Mr. Crouch, and made their way back to Gryffindor tower. George and Hermione were both still awake. Ron was snoring in one of the armchairs by the fire. Harry woke him and told him what they had seen. The map still showed Crouch in Moody’s office and he didn’t appear to be leaving.

“That is odd. How can he be well enough for this but too sick to do his duties? If he’s suspicious about something, surely, he could investigate better if he was at Hogwarts?” Ron frowned.

“It’s suspicious. Maybe you should tell Snuffles,” Hermione suggested. Fred and George both frowned curiously while Harry nodded. Sirius had wanted to hear about anything odd and this definitely counted.

Maybe you can ask Moody in Defence. If Crouch has been to see him, he’ll probably know something,” George added. “Though, he might not tell you if it’s classified.”

“But how do I explain to Moody how I knew Crouch was in Snape’s storeroom? I don’t really want to give away the fact that I have the map if I don’t have to.”

“Well, Moody seems a good sort, I’m sure he won’t tell the other professors on you,” Fred told him.

“Yeah. I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I want to risk it when he might not even tell me anything,” Harry said slowly. Everyone nodded, happy to leave the choice up to him. They all then headed up to bed.

The next morning Harry sent a letter off to Sirius. Fred accompanied him to the owlery, unwilling to let him go anywhere alone. He’d been overprotective since the previous weekend where Harry had revealed the events of his second year, and the suspicious behaviour of Mr. Crouch seemed to be one thing too many. Once they reached the owlery, Harry chose a plain brown owl to send the letter which continued to upset Hedwig.

“How come you’re not using Hedwig?” Fred wondered. Harry sighed. He knew he could trust Fred, but it was still a heavy secret.

“Because she’s noticeable. And this letter is very secret.”

“Is this about whoever ‘Snuffles’ is?”

“Yeah. That’s also kind of a long story.”

“Of course it is,” Fred replied dryly. Taking a deep breath, Harry grimaced and said, “it’s Sirius Black. He’s innocent, I swear!” Fred’s mouth fell open.

“Sirius Black? Mass murderer? Broke into the school several times last year and almost knifed my brother? That Sirius Black?”

“Uh, yeah. Turns out he’s not a mass murderer. And he wasn’t trying to hurt Ron.”

“I’m going to need more details on that one.” That was fair. Harry sighed.

“Ok. But, like I said, It’s a long story. Can you trust me that I know what I’m doing and wait until lunch?” Fred considered, staring out the window the owl had flown out of.

“Well, seeing as the letter has been sent, and Ron and Hermione clearly seem to know who ‘Snuffles’ is, I’ll trust you. But I definitely want to know how you know for sure he’s innocent.” Harry nodded.

“Transfiguration classroom at lunch? You can bring George too, he’ll probably want to hear this and I’m sure you’ll tell him anyway.”

“Not if you don’t want me to. I haven’t told him about what we discussed last week.”

“Really?” Harry asked in surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him that Fred wouldn’t tell George. He knew the twins had a special bond and that George would keep his secrets as well as Fred himself because of that. But it warmed him that Fred hadn’t. Having his privacy respected was a novelty for him.

“Of course not. He doesn’t tell me things Angelina tells him in confidence and I won’t tell him your secrets.” It had been pretty hard not to talk to his sister about the same thing. He was torn between wanting to know what on earth she was thinking stealing the diary back from Harry and writing in it again, knowing what it could do, and getting her properly checked out knowing she had been possessed by a teenaged Voldemort for large parts of a year.

“Thanks. That’s…I appreciate it. But I know George is trustworthy. Big stuff like that I don’t mind you telling him. Just not the really personal stuff. But he deserves to know what happened to Ron and Ginny that year.” Fred nodded.

“I’ll bring him. And am I grabbing Cassius and Alexia as well or not?” Harry frowned thoughtfully. Just last week he had decided against telling them about Sirius. He was still wary of trusting them with just a big secret, especially one that wasn’t wholly his. But at the same time, they hadn’t spread about any of the secrets he’d told them a week ago. Admittedly there hadn’t been many big secrets, except the small amount he’d said about his relatives, but even that had been enough that Malfoy would have had a field day.

“I suppose I’m basically going to have to explain the whole story behind everything that happened last year, so yeah. If they can make it,” he decided finally. He wanted to trust them. And Cassius had had numerous opportunities to betray him. He hadn’t had to be nice to him, befriend him, or even tell him to listen to the egg underwater. He’d seemed angry on Harry’s behalf last week and Harry chose to make the plunge. He knew Sirius wouldn’t be thrilled, he hadn’t sounded happy that Harry was befriending Cassius even when they had merely been making peace rather than proper friends, but it wasn’t like he planned on telling them where Sirius was. Harry himself didn’t know that.

“Alright. Well, if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss breakfast altogether.” They dashed down to the Great Hall and Harry scoffed down some toast.

His lessons flew by, time slipping away like sand, even Divination, and soon enough Harry found himself in the Transfiguration classroom once more. Dobby had been kind enough to pack him a huge lunch. He’d invited Ron and Hermione, hoping to introduce his two sets of friends properly, but Hermione already had plans with Viktor and Ron still wasn’t quite over his Slytherin aversion. He was coming around slowly, but he’d cautioned Harry against telling them and wasn’t quite ready to spend an extended amount of time with them much to Harry’s disappointment.

Once everyone had arrived and had their share of the food, Cassius looked over at Harry curiously.

“What horrific revelations are we to hear about this time?” Harry grimaced and stuck his tongue out, making the older boy chuckle.

“Well, I kind of needed to tell Fred and I only really want to go through this story once. So, this is the truth about what happened to me last year.”

“Last year?” Lexi’s eyes narrowed. “So, it’s about Sirius Black?” Cassius startled at the name. Harry nodded.

“He’s innocent.”

“What?” Everyone, except Fred, shouted.

“How is that possible? Didn’t he break into the castle several times. Even the Gryffindor dormitories? He almost stabbed Ron, not to mention what he did to the Fat Lady,” George asked rapidly, staring at Harry in astonishment. Harry sighed.

“It’s a long story, but please let me get it out. Questions at the end.” They all nodded reluctantly, and Harry began talking. He glossed over the events at his relatives, but he could see they were all burning with questions after only a couple of minutes. It got worse once he said Fudge had let him stay in the Leaky Cauldron for two weeks with only the innkeeper for supervision, trusting him not to sneak out. Cassius and Lexi had both snorted derisively at that. He did skip the events of the train, his encounters with Dementors were not something he wanted to talk about. However, he did put in the true version of what happened in Care of Magical Creatures, wanting to clear Hagrid’s name in that regard. Everyone snorted and rolled their eyes at the truth. Hagrid had been perfectly clear on how to approach and handle a Hippogriff, Malfoy had not paid attention and insulted the hippogriff when standing right next to it.

Then he skipped ahead to the incident with the knife, explaining that he’d been over Ron’s bed yes, but he hadn’t made any moves to actually attack him. And he’d fled as soon as Ron made a noise rather than kill him and move on quickly. Cassius and Lexi both frowned thoughtfully while the twins were clearly unhappy with how close Ron had been to danger, supposedly innocent or not.

As they were running out of the lunch hour, he skipped ahead again to the end of the year and all of the events from when they had gone down to Hagrid’s hut for Buckbeak’s execution. They listened in utter amazement.

By the time he finished talking he desperately needed a drink, and everyone was in stunned silence.

“That’s…insane,” Cassius spoke first.

“Understatement,” Lexi muttered. “How in the name on Merlin’s saggy left ball are you still alive and in possession of your soul?”

“A question I don’t think anyone will ever understand,” George said.

“Wait a damn second. Granger had a time-turner just to attend some extra lessons? What kind of insanity is that?” Lexi yelped. “Why couldn’t she just self-study like everyone else? And how in the name of Merlin’s saggy right ball did she manage to have one just in the right year when you desperately needed it in the end? Your life is ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered. “She gave the time-turner back at the end. She was way too stressed.”

“Yes, because extended use of a time-turner is not advised. Especially for a teenager. That must have wreaked absolute havoc on her body at a time when she is going through a period of big changes,” Cassius frowned. “And based on literally everything you have told me in the last two weeks I’m willing to bet my broomstick she didn’t have appropriate supervision.”

“It should never have been allowed in the first place,” Lexi argued.

“Agreed.”

“Back to the point,” Fred said loudly. “Sirius Black is innocent, and Peter fucking Pettigrew, a Death Eater, was living with my family as a rat for twelve years!”

“He slept…he shared a bed…there’s no way of saying that that isn’t…” George trailed off, looking disgusted.

“Not just Ron, but Percy too,” Fred added, face darkening in anger.

“Well, that’s…disturbing,” Lexi pulled a face.

“I wonder how Black was convicted in the face of that? A bit of veritaserum at his trial and it would have all come out,” Cassius put in.

“I don’t know. But I’d like to find out. If we can prove his innocence then Harry gets away from those vile people he lives with,” Fred stated.

“You could request his trial transcript. Those are publicly accessible. And if you hire a lawyer, they will be bound by confidentiality. You can make them sign a blood contract so they literally can’t tell anyone anything you don’t give them express permission to, or they lose their magic,” Cassius told Harry.

“Frankly you could do with a lawyer anyway, to deal with your press issue and the publications about you that aren’t true. You should find out if you are getting paid for them to use your name and image and all sorts. I can give you the name of the one my family use. He has an incredibly good reputation and I know he’ll sign a contract like the one Cassie suggested as it’s common practice for him,” Lexi said.

Harry was about to reply when the bell rang.

“There are still too many questions. We’ll finish this conversation after the second task. We need a weekend day to discuss something like this and we still need to go over your first year. We only have one weekend before the task left and I think we’ll both need it for practise.” Harry nodded at Cassius. “Alright. The Sunday after the task we’ll meet here again at 12 sharp.”

“Bloody hell, Harry. Try and keep yourself in one piece until then, alright?” Lexi gave him a stern glance.

“I’ll try. I can’t guarantee that given the second task is coming up.”

“You’ll do fine. Just not as well as me,” Cassius grinned. Harry laughed and they left the room. The twins escorted him to Defence.

As they were walking away, heading to Potions, Harry shouted out after them, “by the way, Sirius is Padfoot.” Then he dashed into the classroom smirking to himself. The Marauders identities were something he’d kept to himself, just for a moment like that. He’d just had time to see the pure shock of Fred’s face and it was brilliant. He knew they’d be out for revenge, but it was worth it.

The time before the task slipped away far too quickly for Harry’s liking. He kept practising with Fred and George every day and by the end of the weekend before the task, he’d managed to cast the warming charm and the bubble-head charm wordlessly. Neither one lasted as long as it did if he cast it out loud, but he could do it. Both twins had been so proud and insisted on throwing him a small celebration. Not that the celebratory party came close to being as good of a reward as the extended make-out session with Fred after he’d successful cast it wordlessly during one of their swimming lessons.

He'd also been subjected to many, many questions about the marauders and what he knew about all of them, except Pettigrew. Harry told them everything he knew, and simultaneously wished he could introduce Fred to Sirius and also utterly dreading the chaos such an event would cause.

Sirius’ reply came on the Monday morning, which brightened his mood even further. Unfortunately, it was one of the shortest letters Sirius had even written and simply asked for the date of the next Hogsmeade weekend. Naturally Hermione had known immediately, and he’d scribbled his reply on the back of the note, sending the brown owl back off immediately. It hadn’t looked impressed.

They headed down to Care of Magical Creatures, where Hagrid was teaching once more. Whether he was trying to prove he was as competent as Professor Grubbly-Plank, or because there were only two skrewts left, he was continuing the lessons on Unicorns. It turned out, Hagrid knew just as much about nice creatures as he did about monsters.

While the girls were all cooing over the two golden foals Hagrid had managed to acquire, the half-giant had taken Harry aside slightly to check on him. Harry smiled warmly, happy he could assure Hagrid he was well prepared for the upcoming task. He expressed his feeling that Harry was going to win, and Harry wasn’t quite as sure how he felt about that. Yes, he wanted to win, but he would hardly be upset if Cassius, or even Viktor, emerged as the winner of the tournament. He just wanted to survive.

The evening before the task, he was relaxing in the common room with Ron and Hermione. He had taken a night off from practise, so he didn’t exhaust himself before the next morning. Harry was in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap when the portrait hole opened, and the twins came through. Fred was looking grim.

“What happened?” Harry asked him worriedly.

“McGonagall wants to see Ron and Hermione,” he said quietly.

“What? Why?”

“She didn’t say. Looked a bit grim though,” George told them.

“I think it’s about the task. Why else would she want them this late on the night before the task?” Fred mused unhappily. “And I think I know why. ‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss’. We assumed it was a thing. What if it’s a person? Hermione for Krum and Ron for Harry.”

“No!” Harry yelled. “They can’t? Can they? And why now? They aren’t going to leave them in the lake all night, are they?” The questions fell from his mouth in a panic.

“Besides, I know Viktor and I are close, but surely, he must have another friend that would be who he would ‘sorely miss’ more than me?” Hermione frowned. Ron scowled.

“I don’t know. I guess it needs to be someone already at Hogwarts and he always seems to spend more time with you or us rather than his own schoolmates,” Harry pointed out, which made Ron scowl even more.

“I think I should go. Take Ron’s place,” Fred stated grimly. Everyone turned to stare at him.

“What? You think Harry would miss you more than me?” Ron demanded.

“Of course, not you prat,” Fred snapped. “I think I’m better equipped to deal with it if something goes wrong. For one, I can cast wordlessly, and therefore underwater, which you can’t. And I know more magic than you. If we’re going to be put in the lake, I imagine we’ll be an enchanted sleep, maybe given the Draught of Living Death or something. If Harry takes my wand and then gives it to me when he finds me and wakes me up, I can help him.”

“But then you wouldn’t have your wand!” Harry protested. “What if you aren’t asleep and you need it for something?”

“He’s got a point. If you do go, there is no way you’re going without a wand,” George told his twin sternly.

“And we have no way of knowing how they choose who takes part. They might not let you,” Hermione pointed out.

“I’m more concerned about how this is allowed. There must be major risks, and not for the champions, most of whom signed up for taking risks. But Hermione and Ron are both underaged. I can guarantee mum did not give permission for them to use Ron in this,” George stated.

“They might not want to let me, but I promise if they don’t, I will write to mum about how they want to use Ron without any parental permission. And Hermione. There is no way they asked her parents. That should do it,” Fred threatened.

“Fred…” Harry began.

“No. It makes sense for it to be me instead of Ron. Someone is trying to harm you and I can protect you better.”

“Oi! It’s been me who has been with Harry in all of our adventures so far!” Ron snapped angrily. “I didn’t see you trying to protect the stone. Or trying to find Ginny.”

“I didn’t know then, did I?” Fred glared.

“Enough. If you’re asleep then neither of you will be able to help Harry,” George stepped in quickly. “But Fred does have a point, Ron. About the wordless magic, anyway. And he’s a stronger swimmer than you.”

“McGonagall’s expecting us. We need to get going. I’m going down with Hermione,” Fred declared. “Which I’m not thrilled with either, but we don’t have another alternative for Viktor. And if it turns out this has nothing to do with the task then I just come back and send Ron down for whatever it is about. If we don’t come back, then you know I was right.”

“I don’t like this. ‘Past the hour the prospect’s black. Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back’,” Harry quoted almost hysterically. “What if I don’t make it?”

“They won’t let us die,” Fred told him firmly. “I know this tournament is supposed to be dangerous, but they aren’t designed to hurt those not taking part. And they would never get away with killing up to four hostages just because the champions weren’t quick enough. Especially as they likely haven’t even gotten parental permission for it. Don’t let that trouble you and don’t do anything stupidly heroic. Fetch me, win the day and get out.”

“Yes, don’t mind me or anything,” Hermione said dryly.

“You’re Krum’s problem,” George grinned. Both Hermione and Ron glared at him as both twins chuckled.

Harry stood up and hugged Fred tightly before doing the same to Hermione. “If anything happens to either of you tomorrow, or Lexi for that matter, I’m going to go mental. And I’ll help Cassius burn this place down.” Fred smiled.

“We’ll be fine. Just do your best.” They had another hug, a quick kiss and then they were gone. Harry, Ron and George slumped in the chairs by the fire, each looking worried and lost in their thoughts.

“I don’t like this, Harry,” Ron said quietly.

“I don’t like it either. Assuming they use Lexi for Cassius, three of the four hostages are my friends and boyfriend. Dunno who they’ll get for Fleur, but she took Roger to the ball. He’s a decent bloke as well.”

“Fred’s right, Harry. They won’t let anything happen to the hostages,” George said, trying to sound confident.

“Yeah, but you heard everything I told you earlier. Appropriate monitoring and care are hardly common at Hogwarts.” George grimaced and looked away. Harry felt a desperate need to apologise. George’s twin had volunteered for the dangerous position for Harry. He was in danger because a madman was out to kill Harry. And if it wasn’t Fred then it would be Ron.

“It’s not your fault, mate,” Ron told him. Harry stared. “It was written all over your face. You didn’t ask to be entered in the tournament. You didn’t make Fred volunteer. And if it had been me then you didn’t ask for that to happen either. It’s not your fault. If anything goes wrong, it’s the fault of those in charge.”

“He’s in danger, you’d have been in danger because of me. If you weren’t friends with me, you wouldn’t be in that position. Neither would Fred.” Ron frowned.

“I know I haven’t been the best friend this year, but I wouldn’t change being your friend for anything. Madman trying to kill you or not.” Harry smiled, but he still felt cold. He excused himself to get an early night.

It was futile. He barely slept. When he finally fell asleep, he was haunted by nightmares of Fred drowning before he could get there.

The next morning, he woke and immediately checked the next bed. Ron was still asleep. Down in the common room, Fred was nowhere to be seen and Harry felt slightly sick. He forced himself to get properly dressed in clothes that would be easy to swim in and pocketed the knife Sirius had given him for Christmas. George found him sitting in an armchair, staring at the cold fireplace.

“Come on. You need to eat something light. Just some toast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I know. But you need to eat something.” He practically marched Harry down to the Great Hall. Harry spotted Cassius who was looking incredibly anxious. Not long after, Viktor took a seat opposite Harry who immediately was unable to prevent himself blurting out the news.

“Hermione’s gone. She’s been used in the task for you.”

“Vhat?” Viktor looked at him in astonishment.

“The clue didn’t mean something we’ll sorely miss, but someone. And Hermione’s missing. So is Fred. Hermione must be your person to rescue.”

“This is unacceptable,” Viktor scowled grimly. “She did not sign up for this.”

“She knew. We worked it out last night. She knew what was going to happen.”

“And she allowed this?” Viktor’s eyebrows rose. Harry nodded. A flush seemed to spread over Viktor’s cheeks, although his eyes held a large amount of worry.

Ron joined them soon after and it was a testament to both his worry, and his desire to support Harry, that he wasn’t stuttering his words or spending the whole time glaring at Viktor. Nobody was really in the mood to talk, all just wanting this task to be over and the people they cared about back with them safely.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall came over and Harry knew time was up.

“You’ve got this, Harry. Just remember everything we told you and you’ll be absolutely fine,” George told him quietly. Then he clapped Harry’s shoulder.

“I’ll bring him back,” he promised. George nodded.

“I know.”

“Come along, Mr. Potter, Mr. Krum,” McGonagall said, though her voice was softer than Harry had ever heard it. She was giving him a sympathetic look that honestly made him angry. How could she look at him with sympathy when she had some part in taking Fred and Hermione?

They were joined by Cassius, who was looking concerned and angry, as they left the hall. None of them spoke as they walked down to the lake where Fleur was already waiting besides Madam Maxime and Ludo Bagman.

The four champions stood by the edge of the lake, next to the judges table which was draped in gold cloth, while the other students all came down and settled themselves in the nearby stands that had been erected.

“The stands seem a little pointless. They are hardly going to see what’s going on deep under the water, are they?” Harry wondered, simply for something else to think about.

“None of this has been well thought out,” Cassius said tightly.

Once it appeared that everyone had been seated, Harry noted that Percy Weasley was standing in as a judge for Mr. Crouch, which made him more suspicious than ever. He’d been too distracted to check the map in the last few days but would have to keep an eye out for more nighttime activity from the Ministry man.

Once it was time, Bagman separated the champions, positioning them so they were standing ten feet apart along the water’s edge. Harry was at the end of the line, with Viktor next to him.

“Alright, Harry? Know what you’re going to do?” Bagman asked him, as he moved him a couple of feet further from Viktor.

“Yes, thanks,” Harry muttered.

Bagman gave Harry’s shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the judges’ table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, “Sonorus!” and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One... two... three!”

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause; without looking to see what the other champions were doing, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks before wading into the water. The cold almost took his breath away and he was instantly shivering. He took a deep breath, grabbed his wand and performed a warming charm before then performing the bubble-head charm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Viktor changing. He only caught a glimpse of some sort of shark head before he dived underwater out of sight. Harry quickly followed.

He put his wand away and started swimming. He was immediately aware of the difference between swimming in the Room of Requirement and in the Black Lake. He felt incredibly slow, and he struggled to make his way towards the middle of the lake. The other champions were already nowhere in sight.

Silence pressed upon his ears as he struggled over a strange, dark, foggy landscape. He could only see, maybe, ten feet around him, so that as he swam through the water, new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the oncoming darkness: forests of rippling, tangled black weed, wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones. He swam deeper and deeper, out toward the middle of the lake, his eyes wide, staring through the eerily grey-lit water around him to the shadows beyond, where the water became opaque.

Small fish flickered past him like silver darts. Once or twice, he thought he saw something larger moving ahead of him, but when he got nearer, he discovered it to be nothing but a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions, merpeople, Fred — nor, thankfully, the giant squid. His nerves were frayed, and he was twitching at every slight noise.

He swam deeper and attempted to wordlessly cast the directional spell. Nothing happened. He cursed. He hadn’t had time to master this one, with the warming charm and bubble-head charm being more important. He took a deep breath, remembering Fred’s voice as he guided him through it and tried once more. His wand twitched feebly but didn’t spin. Harry closed his eyes in frustration before forcing himself to move on.

As he swam further, he thought he saw something moving ahead of him. Sounds of struggling reached his ears and someone, he thought it was Fleur, crying out. Before he could do anything, he felt something grab his ankle. Harry twisted his body around and saw a grindylow poking out of the weed, its long fingers clutched tightly around Harry’s leg, its pointed fangs bared — Harry grabbed his wand. He saw two more grindylows rising out of the weed. “Relashio!” Harry shouted, instinctively. It worked. The words sounded in his bubble of air and red sparks shot out of his wand at the grindylows. They let go and scattered. He swam towards the still ongoing struggle, continuing to cast over his shoulder.

Fleur emerged out of the gloom, surrounded by grindylows herself. Harry immediately began sending sparks at them, causing them all to back away. One brave one attempted to sneak up and grab his ankle from behind but Harry kicked out, dazing it. Eventually they sank back into the reeds and Harry turned to Fleur, who was also sporting a bubble of air.

“’Zank you. You saved me,” she said. Harry was too stunned by the revelation that they could actually talk through the bubblehead charm, and that he hadn’t needed wordless casting at all, to respond immediately.

“You’re welcome. Come on, time’s running out,” he replied eventually. She nodded and they set off.

Fleur was clearly as used to swimming as Harry was and they swam along at a similar pace. Harry tried casting the direction spell once more, and this time it worked perfectly. He set off in the direction indicated and eventually he began to hear singing. It was incredibly eerie, hearing the words from the clue. He forced himself to swim faster, but just then, his bubble burst. Cursing to himself, he stopped to recast accidentally speaking and inhaling a mouthful of water before remembering to cast silently. Suddenly he was once again glad for the practise. He also recast the warming charm for good measure.

Harry and Fleur pushed on and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they were carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Harry swam on past the rock, following the mersong.

“... your time’s half gone, so tarry not
Lest what you seek stays here to rot...”

A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Harry saw faces. The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry and Fleur as they swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

Harry sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and he even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. He never thought he’d feel bad for a grindylow until now.

Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, pointing at the two of them, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry turned a corner and a very strange sight met his eyes. A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Two people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson. Fred, and a young girl with silvery-blonde hair who looked just like Fleur. She looked no older than eight and Fleur cried out at the sight. It must be her sister and, given her distress, Harry didn’t think Fleur had known. It made him angry that they would use an eight-year-old as part of this stupid tournament.

There were two other bits of rope that indicated Hermione and Lexi had been there, but there was no sign of them. That was good. Hopefully Viktor and Cassius had already been and saved their people.

He took out Sirius’ knife and began cutting Fred free. Fleur used a charm to free her sister. They began making their way up, towards the surface. It was incredibly difficult work. Fred was completely dead weight and his head lolled in a way that made Harry’s stomach clench with fear. There was also no visible way for him to breathe which was stressing him out.

He glanced up and saw the darkness thinning. It was getting lighter and lighter. That gave him the energy to kick his feet harder than ever. He ached all over, muscles burned, and he wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

But then, his head broke the surface, and he gasped in delight. He felt, rather than saw, Fred waking up, as he shifted slightly, just as Fleur broke the surface with her sister. All around them, wild, green-haired heads were emerging out of the water with him, but they were smiling at him.

The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry had the impression they thought that Fred and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong. Fred’s eyes opened and he spluttered a bit, expelling a mouthful of water before he turned to Harry.

“You did it!” Fred cried out happily. “Knew you would.”

“Yeah,” Harry managed, still trying to keep himself afloat. It was easier now that Fred could manage on his own.

“Come on,” Fred said, and they made their way towards the shore. Fleur and her sister followed more slowly.

Harry could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione, Viktor, Cassius, and Lexi, all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets. He sighed in relief that they were all ok. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Ron from the bank as they swam nearer, but Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, came splashing out to meet them. Percy seized a stunned looking Fred and was dragging him back to the bank (“Gerroff, Percy, I’m all right!”); Dumbledore and Bagman were pulling Harry upright but were soon brushed aside as the other champions and hostages pulled him into a massive group hug.

“Thank goodness you’re alright,” Hermione said. “We were so worried. You’re back quite late.”

“Well, considering I couldn’t swim at all a month ago, I think I did pretty well,” Harry retorted.

“Glad you’re safe, Harry,” Lexi smiled, hugging him tightly.

“You too.”

Harry was then pulled away from the hugs so Madam Pomfrey could wrap him and Fred in towels as well before forcing a potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of their ears, but Harry immediately felt better. Fred had been forcibly rescued from Percy’s attentions.

“So, how late am I?” Harry wondered.

“About half an hour,” Cassius told him, sounding a little strained. “Everyone was getting pretty worried when you and Fleur weren’t back.”

“How did you guys do?” Harry asked.

“Great. I used Gillyweed. It gives you gills and flippers which makes it a lot easier to swim. I was in and out in forty-five minutes,” Cassius grinned happily. “Professor Snape let me have some of his from his stores.”

“Of course he did,” Harry muttered. He could only imagine Snape’s face if Harry had asked to use some of his ingredients.

“I made it just under the limit,” Viktor told him.

“He did a partial self-transfiguration. As a shark,” Hermione added with a small smile.

“Wicked,” Fred grinned.

“Well done guys. I’m glad you got in and out ok,” Harry smiled. And it was true.

Dumbledore was crouching at the water’s edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally, he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, “A conference before we give the marks, I think.”

The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey was still tending to Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn from the grindylow fight, but she didn’t seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them. She insisted on her sister being tended to first. Then she came over to their group.

“You saved me,” she said. “I would not ‘ave been able to save ‘er without you.”

“Er, you’re welcome. I couldn’t just leave you.” She smiled widely at him before swooping down and kissing him on each cheek.

“If I can ever repay you, I will,” she told him before returning to her sister’s side. Fred was looking slightly bemused and a little irritated.

“What was that about?” He wondered.

“I was attacked by grindylows and found Fleur in the same situation. I couldn’t exactly just leave her, she was completely surrounded and about to be dragged off,” Harry explained. “Turns out she’s as uncomfortable with water as I am so we finished the task at the same time.” As he finished, the judges finished their huddle. Bagman cast the sonorous charm on himself and began announcing the results.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows...

“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal. She was rescued by fellow champion, Harry Potter, and so able to rescue her hostage, though she arrived last, thirty minutes outside the time limit of an hour. We award her thirty points.”

Applause from the stands.

“I deserved less,” said Fleur throatily, shaking her magnificent head.

“Cassius Warrington made excellent use of gillyweed, to great effect, and was first to return with his hostage, under the time limit of an hour.” Enormous cheers from the Slytherins in the crowd; Harry saw Lexi giving Cassius a bright smile. Harry and rest of the group clapped along with the crowd.

“We therefore award him the full fifty points.” More cheers.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage, one minutes inside the time limit. We award him forty-five points.” Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

“Mr. Harry Potter also made excellent use of the bubble-head charm. He arrived third and twenty-nine minutes outside the time limit of an hour. However, as part of his delay was due to the rescuing of a fellow champion, we also award him forty-five points.”

All of the other champions and hostages clapped just an enthusiastically as the crowd.

“Well done, Harry!” Fred beamed. Then he bent down and kissed him deeply, causing yet more cheers from the crowd, along with many catcalls. When Fred finally pulled away, Harry felt like he was in a daze.

“You and Viktor are still tied!” Hermione exclaimed.

“But Cassie is now ahead,” Lexi put in smugly. “Cassie is on 88 points, then it’s Viktor and Harry on 85 with Fleur last on 65.”

“It’s very close,” Fred smiled.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

It was over, Harry thought dazedly, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes... it was over, he had got through... he didn’t have to worry about anything now until June the twenty-fourth.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that it had been him that had been taken hostage and put underwater overnight; Fred was incredibly reluctant to let Harry out of his sight. Hearing how worried everyone else had been when Harry had taken so long hadn’t helped much either.

They walked back up the castle hand in hand, with all the other champions and their respective hostages. It was just after eleven so they decided to head to the Great Hall so they could all hang out together. Fleur and her sister chose to join them, so they all gathered at the Ravenclaw table, so Harry and Cassius didn’t have to sit with Slytherin or Gryffindor. George naturally came with them, and so Angelina was with him. The contingent of non-Ravenclaws at the table was almost as large as the Ravenclaw contingent for a period.

Fleur’s sister was incredibly talkative and the rest of them could barely get a word in edgeways, but Fred was content with not talking much, just sitting there with his hand in Harry’s. Lunch was soon served. They all ate together, chatting casually. Then Fred spotted Ginny glowering at him from the Gryffindor table. With a sigh he got up and made his way over to his sister. Sitting down next to her, he opened his mouth, what he was going to say he wasn’t sure, but she cut him off.

“How could you?” She demanded.

“How could I?”

“You know I’ve liked Harry forever and you didn’t even tell me you were dating.”

“I’m sorry, Gin. We didn’t do this to hurt you. Yeah, I know you’ve had a crush on him forever, but you have a crush on some heroic figure you’ve put on a pedestal. Not Harry. I’ve spent a lot of time with him recently, getting to know him, the real him. So, I asked him out, not to hurt you, but because I wanted to, and he said yes.”

“You could have let me ask him first.” Fred barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He'd told the others he would take care of this, preferably before Ginny found out from someone else and he hadn't. That was on him. 

“You can barely even talk if he’s in the same room,” Fred pointed out quietly. She glared at him fingers flexing like she wanted to go for her wand. He really regretted the fact that Bill had taught her the Bat Bogey Hex during their summer in Egypt. She had taken to it a little too well.

“I liked him first.”

“That’s hardly relevant. It was Harry’s choice and he said yes. Like I said, I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I’m not giving up Harry.” She sniffled slightly. Fred felt bad for his sister. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, for the longest time he didn't think he'd even stand a chance, but he didn't want her to hurt. He didn't like that his happiness came at her expense.

“No. I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said eventually. “I’ll get over it eventually, but it hurts more my brother started dating my crush and didn’t see fit to even let me know. You let me find out by making out with him in front of everyone!” Fred winced.

“Sorry. That wasn’t cool. I did mean to talk to you, but with the second task it got a bit crazy.”

“Really? I know you went to the ball together, even if I didn’t know it was a date, but you couldn’t find a minute to talk to me since Christmas?”

“We weren’t dating then. The Hogsmeade trip was our first date,” he admitted. She refused to look at him as she nodded.

“I really am sorry Gin. You’ll find someone. Someone who is right for you.” She nodded again, still not looking at him. Fred squeezed her shoulder and stood up. As he headed back to the Ravenclaw table, he spotted Neville taking his empty seat beside Ginny and talking to her in an undertone. Fred was glad his sister had someone who could be there for her. He slid back into the seat next to Harry.

“Everything ok?” Harry asked him quietly, leaning into him slightly as Fred put his arm around his shoulders.

“It will be.”

After everyone had eaten, they dispersed for the rest of the day. Harry felt he was almost ready to take his Arithmancy entrance exam, so he’d roped George into testing him before he asked Professor Vector at the weekend. That left Fred to his own devices, not wanting to distract them so he set about his private project. His notes were several sheafs of parchment covered in runic arrays. He stared at them before picking up his quill and making amendments. He’d hit a sticking point and didn’t want to ask Professor Babbling just yet.

The formulas were swimming in front of his eyes by the time Harry finished working with George.

“You did great. Honestly, I suspect you could pass the end of fourth year exam too with at least an E.”

“Thanks George,” Harry smiled. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“No problem.” They made their way back to the common room from the twins’ workroom, chatting about Quidditch and the upcoming game with Beaubatons. Durmstrang had beaten them at the end of January very comfortably. Their chasers were good, but the keeper was hopeless. Harry hadn’t gotten much of a measure of the other seeker. They’d been no match for Viktor but had at least tried to hunt for the snitch herself rather than just follow him around.

Fred, Angelina, Ron and Hermione were sitting by the fire, doing various pieces of homework. Ron was moaning about a particularly nasty potions essay while Hermione was practically hidden behind a stack of books.

“Hey guys,” Angelina smiled, kissing George as he sat beside her. That left no empty seats, so Fred pulled Harry to sit in his lap, making Harry go red instantly.

“Aren’t I going to stop you doing homework like this?”

“All the more reason for you to sit there,” Fred grinned. Harry laughed.

“George reckons I should be able to take the Arithmancy exam at the weekend, as long as Professor Vector has time.” Hermione looked up at that.

“That’s brilliant Harry!” She exclaimed. “You’ll love Arithmancy. It’s so interesting!” She made it sound like he hadn’t been studying it like crazy for the past few months. If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be taking the entrance exam.

“Well done. It’s incredibly impressive that you’ve managed to do a year and a half of studying in such a short amount of time, especially with everything else you’ve had going on,” Fred told him with a smile. “And you successfully cast a couple of non-verbal spells.”

“It’s nice to see you taking your studies seriously,” Hermione agreed.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone in Divination with that old bat,” Ron complained.

“You could have studied Arithmancy with me and dropped Divination,” Harry pointed out. Ron wrinkled his nose at the idea of doing that much work.

The following morning Skeeter dropped another article. A picture of Harry and Fred was splashed across the front page with a headline about women’s hearts breaking all over the country. Much to Harry’s horror the article, the entire article, seemed centred around the supposed fact that Fred had somehow stolen Harry’s affection from Ginny. Someone had told her about the singing valentine from a couple of years ago, and she also had quotes from Fred’s conversation with Ginny the day before that made Fred rage.

Ginny had set the paper on fire while Fred looked incredibly close to doing the same thing. Harry wanted to disappear, but instead he grabbed Fred’s hand and practically dragged him to the workroom so they could talk more privately.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said glumly. That made Fred look at him for the first time.

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“Because she wouldn’t have gone after you like that if you weren’t dating me.”

“That’s not your fault. It’s Skeeter’s. And she’s going to regret it,” Fred stated dangerously, his eyes flashing.

Thankfully, the whole of Gryffindor took the threat of the twins seriously and so were behind them on the matter, helping deal with the brunt of comments from other houses. They also banded together and found that one of the Gryffindor’s in Ginny’s dorm had been the one to leak the singing valentine to Skeeter. They were made aware not to do anything of the sort again. Any copies of the article were burnt on sight.

The worst part, in Harry’s opinion, was the Howler Mrs Weasley had sent Fred. Having dealt with howlers from their mother before, Fred was easily able to disable it but not before Harry had heard enough. The contents had been bad enough, the resigned reaction from Fred, like he’d expected his mother to believe he would ‘steal’ Harry from Ginny and scold him for it like Harry didn’t have a say in the matter, made Harry miserable and furious in equal measure. He’d seen over the summer the disregard Molly seemed to have for her twin sons and their endeavours, but he’d like to have believed she would at least ask for their side of the story, rather than believing someone like Skeeter and sending Fred a howler.

The weekend after the second task arrived and Harry was once again in the Transfiguration classroom with Fred and George. Lexi and Cassius arrived on the dot of twelve, as they had every other time they met up.  After food had been eaten and general chit-chat had been covered, they turned to more serious matters.

“First things first, here. These are the details of our family lawyer who should be able to help you with a lot of stuff from defamation to your name being used without your consent and the fact that you may or may not be gaining any royalties from such books, as well as your godfather. Honestly, I’d imagine not,” Lexi told him, handing over a torn strip of parchment with neat handwriting on.

“Thanks,” he smiled gratefully. “I’ll owl him later on today.” He desperately wanted to go now and put a stop to articles like the one that had come out earlier in the week. Not only had there been the howler from Mrs Weasley, Fred had been receiving hate mail all week and Harry was growing more guilty and also angrier at the fact he couldn’t do anything about it. She held out a book.

“I also brought this. It’s a book on pureblood etiquette with correct forms of address and such. It also covers details such as the contracts I mentioned so ensure he maintains confidentiality.”

“Perfect. I’ll have it back to you as soon as I can.”

“No hurry. I know the contents of it back to front,” she smiled slightly.

“So, aside from learning that your escaped godfather, the infamous Sirius Black, is actually innocent and that it was in fact one of your parent’s other friends that betrayed them and killed the muggles, we also learnt that the criminal justice system completely failed in so many ways last year,” Cassius summed up.

“Pretty much,” George agreed. “So that just leaves Harry’s first year. Our third.”

“Yes. Although, we also had a request to make of Harry,” Lexi put in. Harry looked at her in surprise, wondering what they could possibly want from him. He gestured for her to go on. “Cassius and I were wondering if you would be willing to show us the Chamber of Secrets?” Harry shuddered slightly.

“Uh…” Honestly, he never really wanted to set foot in that place ever again.

“He almost died there, and you want him to go back?” Fred demanded.

“Not necessarily. If he could just open the entrance, then we could go in alone. It’s just…it’s Salazar Slytherin's personal chamber,” Cassius said slightly dreamily.

“It was awful. Damp and gross,” Harry told him.

“Well, the basilisk parts are incredibly valuable. And the skin can make some good armour,” Cassius reminded him. “If you don’t want to, we respect that, but we wanted to at least ask.”

“I guess. The problem is I don’t know if the entrance will stay open while you’re down there. And if it does, anyone could wander down and we don’t know what else is down there.”

“That’s a good point. We could put some protective charms up to keep people away. And it is in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. That’ll help,” Lexi mused. Harry couldn’t deny that.

“Alright. I’ll take you, and see if we can at least get some basilisk parts,” Harry sighed.

“Are you sure?” Fred asked worriedly.

“Yeah. It’ll be ok. You could come too.”

“Try and stop me if you’re going down there.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Cassius smiled eagerly. He looked thrilled and Lexi was equally excited. “Anyway, let’s have it. This is the last year we have to hear about so we might as well get it over with.”

Harry sighed and began telling them about his first year. He started with his trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, which caused Cassius and Lexi to frown in confusion, but they made no comment. He told them about his trip to Gringotts, Hagrid’s comments and the visit to the almost empty vault. Then he covered his first interaction with Malfoy which made some eyes roll, before skipping over his return to the Dursleys and going straight to his first potions lessons and visit to Hagrid’s afterwards.

As he talked, the others kept their clear questions to a minimum, letting Harry talk. Cassius shook his head in disbelief at Hagrid getting his hands on a dragon egg and planning to hatch it in his wooden hut. The detention he received made all of them furious.

“You’re seriously telling me that your detention for being out of bounds after curfew, was to send you out of bounds after curfew? Into a forbidden area?” Lexi asked, with a confused expression. “Why?”

“That makes no sense. That has never been a detention before, so why would it suddenly be allowed, especially with everything that was going on? Someone had already tried to jinx Harry’s broom and they wanted to let him wander around the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night with only Hagrid, someone not allowed to use magic, for protection?” George frowned.

“I’m pretty sure Hagrid requested to take the detention because he felt guilty. As for why he was allowed to do so at eleven at night is beyond me,” Harry admitted.

“Because when it comes to you, there is always something insane going on,” Cassius said grimly.

Harry told them what had happened during the detention, which made Fred cling to him like his life depended on it, and Lexi exploded into a rant that seemed to be mostly expletives.

Harry quickly decided to move on, knowing it wasn’t going to get any better. The news that he’d seen Voldemort in the forest made them all shiver while the fact that he’d gotten his invisibility cloak back made Cassius and Lexi both narrow their eyes suspiciously while the twins were simply relieved, and begged Harry to share. He told them about the obstacle course, which made all of them suspicious, not just the Slytherins. They were all suitably impressed by how they made it past all of the obstacles but by the time he told them about the potions puzzle, they couldn’t keep their comments in any longer.

“You’re telling me, the so called ‘obstacles’ involved catching a small, flying object on a broomstick, a chess game and a logic puzzle, for the youngest seeker in a century, a chess prodigy and the smartest witch of her age?” George summarized with a frown.

“That’s not right. The best puzzle Professor Snape could come up with was a puzzle an eleven-year-old solved in under five minutes? Not a chance,” Lexi shook her head. “There are any number of potions that would work better, and if the point was to keep the stone safe, then why even have the correct potion in the room? Why not keep them trapped in the room and have the supposed right potion be Veritaserum or something?”

“Because a simple flame freezing charm would have got an adult wizard through flames. The solution was in there to make sure Harry could get through,” Cassius realised. “An immobulous charm or a summoning charm would work on the keys, a blasting charm on the chess pieces, there are any number of ways an adult wizard could have gotten through those simple puzzles. I rather think the point was to allow Harry and his friends through.”

“Even the Cerberus. Hagrid is in no way an appropriate person to fetch a muggle-raised wizard and introduce him to magical society. However, it did practically guarantee Harry would appreciate and befriend him, also a notorious blabbermouth by all accounts, and likely provide Harry with a solution for the Cerberus,” Lexi agreed.

“What?” Harry stared between the pair of them. “You think…no.”

“I think everything that happened in your first year was planned,” Cassius said grimly.

“But…the only person who could do that is the headmaster,” pointed out George. The two Slytherins just stared at him.

“He wouldn’t…” Harry protested, but it sounded weak to his own ears. His own doubts about the headmaster from this year were resurfacing with a vengeance. He’d even said to Ron in the Hospital Wing at the end of first year that he’d thought Dumbledore had allowed him to face Voldemort. But…the idea that the headmaster had planned the whole event, even down to sending Hagrid to fetch him from the Dursleys, he couldn’t wrap his mind around that.

“But why? Why would the headmaster do that?” Fred demanded.

“I don’t know, and I don’t like it,” Lexi said, eyeing Harry with concern. “But I think you really need to write to the lawyer and sort out this business with your godfather. You need someone who can advocate for you in the wizarding world.” He nodded.

Harry quickly finished the tale.

The fact that Voldemort had been possessing a teacher in the school all year made all four of them both horrified and furious.

“That’s even more suspicious. There is no way Dumbledore didn’t know the Dark Lord was possessing a member of his staff for an entire year,” Cassius said, shaking his head.

“The question is why. Why would he do all of that to Harry?” Fred demanded. They all looked at each other and shrugged.

“That’s the big question,” Lexi said. “And one I’d very much like an answer to. Why Harry?”

“Wish I had the answer to that,” Harry grumbled.

“I hate to say it, but clearly Dumbledore doesn’t have Harry’s best interests at heart. So, we get this lawyer to free Sirius, what’s to stop Dumbledore interfering then? Do you trust Sirius will protect you from Dumbledore too?” Fred asked Harry seriously. Harry considered this. His first instinct was to say yes. He wanted to say yes so badly, but…Sirius had chosen revenge over Harry before. Would he put Harry first this time? Or would be blindly follow Dumbledore like everyone seemed to, including Harry himself until very recently?

“I don’t know,” he admitted, pained.

“It’s the best hope there is, I think,” Cassius stated. “But, if the worst comes to the worst and Black let’s Dumbledore interfere, I’m of age. I’ll bloody adopt Harry if I must.” Harry stared at him; mouth open. The Weasley twins weren’t much better while Lexi had raised her eyebrows. Cassius coloured, cheeks flushing, but he looked determined.

“Really?” Harry asked in a small voice. Cassius sighed.

“Really. Lexi would skin me alive if I let you go back to that muggle filth you call relatives and if your own godfather won’t protect you from the headmaster, who legally should have no say in your life anyway, well…someone should. And if that means I have to put up with you as my ward for a couple of years, I’ll survive.” Despite the words, his tone was fond, and he offered Harry a wry grin. Harry didn’t know what to say. Warmth bubbled in his chest and his eyes burned slightly. Cassius had hated him at the start of the year, and now, he was offering to do more for Harry than anyone had ever done before. Offering to go against Dumbledore to protect Harry, someone he had no real reason to help, it blew his mind.

“Cassius…I…” He couldn’t find appropriate words for what it meant to him. The older boy waved this away, looking like he wanted to move on.

“So, we have a plan and a backup plan,” Fred stated, once he recovered his voice. “We need to establish whether Sirius will be on Harry’s side.” Harry was still struggling to believe he had a ‘side’ especially as it seemed the headmaster was an enemy. Yes, he had his doubts about the man recently, and resented the lack of help, but this was on a whole other level, and he was struggling to wrap his mind around it.

“The best thing would be to try and find out why Dumbledore is so interested in testing Harry. Why he would set up his first year like that. Why he would allow Granger a time-turner to attend extra lessons and then not save Sirius himself at the end of Harry’s third year. He is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he could have spoken up in Sirius’ favour with the Minister. He told Harry that the word of three thirteen-year-old wizards and a werewolf wouldn’t convince many, but the word of Albus Dumbledore would,” Lexi pointed out.

“Well, Sirius wrote to me, asking about the next Hogsmeade weekend, so I think he’s got a plan to be able to talk to me then,” Harry told them. Lexi nodded.

“That’s good. The earlier we can establish what we need to know, the better.”

They broke up soon after that, dispersing to do their own thing. Fred and George pretty much became Harry’s shadows, so they went up to their inventing room. Harry had his test with Professor Vector the next day, so a bit more studying couldn’t hurt. Eventually, Fred dragged him away and took him up to the Room of Requirement.

“You need to relax. You’re going to do fine on the test. And we’ll work everything else out. I promise,” Fred told him, as they got into the oversized bath once more.

“You can’t promise that,” Harry said quietly.

“I can. I may not know Sirius, but he’ll take your side or George and I will make him. He might be a Marauder, but we’re the Weasley Twins and he won’t know what’s hit him.” Harry couldn’t help laughing at that.

Once Fred felt Harry was relaxed enough, a bit of making out may have helped in that regard, they went back to the inventing room so Harry could have a bit of privacy to write to the lawyer Lexi had recommended. He studied the book she’d given him thoroughly, and then wrote out what he needed. Firstly, he needed the contract in place so the man couldn’t go to the press with anything Harry told him. Then he could work on his press issue and freeing Sirius. Fred was with him the whole time, pointing out better ways to phrase things or just offering a reassuring presence that Harry was still getting used to.

The next day he took the Arithmancy exam in the morning. It was gruelling, but Harry thought he’d done reasonably well. It had contained the third-year curriculum plus some of the fourth-year stuff to make sure he was prepared enough to enter the class this late in the year. The afternoon was spent on some of his other homework which had started piling up once more.

Later that week, he received news that he had passed the exam with flying colours. He’d received an O for his third-year exam and a low EE for the fourth-year stuff. He would be permitted to take Arithmancy instead of Divination starting the following Monday.

As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius’s reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again. Sirius’s letter was almost as short as the previous one.

Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.

“He hasn’t come back to Hogsmeade?” said Ron incredulously.

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” said Hermione.

“What if he’s caught?” Harry worried.

“He wasn’t caught when he hid out on the grounds for a whole year with Dementors patrolling the whole place. He’ll be ok,” Fred reasoned. Harry felt himself relax at those words. Fred had a point. He was still concerned, of course, but he had to admit he wanted to see Sirius again.

“But coming so close to Hogsmeade, even as a dog. It’s risky,” Harry frowned.

“You’re worth that risk. It’s a good sign that he’s willing to do this to help you,” Fred pointed out.

“Since when do Fred and George know about Sirius?” Ron asked, looking between Harry and his brothers.

“I didn’t want to keep secrets from someone I’m dating,” Harry told him. “And if Fred knows then it made sense to tell George.” Ron just hummed dubiously while Hermione nodded and returned to her breakfast.

“I’ll let Viktor know I’m spending tomorrow with you then,” she said between mouthfuls of porridge. Ron made a face at the topic, but made no comment, which was an improvement in Harry’s book.

“He won’t mind?”

“He’s got plenty of studying to be getting on with. Even thought the champions don’t have to take end of year tests, he is taking the Durmstrang equivalent of NEWTs which he can’t exactly just skip. So, he’s studying for those.”

Harry turned to the rest of his post, which includes a response from the lawyer.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Please find a signed copy of the requested contract enclosed, along with a list of my fees. Please let me know how I can be of service to you.

Yours sincerely,

Edmund Greengrass

Harry grinned. He scanned over the other sheaf of parchment, which was indeed the signed contract and then stared at the fees. Fred peered over his shoulder.

“Expensive bloke, innie?” Harry frowned down at the parchment.

“What’s that for?” Ron asked, trying to get a look himself.

“Lawyer Lexi recommended to try and help with my media problem. And help Sirius. How do I even know if I can afford it?” Ron looked away at the question and didn’t answer.

“You could probably ask Gringotts for a statement, but it’s probably better to go in person,” George suggested, “but you’d need someone to take you to Diagon Alley.”

“Shame we can’t apparate yet,” Fred sighed.

“Warrington probably can,” George pointed out. Fred looked a little grumpy at that, but there was no time for further discussions. They had to get to the first lesson of the day, which, unfortunately, was potions for Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Part way through the lesson, there was a knock on the dungeon door.

“Enter,” said Snape. The whole class looked around curiously as the door opened, not many people interrupted Snape’s classes. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated. They spoke too quietly for Harry to hear from the back of the classroom, but when they finished speaking, Karkaroff made no move to leave. He hovered by Snape’s desk for the rest of the lesson.

Wondering what they could possibly have to talk about, Harry knocked over his vial of armadillo bile with two minutes left, giving him an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron to mop it up.

The bell rang and everyone else began moving noisily towards the exit, including Ron and Hermione once he’d shooed them away. Harry couldn’t hear anything, but peering around the edge of his cauldron, he saw Karkaroff with his left sleeve rolled up, showing Snape something on his inner forearm.

“You must have noticed…” Karkaroff was saying just as the students finished filing out and the room went quiet.

“Put it away! We can talk later, Karkaroff!” spat Snape. “Potter! What are you doing?”

“Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor,” said Harry innocently, straightening up and showing Snape the sodden rag he was holding.

Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry threw his books and ingredients back into his bag and left at top speed to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just witnessed.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, the twins and Angelina all left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all six of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in a picnic basket that Fred had gotten from the kitchen elves and shrunk down to put in his pocket. George went off with Angelina, and Fred and Harry split off from the other two as well, with a promise to meet by Dervish and Bangs just before half past one.

They went to Zonkos, and Honeydukes first before stopping in at J. Pippins and Tombs and Scrolls. They also ended up in the Quidditch shop, where Harry managed to distract Fred for long enough to order him a new beater’s bat for his birthday, as there wouldn’t be another Hogsmeade weekend before the first of April. He also picked up some new gloves for George as he’d noticed at practice his were wearing quite thin nowadays.

At half past one, they met up with the others at Dervish and Bangs. George had left Angelina with Katie and Alicia in The Three Broomsticks. They then headed out, towards the edge of the village.

Harry had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; they were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then they turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar.

“Hello, Sirius,” said Harry when they had reached him. The dog was busy staring at the Weasley twins, backing away ever so slightly, teeth bared. When Harry said his name, the dog seemed to stare at him reproachfully. “It’s fine, Sirius. They know. You can trust the twins.” He barked but seemed to take Harry’s word for it as he approached and began sniffing Fred’s pocket that held the food.

Then he turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. The five of them climbed over the stile and followed. Sirius led them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but all five of them were soon out of breath. They followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself.

For nearly half an hour they climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius’s wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of Harry’s bag cutting into his shoulders. Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when they reached the place where he had vanished, they saw a narrow fissure in the rock. They squeezed into it and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak. Harry was pleased to see the hippogriff doing well. It was a shame Hagrid couldn’t see him.

Buckbeak’s fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of them. All three of them bowed low to him, and after regarding them imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry, however, was looking at the black dog, which had just turned into his godfather.

Sirius was wearing ragged grey robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Hogwarts at the end of the last school year. Harry assumed they were his robes from Azkaban and made a note to find his godfather some new clothes. Harry himself had only ever owned his school clothes and Dudley’s hand-me-downs, which might actually fit Sirius they were that big, but it was still better than prison clothes. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin.

“Chicken!” He rasped after he’d thrown down the Daily Prophets that had been in his mouth. Fred stared at him.

“That’s the first thing you have to say to Harry after all this time and everything that’s happened?” Sirius blinked in surprise and then glared at him.

“Forgive me for thinking about food when I’ve been living off almost nothing but rats,” Sirius growled.

“Fred, it’s fine. Let’s all have something to eat,” Harry stepped in nervously. Reluctantly, Fred unshrunk the picnic basket and pulled out the food. Sirius grabbed a chicken drumstick and began tearing the meat off it hurriedly. The rest of them started eating at a more sedate pace.

“Thanks,” said Sirius, around a mouthful of chicken.

“Why have you been living off rats?” Harry demanded.

“I can’t steal too much from Hogsmeade, it’d draw attention. And I like the poetic justice.” His grin was vicious while Harry shuddered slightly.

“You shouldn’t be here. What if you get caught?”

“I won’t get caught. I didn’t get caught before, did I? I’m fulfilling my duties as your godfather in the only way I can right now,” he said, grinning. Despite his worry, Harry felt himself smiling back.

“I’m working on it,” he promised. “Lexi recommended a good lawyer who can look into your case. He’s signed a blood contract so he can’t tell anyone anything without my permission too.” Sirius stopped eating at that and stared at him, mouth open.

“What?” He asked hoarsely.

“Yeah. So, hopefully, you won’t have to live off rats for too much longer.” Sirius’ face broke into a proper smile then, one that made him look years younger, and he moved to pull Harry into a hug.

“Thanks, pup. So, tell me why those two are here.” Harry blushed.

“I’m…Fred is…”

“Harry, he knows,” Fred told him. “He’s been reading the paper.” He gestured to a stack of old Daily Prophets. Harry’s blush deepened.

“And I want to hear that kind of news from my godson himself. Not the likes of Rita Skeeter,” Sirius snorted derisively.

“I’mdatingFred,” Harry blurted out so quickly the words all ran together. Sirius grinned at him. Then Sirius turned to Fred, his expression turning grim.

“So, you’re the one dating my godson? You certainly seem protective,” he said wryly.

“Given everything going on and that has already happened to Harry, I think someone should be,” Fred retorted. Sirius frowned.

“What do you mean, ‘everything that’s already happened’?”

“Fred!” Harry hissed.

“I mean, like when he almost got his soul sucked out saving your backside because Professor Lupin didn’t take his potion.” Sirius winced very slightly at the mention of Professor Lupin and Harry wondered what that was about. The two men seemed to have made up in the Shack that night, realising neither of them had been the spy and that Sirius wasn’t a mass murderer. He wondered, not for the first time, what happened to Professor Lupin.

“That wasn’t Remus’ fault,” Sirius snarled. “Snivelly was the one who brought it to him so late and Remus was trying to protect the kids.”

“Either way, Harry needs people in his corner,” George interrupted, putting a hand on Fred’s arm. Sirius nodded at that.

“Especially now,” he agreed. He nodded to the papers on the floor. There were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing — Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved.

Harry scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at him: hasn’t been seen in public since November... house appears deserted... St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment... Ministry refuses to confirm rumours of critical illness...

“They’re making it sound like he’s dying,” said Harry slowly. “But he can’t be that ill if he managed to get up here...” he glanced at Fred who looked equally curious.

“Our brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant,” Ron informed Sirius. “He says Crouch is suffering from overwork.”

“The last time I saw him, on Halloween, he did look ill,” Harry muttered. “But then why come up to Hogwarts in the middle of the night to search Snape’s store cupboard?”

“He searched Snivelly’s stores?” Sirius frowned, puzzled. “In the middle of the night? That’s not like Crouch.”

“We saw it on the map,” Harry told him. Sirius looked thoughtful.

“If Crouch has ever taken a day off sick before this, I’ll eat Buckbeak. He’s a workaholic,” Sirius stated after a few moments. “And if he did have suspicions about someone at Hogwarts attending the tournament would be a perfect way to keep an eye on them. Not ducking out and sneaking around at night. It’s not his style. Something isn’t right here.”

“Something hasn’t been right all year,” Ron said.

“You know Crouch?” Harry asked, curiously. Sirius gave a dark laugh.

“Know him? He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban — without a trial.”

“What?” They all gasped in shock.

“Now that’s definitely something for the lawyer. If Mr. Crouch is called into question for putting an innocent man into Azkaban, they might also be able to investigate whatever is going on with him now,” George said.

“Or they delay looking into my case until he’s better,” Sirius said grimly. “Crouch used to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And he’s still got some friends in there, I’m sure.”

“We won’t let that happen. Lexi said the lawyer is really good,” Harry stated.

“Yes, these Slytherins. Are you sure they can be trusted, Harry?” Sirius frowned. Harry felt mildly offended on Cassius and Lexi’s behalf.

“Yes! They’ve done more for me in a few months than most of the wizarding world have in years, including most of Gryffindor. And they didn’t have to. I’m Cassius’ rival, but he’s one of the few that’s been helping and supporting me for months,” Harry told him firmly. Sirius looked taken aback.

“Just because they helped you out a couple of times doesn’t mean they can be trusted.”

“Just because they are Slytherins doesn’t mean they can’t be trusted,” Harry shot back. Sirius blinked and then grinned.

“A fair point, I suppose. Just, be careful, yeah?” Harry nodded.

“So, what’s up with Crouch? Why did he end up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation?” Ron wondered.

“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry. Oh, never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side... well, you wouldn’t understand... you’re too young,” he finished, glancing at the five of them. All of them bristled.

“We are not,” Fred snorted.

“Neither are we,” Ron protested. “Try us.”

A grin flashed across Sirius’s thin face. “All right, I’ll try you...” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves.”

Harry shuddered, recalling being under Moody’s imperious curse. The empty, floating feeling. He exchanged glances with Ron who looked equally creeper out.

“You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing… the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere... panic... confusion... that’s how it used to be. Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning — I wouldn’t know,” Sirius said. Though he didn’t sound like he believed that in the slightest.

“He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial.”

“You weren’t?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Sirius replied grimly. “It became common to use group trials instead of individual ones, to save time. Many people got lumped together, whether innocent or not, it would be difficult to say.”

All of them were speechless at that. They didn’t want to believe the government were so careless, and corrupt. After a few moments, Sirius continued, a definite note of bitterness to his voice.

“Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened...” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who’d managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently, they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.”

“Crouch’s son was caught?” gasped Hermione.

“Yep,” said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside a plate of bread, and ripping a slice in half with his teeth. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while... gotten to know his own son.” He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.

“Was his son a Death Eater?” asked Harry.

“No idea,” said Sirius, through a mouthful of bread and butter. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out.” Harry wondered where he had found out about all of this.

“I know he must have been at Hogwarts a few years below us, but I don’t recall seeing him with the wrong crowd. Not that I paid much attention to him. A Ravenclaw I think. But, the boy was definitely caught in the company of people I know for a fact were Death Eaters. I suppose he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Given where he was caught and who with, I doubt he was completely innocent.”

“Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Hermione whispered.

Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. “Crouch let his son off? No. Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”

“He gave his own son to the dementors?” asked Harry quietly.

“That’s right,” said Sirius, and he didn’t look remotely amused now. “I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall.”

“What was his name?” Fred wondered.

“Barty Crouch Junior, I think.”

“What happened to him? Is he still in Azkaban?” Ron asked.

“Died,” Sirius stated. “About a year after he was brought in.” His voice was flat, and his eyes were dark with remembered horrors.

“You don’t think he could have escaped or something? Like you did?” George wondered.

“No,” Sirius shook his head. “He definitely wasn’t an Animagus, and I saw them carrying the body out. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.” Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it. “So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic... next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and, so I’ve heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. They reached the conclusion that his father never cared. Crouch got shunted off to another department while Fudge got the top job.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Harry said. “You said Crouch was massively against the Death Eaters, but you also said Karkaroff was a Death Eater, but when he’s supposedly ill and not coming to the tournament, he’s searching Snape’s storeroom of all places.”

“Strange indeed. Snape was never accused of being a Death Eater, as far as I know,” Sirius frowned. “Although he definitely hung out with those who did become Death Eaters,” he added with a sneer.

“And why his storeroom, not his quarters or something? He only keeps potions and ingredients in there,” George frowned thoughtfully.

“Karkaroff came into potions the other day. He showed Snape something on his arm and said Snape must have noticed something,” Harry recalled.

“Something on his arm?” Sirius looked as confused as Harry felt.

“Yeah. Something that Snape looked pretty twitchy about. He told Karkaroff to put it away pretty hurriedly.”

“What if it’s something that identifies him as a Death Eater?” George asked suddenly. “It would explain why Karkaroff has whatever it is.”

“A mark to identify Death Eaters? Never heard of such a thing. It would have made the Ministry’s attempts to catch them much easier,” Sirius said.

“Which is exactly why it would probably have been kept a secret,” George pointed out.

“But, what if it is? Moody’s been pretty suspicious of Snape, Crouch is searching his store cupboard and now Karkaroff, a known Death Eater, is interrupting Snape’s lessons to show him something on his arm. All of it points to Snape being a Death Eater at some point,” Fred said slowly.

“I know he’s an evil git, but he was an actual Death Eater? How can Dumbledore let him teach?” Ron demanded.

“Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,” Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other while the twins sniggered. “Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters as well.”

“There you go then,” Ron said.

“Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione said firmly.

“Yeah, and nobody seems to know why,” Sirius stated, grimly.

“Besides, Dumbledore’s judgement is hardly all that good,” Fred scoffed. Sirius raised an eyebrow at that. Fred looked to Harry, question in his eyes. Harry sighed and nodded. Sirius looked between them, clearly confused.

Fred slowly began telling Sirius everything that had happened to Harry over the past three years, and the conclusions that the twins, Cassius and Lexi had come to about Dumbledore. Hermione’s eyes were wide throughout the retelling, even though she knew most of it, while Ron eyed his best friend in horror.

“But…Dumbledore wouldn’t!” Hermione protested once Fred had finished.

“I don’t know...Dumbledore’s always been about the ‘Greater Good’,” Sirius said slowly. “But I can’t see what Harry has to do with it. He obviously knows something we don’t.”

“So, what? Just because he might know something we let him continue to use Harry like that? Continue to put him in those awful situations and see if he survives?” Fred asked hotly. “Not a chance!”

“I’m not saying that,” Sirius told him. “I’m just saying Dumbledore must have his reasons.”

“Who cares!” Fred roared.

“You should. Those reasons are likely to be incredibly important. He might not be going about whatever it is he’s doing, correctly, but that doesn’t mean the reasoning behind it isn’t sound. We need to know what that is before we can make plans.”

“Make plans? Does that mean you’ll help?” Harry asked, quietly. Sirius looked at him.

“Of course I will, pup. I made the wrong choice thirteen years ago and I left you in someone else’s care. That’s not happening this time. Whatever happens, I’m behind you, pup.”

“Even if that’s against Dumbledore?” George asked.

“I don’t think it will come to that. Dumbledore wants what we want, the Voldemort gone and defeated, even if his methods are more than a little dubious. But yes, even against Dumbledore if I must. Harry’s safety is everything,” Sirius vowed solemnly. Harry had to blink rapidly to keep from crying. He’d hoped, desperately hoped, but he’d never been certain Sirius would side with him. He lunged forwards, and hugged his godfather desperately. Sirius hugged him back.

“It’s getting late, we’d better get back,” Hermione cut in reluctantly.

“Alright. Now, I don’t want you sneaking out here to see me,” he said, looking particularly sternly at Harry. “Just send me an owl if you need me, it’s too dangerous. All sorts of people are in Hogsmeade for the tournament, and we still don’t know who put Harry’s name in the goblet.”

“Fine. But we’ll see you again next Hogsmeade visit,” Harry stated. Sirius smiled.

“And don’t forget, if you’re talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?”

They cleaned up the picnic stuff and put it back in the basket which George shrank. Sirius went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. “I’ll walk to the edge of the village with you,” he said, “see if I can scrounge another paper.”

"It was good to meet you," Fred said slowly. 

"Always a pleasure to meet a Marauder," George added with a grin.

"You know about that?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"We had the map first. It was us that gave it to Harry," Fred declared proudly. Sirius smirked.

"A prankster then? Maybe you are good enough for my godson." 

"Sirius!" Harry groaned.

His godfather just shot him a wink, then he transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village.

Chapter Text

That evening, Harry wrote a letter to Gringotts, asking for a statement of his account. He then sent off a letter to Edmund Greengrass with his requests for the lawyer to look into, including the fact that Sirius had never even received a trial. While he would like the royalties for the publishing companies using his name, he’d rather they stopped writing false stories about him that gave people a completely false impression of him and his younger years.

The following afternoon, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to the kitchens to get some food to send to Sirius. Harry felt awful that his godfather was living off rats to ensure he could be close by for Harry.

They entered the kitchen and the house-elves, as before, were thrilled to see them and more than happy to get them the food Harry requested. Dobby came to greet them eagerly, delighted to see Harry once more.

“Dobby, where’s Winky?” asked Hermione, who was looking around.

“Winky is over there by the fire, miss,” said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly. Harry felt bad for the pair. Clearly, Dobby had taken responsibility for looking after Winky, but you couldn’t help those who didn’t want to be helped.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione as she spotted Winky.

Harry looked over at the fireplace as well. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

“Winky is getting through six bottles a day now,” Dobby whispered to Harry.

“Well, it’s not strong, that stuff,” Harry said, trying to keep his hopes up.

But Dobby shook his head. “’Tis strong for a house-elf, sir,” he said. Harry grimaced. Winky hiccupped again. The elves who had brought the eclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work. Harry felt bad for the elf.

“Winky is pining, Harry Potter,” Dobby whispered sadly. “Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now.”

“Hey, Winky,” said Ron, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over to her, and bending down, “you don’t know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he’s stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament.” Harry stared at his friend in surprise. It was a good question.

Winky’s eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Ron. Harry moved to kneel beside her. She swayed slightly again and then said, “M — Master is stopped coming?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “we haven’t seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet’s saying he’s ill, but he’s been up to Hogwarts anyway.”

Winky swayed some more, staring blearily at Harry. “Master — hic — ill?” Her bottom lip began to tremble.

“But we’re not sure if that’s true,” put in Hermione quickly.

“Master is needing his — hic — Winky!” whimpered the elf. “Master cannot — hic — manage — hic — all by himself...” Harry winced. This was obviously only making her feel worse.

“Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky,” Hermione said severely. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Winky spoke first.

“Winky — hic — is not only — hic — doing housework for Mr. Crouch!” Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. Harry cast a quiet cleaning charm. It didn’t help much, but Dobby shot him a smile. “Master is trusting Winky with — hic — the most important — hic — the most secret —”

“What?” asked Ron eagerly.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

“Winky keeps her master’s secrets,” she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. “You is... nosing, you is.”

“Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!” said Dobby angrily. “Harry Potter is brave and noble, and Harry Potter is not nosy!”

“It’s alright, Dobby -” Harry began, but he was interrupted.

“He is nosing into my master’s private and secret... Winky is a good house-elf... Winky keeps her silence, people trying to pry and poke...” Every other word was interrupted by a loud hiccup.

Slowly, Winky’s eyelids drooped, and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor.

Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large, checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view. Harry felt even worse for the poor elf.

“We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss!” squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. “We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss!”

“Of course not,” Harry assured them. Not that he was judging Winky either.

“She’s unhappy!” said Hermione, exasperated. “Why don’t you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?” Harry winced and Ron glared at her.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, “but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and master’s to be served.” Even Ron frowned at that statement.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Hermione cried.

“Hermione,” Harry warned, but she paid no attention.

“Listen to me, all of you! You’ve got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You’ve got the right to wages, and holidays and proper clothes, you don’t have to do everything you’re told — look at Dobby!”

“Miss will please keep Dobby out of this,” Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

Harry sighed. He appreciated what Hermione was trying to do, but it frustrated him that she couldn’t see just how much she upset the ones she was trying to help. He decided he’d try and talk to Dobby at a later date, without Hermione around, on why house-elves were basically enslaved to wizards. Dobby himself was proof that they didn’t all remain loyal to their master’s even when abused, and he couldn’t imagine the Hogwarts elves suffering like Dobby had with the Malfoys. They were all happy.

“We has your extra food!” squeaked an elf at Harry’s elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into Harry’s arms. “Good-bye!”

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing on the small of their backs.

“Goodbye, Harry Potter, Sir!” Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?” said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them. “They won’t want us visiting them now! We could’ve tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!”

“Oh, as if you care about that!” scoffed Hermione. “You only like coming down here for the food!” Harry thought Ron had a point, though he also agreed with Hermione that Ron wasn’t upset about the lack of answers compared to the lack of further food.

They both remained in foul moods for the rest of the afternoon. Harry got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that he took Sirius’s food up to the Owlery that evening on his own. It took three owls to carry all the food he had gotten.

Then he spent some time stroking Hedwig, though she was still grumpy with him. Out of the window, as night was rapidly arriving, Hagrid caught Harry’s eye. He was digging something near his hut. He wondered what that was about. Then he decided he didn’t want to know.

The next morning, they had Care of Magical Creatures, where they all rejoiced as Hagrid had told them during the last lesson that they had finished with unicorns. They had been highly interesting, but nobody wanted to spend months on end on the same creatures.

He was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. Harry’s heart sank at the sight of the crates. He desperately hoped it was not another group of skrewts hatching.

Thankfully, when he got near enough to see inside, he found himself looking at several fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention. They looked quite cute, a far cry from the usual creatures Hagrid enjoyed.

“These’re nifflers,” said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. “Yeh find ’em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff... There, yeh go, look.” One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson’s watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backwards. The Gryffindors all sniggered.

“Useful little treasure detectors,” said Hagrid happily. “Thought we’d have some fun with ’em today. See over there?” He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth Harry had watched him digging from the Owlery window. Hagrid told them he’d buried some coins, and he had a prize for whoever’s niffler collected the most. Harry was relieved that the digging hadn’t been anything more sinister in nature.

Hagrid then warned them to take off any shiny valuables, and, thinking of the niffler attacking Parkinson’s wristwatch, Harry took off his watch and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in Harry’s ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was quite cuddly.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron’s was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

He excitedly asked if nifflers could be kept as pets, as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.

“Yer mum wouldn’ be happy, Ron,” said Hagrid, grinning. “They wreck houses, nifflers.” Harry grinned, picturing Petunia’s reaction if he took one to Privet Drive. “Reckon they’ve nearly got the lot, now,” Hagrid added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. “I on’y buried a hundred coins.”

They carried on until it was almost time for the lesson to end. “Well, let’s check how yeh’ve done!” said Hagrid. “Count yer coins! An’ there’s no point tryin’ ter steal any, Goyle,” he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. “It’s leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours.”

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron’s niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle.

 As the trio headed back, Hermione commented, “they’re good, nifflers, aren’t they, Ron?” Harry nodded his agreement. It had been one of the best lessons Hagrid had ever given.

Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.

“What’s the matter?” said Harry. “Wrong flavour?” Though this was unlikely. Ron wasn’t fussy about such things as long as it was chocolate.

“No,” said Ron shortly. “Why didn’t you tell me about the gold?”

“What gold?” wondered Harry, completely confused by the abrupt topic.

“The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup,” said Ron. “The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn’t you tell me it disappeared?”

Harry had to think for a moment before he realised what Ron was talking about.

“Oh...” he said, the memory coming back to him at last. “I dunno... I never noticed it had gone. I was more distracted by my wand going missing?”

They climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch. “Must be nice,” Ron said abruptly when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. “To have so much money, you don’t notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing.” Harry sighed.

“Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!” he said impatiently. “We all did, remember?”

“I didn’t know leprechaun gold vanishes,” Ron muttered. “I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn’t’ve given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas.”

“I know it wasn’t on purpose. Forget it, all right?” said Harry.

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, “I hate being poor.” Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Neither of them really knew what to say. “It’s rubbish,” said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. “I don’t blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and quickly changed the topic. He wished he could reassure his friend but there was nothing he could say that would make it better. Ron just wouldn’t accept that the vanishing gold made no difference to Harry. He valued his wand and his friendships far more than gold.

While he anxiously waited for the replies to his letters, he set about planning for the twins’ birthday, which happened to fall on a Saturday. It was also the date for the Hogwarts vs Beauxbatons Quidditch game. Harry enlisted help from Angelina, which also meant Alicia and Katie, in planning to make the after-game party extra special.  

Edmund Greengrass responded promptly to Harry’s letter, promising to make a start on all of his requests. He had already requested the trial transcripts and was waiting for the admission that there were none so he could start an inquiry. Additionally, his letter contained news that Harry had the right to request emancipation. The tournament officials hadn’t been lying when he’d said that there was a binding magical contract in play, the main reason Durmstrang hadn’t withdrawn Viktor from the tournament in protest which worked in Harry’s favour. Due to the new rules instated for this tournament, only those of age could participate, something that had been added to the contract, meaning Harry was considered ‘of age’ by magic as of Halloween. He needed to sign the necessary forms, but it gave Harry a concrete way of never returning to the Dursleys without needing to rely on Cassius’ generosity or Sirius keeping his word and going against Dumbledore’s word that Harry must return.

Lord Greengrass had also advised that once he signed the forms to make his emancipation legal not just magical, he could take up the Lordship of House Potter which offered more benefits, including potential properties in which he could live. Of course, Lord Greengrass wasn’t sure what was in the Potter portfolio, that was for Harry to find out, there was a reasonable chance he could either already own or be able to buy a house for himself.

The Gringotts reply was much less satisfactory, simply stating that as he had never confirmed his identity at the bank owls were not sufficient proof of identity and to see any information regarding his accounts he would have to go to the bank in person and prove his identity first. While he could appreciate their need for such security measures it didn’t help him as he couldn’t get to Diagon Alley until summer.  

Much to his delight and gratitude, Cassius and Lexi had offered to escort him to Diagon during the next Hogsmeade visit. It wasn’t technically allowed, but it wouldn’t be too hard to sneak off and both of them could apparate. The next weekend was set for the end of May, so before the last task would take place.

The 1^st of April dawned overcast and pouring with rain. The Hogwarts team sat together at breakfast at the Ravenclaw table. The twins were opening their presents. As it was their seventeenth, it was an important day, and they had a lot to get through. Harry had given George his present, promising Fred he would give him his after the game. He’d been tempted to give it to him for the game, seeing at it would be useful, but he’d already made the plans for later.

George had been pleased with his gloves and promised to wear them to beat Beauxbatons. Fred pouted but Harry stood firm in his resolve to give his boyfriend a special birthday. He had procured a Honeydukes gift basket for Fred so he had something to open when he gave George his. They had each received a new wristwatch from their parents that Harry discovered was customary to give your child on their seventeenth birthday in the wizarding world.

The team were all optimistic but cautious, not wanting to underestimate their opponents. Harry sat between Fred and George while the three chasers sat opposite discussing strategy. Harry tuned it all out, focused more on the after party than the game itself. He was only drawn into the discussion when Fred nudged him as Roger began talking about the Beauxbatons’ seeker.

At half past ten they made their way to the changing rooms to get ready for the match. Once they were in their robes, they all sat down, waiting for Cedric’s speech. It was short and to the point. They needed to win the match to play in the final. Both teams had lost to Durmstrang, and so whoever won here would go on to the decider.

Cedric led the team out onto the pitch. Harry was glad his glasses now had a permanent impervious charm on them, thanks to George, and he could now see despite the pouring rain. Warming charms could only do so much though, and as soon as they took to the air, he could feel the biting wind. Harry circled the pitch as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the quaffle onto the pitch.

Warrington seized it immediately, making a pass to Cedric and putting Hogwarts on the offensive. Harry flew even higher and began scanning the pitch for any hint of gold. None were forthcoming and the game soon showed to be fairly evenly matched. Fleet, in the Hogwarts goal, was almost the only difference, single-handedly keeping Hogwarts ahead. The chasers constantly interrupted each other’s moves, and the score was only forty-ten in Hogwarts’ favour after half an hour.

It was then that Harry caught his first glimpse of the snitch. It was hovering just above the pitch as the bottom of the Beauxbatons’ goalposts. The French seeker, Dubois, was oblivious, staring in Harry’s direction as she was in the centre of the pitch. Harry waited, trying to keep an eye on the snitch and his opponent at the same time as he drifted closer.

“Beaufort has the quaffle, passes to Petit who tries as fancy flick over Fleet. SAVED! Saved by the Hogwarts keeper!” Lee Jordan’s voice washed over Harry as he dived suddenly. “Potter dives! Has he seen the snitch? Dubois follows immediately…It’s neck and neck!”

It was. Despite having the faster broom, Harry had been further away when he’d dived, giving the Beauxbatons’ seeker the time to catch up. But dives were his speciality. He flattened himself to the broom, narrowly avoiding the bludger Durand had sent his way. The snitch swerved suddenly just as Harry made a swipe for it, flying off to the right and forcing Harry to pull sharply on his Firebolt. The broom, as always, responded immediately to his touch and he hung on for dear life as he followed the snitch’s flight.

Another bludger came rocketing towards him and Harry was forced to roll sideways, losing sight of the snitch. The crowd let out an ‘oooh’ of disappointment as he rose up once more, scanning the pitch for any hint of gold. Dubois flew off to the other end of the pitch where she was quickly forced to dodge as Fred sent a bludger at her, making Harry grin to himself.

It was another quarter of an hour before Harry got another glimpse of the snitch. The score was eight-thirty in Hogwarts’ favour, and he spotted the golden ball flittering twenty feet above him this time. He forced his broom upwards, rising rapidly. Too rapidly for Dubois, who had been caught closer to the Hogwarts’ goalposts. Harry stretched out an arm and made one of the simplest catches of his career so far.

“HOGWARTS WIN!” Lee Jordan yelled in delight. “TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY TO THIRTY! IT’S A HOGWARTS VS DURMSTRANG FINAL!”

The rest of the team swarmed Harry, patting him on the back as they sunk to the ground together. The Hogwarts crowd surrounded them as soon as they touched down and the celebrations began. Everyone moved to the Great Hall as there was nowhere else big enough to celebrate a Hogwarts victory shared between all the houses. Warrington, and therefore Slytherin, were as much a part of the celebration as every other house. Harry refused to let it be otherwise after everything Cassius had done for him.

Food was sent up by the house-elves and the mood around the hall was joyous with people going over their favourite moments of the match. They all knew it would be a tough final, up against Durmstrang with Krum as seeker, but they intended to enjoy the moment for as long as possible.

Viktor and his fellow Durmstrang friends joined the celebrations where he congratulated Harry and they discussed the game in great detail. Fleur and the Beauxbatons lot had conceded defeat gracefully, offering their congratulations to the Hogwarts team.

About an hour into the celebrations, Angelina signalled to Harry who muttered a quick incantation and set off a round of fireworks that had the whole crowd cheering. The majority were Dr. Filibuster’s but the finale consisted of Fred and George’s own creation that he’d ‘borrowed’ and burst into bright colours spelling out the words ‘Happy Birthday Fred and George’. The twins’ looked as shocked as everyone else at the display, which gratified Harry, but they adapted quickly, bowing and accepting the many happy returns that were offered.

It was several hours before Harry managed to sneak Fred away from the celebrations and out into the entrance hall.

He wasn’t sure what to expect from the room, having not had a clear idea himself. As always, the room lived up to expectations. It was beautiful. It looked kind of similar to the Forbidden Forest, except without the monsters. Stars appeared to shine brightly overhead while a large clearing stretched out in front of them, dark trees on either side. Gryffindor red balloons were tied to the ‘forest’ each reading ‘happy birthday’. Harry smiled. The picnic basket he’d requested from Dobby was sitting in the middle of a picnic blanket at the centre of the clearing. His present for Fred was neatly wrapped beside it.

“Harry…” Fred whispered, clearly not knowing what to say.

“Happy birthday,” said Harry. He took Fred’s hand and let them to the blanket, sitting down. He anxiously handed him the parcel next to the basket. Fred smiled softly and took it. He unwrapped it quickly and ginned brightly as the beater’s bat was revealed.

“Wicked!” He exclaimed. “This is brilliant. Thanks, Harry.” Harry beamed; pleased Fred liked his gift. He’d never really worried before. Ron and Hermione were both quite easy to buy for and appreciated his efforts. Fred, however, he worried about. Even though he knew his boyfriend would like it, there was an uncertainty that had been brewing in his gut that his present wouldn’t be good enough somehow. It was a pointless worry yet one he’d been unable to shake until Fred smiled at him, clearly happy. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Fred set the bat down to one side once he’d finished his inspection and pulled Harry into a sideways hug. Harry practically melted into the embrace. Hogwarts had won, Sirius was on his side and there was only one task left in this stupid tournament. Harry felt almost truly happy for the first time in a long time. He turned to kiss his boyfriend who happily reciprocated, and they had a heated exchange before Fred finally broke away.

“Best birthday ever,” he said, though he was breathing heavily. Fred eyed him and Harry met the heated gaze though he suddenly felt shy. Suddenly the blue eyes he loved so much turned serious. “Harry, I…I love you. And I don’t…you don’t…I don’t want to pressure you, you don’t need to say anything, but I’ve known for a while and I don’t want to keep things from you.” Fred was watching him anxiously and Harry felt a bubble of warmth in his gut. Was it love? He wasn’t sure. He’d never been in love before. He certainly felt things with Fred he hadn’t experienced with anyone else. He felt safe, comforted, loved. All things that felt different compared with anyone else in his life, even his closest friends. Fred who had heard about his worst moments and had apparently come out loving him anyway.

“I love you too,” he said before he could think about it. The words felt true though, as he blurted them out and so he didn’t try and take them back.

“Really?” Fred asked, lighting up in delight. He evidently hadn’t been expecting that response and Harry felt a sliver of delight at surprising him in such a way.

“Yes. You’re… you’re Fred.” It was all he could say. He didn’t know how else to express what the older boy meant to him. Fred just smiled like he understood, and Harry appreciated it. Having someone who understood him on such a level that he didn’t even have to voice what bothered him, it was already noted and understood.

They opened the basket and tore into the food despite it not having been long since they’d left the feast in the Great Hall. They had a lovely time, talking about anything and everything that didn’t involve the Tournament. It meant that Fred took up most of the conversational burden, but he seemed more than willing to do so. The food was delicious, Dobby had packed each of their favourites, and soon enough there was nothing but crumbs left.

Once the food had been finished, including a sumptuous chocolate cake that Dobby deserved full credit for, they took a dip in the large bath that was provided amongst the supposed forest. Harry proved his prowess in non-verbal charms as they played several games and made a mess of the Room, water sloshing everywhere.

They both dried and dressed before reuniting in a dry section of the room. Harry found it to be eerily similar to the part of the forest where he’d met Firenze, but Fred seemed perfectly at ease, which made him relax slightly.

They lay down in the grass, staring up at the stars through the leaves, their fingers intertwined. It was peaceful and Harry wished they could stay there forever. Their own little bubble of perfection.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. After a while, they had to get back, so they got up and returned to the common room, where a party was still ongoing. Loud cheers celebrated the arrival of their beater and seeker, led by Lee Jordan. The party continued well past midnight but was good fun. Harry finally bid Fred goodnight with a kiss on the dormitory stairs.

As the weeks drew on, the groups noticed that something was going on with the Quidditch pitch. In the first week of May, Professor McGonagall told them they’d have to postpone practise as they needed the pitch for the third task. They had all protested greatly at this, stating they still had to hold the final game of their mini tournament. The professor remained firm, saying they could play after the last task, a nice way of sending off their guests at the end of the year. Nobody was happy about this, but there was nothing they could do.

Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.

“You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o’clock, Potter,” she told him. “Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.” So, at half past eight that night, Harry left Fred, Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cassius came up from the Slytherin common room.

“What d’you reckon it’s going to be?” Harry asked as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night.

“Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we’ve got to find treasure.”

“No. It’s got something to do with the pitch. It won’t be underground,” he pointed out. Cassius nodded, frowning at the reminder of what was happening to their pitch. They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

As they’d expected, the Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction. It still burned Harry to see the pitch in such a state.

“They’re hedges!” said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.

“Hello there!” called a cheery voice. Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Viktor and Fleur. Harry and Cassius made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. All of the Beauxbatons lot had been nicer since he’d rescued Fleur’s sister from the lake. Viktor grunted out a greeting to the pair of them as well and Harry smiled.

“Well, what d’you think?” said Bagman happily as Harry and Cassius climbed over the last hedge. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty feet high.

Don’t worry,” he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry’s, Cassius’ and Viktor’s faces, “you’ll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

No one spoke for a moment. Then — “Maze,” grunted Viktor.

“That’s right!” said Bagman. “A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

“We seemply ’ave to get through the maze?” said Fleur. Harry suspected there would be nothing simple about it.

“There will be obstacles,” said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures...” that made Harry wince, “then there will be spells that must be broken... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champion who is leading on points will get a head start into the maze.” Bagman looked at Cassius. “Then Mr. Krum and Harry will enter... then Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, including the skrewts, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. Judging by the look on Cassius’ face, he wasn’t the only one thinking it. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.

“Very well... if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly....” Harry frowned. He’d dragged them all the way down to the pitch just for that? He could have told them that in the castle. It wasn’t like seeing the hedges changed anything, unless they could somehow memorise the way through from a quick glance.

Bagman hurried to try and walk alongside Harry as they began to wind their way out of the growing maze, but Cassius was blocking him. Harry had the feeling that Bagman wanted to start offering to help him again, but just then, Viktor tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Can I haff a vord?” He asked.

“Of course,” Harry smiled, a little surprised, wondering what Viktor needed to say that he hadn’t mentioned at breakfast that morning. He sat with them more often than not these days.

“Vill you valk vith me?” He glanced over at Bagman and Harry understood he didn’t want the man to overhear. He nodded his agreement.

“Er, I’ll wait for you, shall I Harry?” Bagman asked, looking perturbed.

“No, I know the way back to the castle thanks.”

Cassius shot him a wary look but Harry gave him a reassuring smile. He trusted Viktor.

Harry and Viktor left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

“Er, why the forest?” asked Harry as they passed Hagrid’s cabin and the Beauxbatons carriage, from which lights were still shining.

“Don’t vant to be overheard,” said Viktor told him. That was fair enough, given Rita Skeeter’s continued presence on school grounds despite her ban. She’d released another couple of articles with information she would have had no way of knowing, though nothing as bad as the one after the second task.

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Viktor stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry. He cast a quick spell to prevent eavesdroppers.

“Vhat I vant to ask is about your friend. Ron.” Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. That was not what he’d expected. “He does not like Herm-o-ne and I. It upsets her.”

“Er…” Harry didn’t really know what to say. It was obviously true. Ron had gotten a bit better since the second task, but he still didn’t hang around with them if the two were together. In fact he’d taken to hanging out with Seamus and Dean a lot more, as he had done when he wasn’t speaking to Harry earlier in the year. It wasn’t the same now, of course. None of the friendships, his and Ron’s or Ron and Hermione’s had returned to how they had been at the start of the year.

“I don’t vant to come between,” Viktor added, seeing Harry wasn’t going to respond.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry assured him. “It’s just…” he trailed off. He didn’t know what it was entirely, and he wasn’t sure Ron did either. He was sure Fred was at least partially right in that Ron was jealous but whether that was the whole story, he didn’t know. Ron and Hermione were entirely unsuited to each other, spending more time bickering than anything else, and not exactly good-naturedly, and they had very little in common except Harry himself. Honestly, the same could have previously been said about him and Hermione too, but now they had Arithmancy in common at the very least and Harry’s new interest in studying to help him survive the tournament.

“I can speak to him, if you want,” he offered.

“I vould appreciate that,” Viktor smiled gratefully, looking relieved. They were both silent for a moment. “Vhat do you think of the task?” He asked as they turned to start walking back to the castle.

Before Harry could reply, something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Harry, who had some experience of the sort of thing that lurked in the forest, instinctively grabbed Viktor’s arm and pulled him around.

“Vot is it?”

Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he’d seen movement. He slipped his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand.

Suddenly a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn’t recognize him... then he realized it was Mr. Crouch.

He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and grey with exhaustion. His neat hair and moustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see.

He reminded Harry vividly of an old tramp he had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys. That man too had been conversing wildly with thin air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley’s hand and pulled him across the road to avoid him. Of course not caring about Harry who’d been forced to make his own way across. Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would like to do with beggars and vagrants.

“Vosn’t he a judge?” said Viktor, staring at Mr. Crouch. “Isn’t he with your Ministry?” Harry nodded, hesitated for a moment, then walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch, who did not look at him, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

“... and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve...”

“Mr. Crouch?” called Harry cautiously.

“... and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now Karkaroff’s made it a round dozen... do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will...” Mr. Crouch’s eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees. Harry startled.

“Mr. Crouch?” He called loudly. “Are you all right?” Then he felt stupid. The man was clearly not alright, Crouch’s eyes were rolling in his head. Harry looked around at Viktor, who had followed him into the trees, and was looking over at Crouch in alarm.

“Vot is wrong with him?”

“No idea,” Harry muttered. “Listen, you’d better go and get someone.” Viktor looked about to protest when Crouch spoke again.

“Dumbledore!” gasped Mr. Crouch. He reached out suddenly, and seized a handful of Harry’s robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry’s head. “I need... see... Dumbledore...”

“Okay,” said Harry, trying, and probably failing, to sound soothing, “if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the —”

“I’ve done... stupid... thing...” Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. “Must... tell... Dumbledore...”

“Get up, Mr. Crouch,” said Harry loudly and clearly. “Get up, I’ll take you to Dumbledore!”

Mr. Crouch’s eyes stilled, meeting Harry's, though he seemed to stare right through him. “Who... you?” he whispered. Really? That was his question right now?

“I’m a student at the school,” said Harry, looking around at Viktor for some help, but Viktor was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.

“You’re not... his?” whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.

“No,” said Harry, without the faintest idea what, or who, Crouch was talking about.

“Dumbledore’s?”

“That’s right,” Harry agreed. Crouch was pulling him closer; Harry tried to loosen Crouch’s grip on his robes, but it was too powerful. For a crazy bloke, he was certainly strong.

“Warn... Dumbledore...”

“I’ll go and warn Dumbledore if you let go of me,” said Harry. “Just let go, Mr. Crouch, and I’ll get him....”

“Harry, he’s not going to understand you in that condition,” Viktor stated warily. Unfortunately, Harry thought he was right.

“Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge.” Crouch suddenly started talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completely unaware that Harry was there. He was so surprised, it took Harry several seconds to realise he’d been released.

Crouch muttered about his son’s OWL results and gave more instructions to the tree he believed to be Percy.

“You stay here with him!” Harry said to Viktor. It made more sense for him to go. “I’ll get Dumbledore, I’ll be quicker, I know where his office is —”

“He is mad,” said Viktor doubtfully, staring down at Crouch, who was still gabbling to the tree, apparently convinced it was Percy. “But you know the castle better,” he conceded. Viktor had pulled his own wand out and began peering into the trees with a frown.

“Just stay with him,” said Harry, starting to get up, but his movement seemed to trigger another abrupt change in Mr. Crouch, who seized him hard around the knees and pulled Harry back to the ground.

“Don’t... leave... me!” he whispered, his eyes bulging again.

He began wheezing, claiming that he had escaped and he had to warn Dumbledore about something. He seemed to think Bertha was dead and that it was his fault. He mentioned both Harry and the Dark Lord, which concerned Harry. Between this conversation and the dreams he’d been having, it wasn’t adding up to a good picture.

“I’ll get Dumbledore if you let me go, Mr. Crouch!” said Harry, though his mind was whirling. Bertha Jorkins? Wasn’t she missing? And what on earth did Mr. Crouch know about Voldemort getting stronger? Was Voldemort the reason he was currently semi-insane? There was no time to dwell on those thoughts right then. Viktor moved forward and squatted down next to Mr. Crouch. He helped Harry free himself from the tight grip

“Go. But hurry, von’t you?” Viktor said. Harry nodded, sprinting away from the forest and up through the dark grounds. They were deserted; Bagman, Cassius, and Fleur had disappeared. He wished he hadn’t sent Cassius away now. Harry tore up the stone steps, through the oak front doors, and off up the marble staircase, toward the second floor.

As he turned onto the second floor, he crashed almost head-first into Professor Moody. Harry only just managed to dodge the professor and staggered against the wall.

“Easy there, Potter,” Moody grunted. “What’s got you in such a hurry.” Harry glanced at him.

“Mr. Crouch,” he stated. Moody suddenly had both eyes fixed on him. The magical eye was the stillest Harry had ever seen and it unnerved him, being under such scrutiny. The man had straightened up at the same time.

“What about Mr. Crouch?” He asked sharply. Harry frowned at the tone. But then he thought back to the weird night where Mr. Crouch had searched Snape’s store and then seemingly gone to visit Moody. Maybe the ex-auror had been working with him on something and was concerned for his co-conspirator.

“He appeared in the forest. He’s crazy, not all with it. He keeps talking to a tree like he thinks it’s Percy Weasley, his assistant.”

“Has he said anything else? About what may have happened to him?” Moody asked. There was an almost frightening intensity in his eyes as he asked the question.  

“I need to get Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said instead of answering. Something in Moody’s behaviour struck him as strange, but then maybe he was just on edge. “I left Viktor watching him, but I don’t want to leave them for too long.”

“Right, yes. Of course. I shall go and see to Mr. Krum and Mr. Crouch. You go ahead and fetch the headmaster.” Harry nodded.

“Thanks.” With that, Harry took off running once more.

Less than five minutes later he was hurtling toward a stone gargoyle standing halfway along an empty corridor. Harry silently offered up thanks as, thanks to his boyfriend who had been sent to the headmaster’s office on a more recent basis than him, he knew the current password. He would have been a bit stuffed otherwise.

“Choc…chocolate frogs!” he panted at it. The statue moved aside, and Harry bundled up the staircase two at a time. He knocked loudly on the door, barely waiting to hear the headmaster call for him to come in before he’d opened the door. “Professor!” He gasped.

“Harry? To what do I owe the pleasure so late?” Dumbledore asked. Harry barely even registered that Snape was also in the room.

“Mr. Crouch…by the forest…” he said. Both men straightened at this.

“What rubbish is this?” Snape demanded.

“Severus…” Dumbledore said warningly. “Continue, Harry.”

“Mr. Crouch just appeared from in the forest. He’s not with it completely but he says he needs to speak with Professor Dumbledore.” To his relief, the headmaster immediately rose from his seat and gestured for Harry to head back down the stairs.

“Then let us go immediately.” They left Snape standing in the office. “What did Mr. Crouch say?” Dumbledore asked as they strode down the corridor. Harry explained how he changed between seemingly ok but talking to Percy who wasn’t there, or lucid but barely able to talk.

“He said something about Voldemort getting stronger. He also said his son and Bertha Jorkins were both being his fault. But how could Bertha be his fault?” Harry wondered.

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore replied, looking grave. His stride lengthened and Harry had to jog to keep up. “Did anyone else see Mr. Crouch?”

“I left him with Viktor, we were talking at the time. And I ran into Professor Moody on my way to get you.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore lengthened his stride still further and Harry was practically running to keep pace with his longer legs. Once they emerged into the darkness of the lawn, Harry took the lead, sprinting over to where he’d left Viktor. As they approached, he saw Viktor was lying beside Moody, who had his wand raised, but there was no sign of Mr. Crouch.

“Rennervate,” Moody was saying just as they approached. Viktor stirred, slowly sitting up and looking around.

“Viktor!” Harry called. “What happened? Where is Mr. Crouch?”

“I don’t know. I vas attacked,” Viktor admitted as he clutched at his head. “Someone stunned me as I vas looking after the man. Professor Moody avakened me.”

“I didn’t see anyone, Albus. It’s possible Crouch himself attacked Mr. Krum if he was in such a state and then wandered off,” Moody reported. Krum shook his head.

“No. He vas in front of me. I vould have seen.” Moody looked frustrated.

“Then I will start on a search immediately,” he stated.

“It’s essential we find him,” Dumbledore nodded, and Moody stumped off, wand out, muttering to himself. Dumbledore then sent something silvery out of his wand in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked Viktor in concern.

“Yes,” he nodded. “However, this is…”

“Yeah.”

Soon after, Hagrid arrived with Fang.

“Hagrid, I need you to escort Harry back to Gryffindor tower while I take Mr. Krum back to the Durmstrang ship,” Dumbledore said. “And, Harry, I want you to stay there. Any…owls you wish to send, will have to wait until morning. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Harry waved goodbye to Viktor and set off with Hagrid. As they passed the lake, Hagrid turned to look at Harry, fixing him with a stern expression. “What were yeh doin’, wanderin’ off with ruddy Krum? He’s from Durmstrang, Harry! Coulda jinxed yeh right there, couldn’ he? Hasn’ Moody taught yeh nothin’? ’Magine lettin’ him lure yeh off on yer own —”

“Viktor’s all right!” said Harry as they climbed the steps into the entrance hall. “He wouldn’t try to jinx me, he just wanted to talk about Hermione and —”

“I’ll be havin’ a few words with her, an’ all,” said Hagrid grimly, stomping up the stairs. “The less you lot ’ave ter do with these foreigners, the happier yeh’ll be. Yeh can’ trust any of ’em.”

“You were getting on all right with Madame Maxime,” Harry said, annoyed and a bit confused by the attitude.

“Don’ you talk ter me abou’ her!” said Hagrid, and he looked quite frightening for a moment. “I’ve got her number now! Tryin’ ter get back in me good books, tryin’ ter get me ter tell her what’s comin’ in the third task. Ha! You can’ trust any of ’em!”

Hagrid was in such a bad mood, Harry was quite glad to say good-bye to him in front of the Fat Lady. He clambered through the portrait hole into the common room and hurried straight for the corner where Ron, Fred and Hermione were sitting, to tell them what had happened.

Chapter Text

Harry spent almost half an hour explaining what had gone on. He skipped the content of the conversation between himself and Viktor, preferring to talk to Ron privately at a later time. They all examined every bit of the story to the smallest details.

It comes down to this,” said Hermione, rubbing her forehead. “Either Mr. Crouch attacked Viktor, or somebody else attacked both of them when Viktor wasn’t looking.”

“It must’ve been Crouch,” said Ron at once. “That’s why he was gone when Moody got there. He’d done a runner.”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, shaking his head. “He seemed really weak — I don’t reckon he was up to disapparating or anything. Or even just running away.”

“You can’t disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds, haven’t I told you enough times?” said Hermione. Harry grinned at her.

“Okay, how’s this for a theory,” said Ron excitedly. “Krum attacked Crouch — no, wait for it — and then Stunned himself!”

“And Mr. Crouch evaporated, did he?” wondered Hermione sarcastically.

“Oh yeah...” Ron muttered. Fred rolled his eyes.

“Besides, Viktor wouldn’t,” Harry defended his friend. “And even if he was the type to do so, why on earth would he attack Mr. Crouch of all people for no reason?” Ron shrugged.

“Hmm, I think it’s a bit strange that both times Crouch has turned up at Hogwarts late at night, out of the blue, Moody also seems to have something to do with it. Crouch went to visit him after searching Snape’s stores and now he’s the first person Harry ran into and Mr. Crouch vanishes,” Fred mused.

“You can’t think Moody’s got anything to do with it,” Ron looked shocked. “He’s famous for catching dark wizards. Why would he attack Crouch?”

“I don’t know. But Harry said he was acting oddly and it’s a bit of a coincidence. And let’s face it, Harry doesn’t exactly have the best record with Defence teachers.”

“He’s got a point there,” Harry muttered grimly. “It’s always the Defence teacher.”

“But it makes no sense. Professor Moody has no reason to attack Mr. Crouch,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“None of this makes any sense,” Ron stated.

“Mr. Crouch also mentioned his son. Saying it was his fault. And Bertha Jorkins.”

“Well, his son was his fault,” Hermione said tartly. “He sent his own son to Azkaban.”

“I don’t know how Bertha Jorkins can be his fault though,” Fred mused. “Unless he gave her dodgy directions or something. Didn’t she go missing on holiday?” Ron nodded.

“Supposedly. What if she never made it on holiday?” he suggested.

“So, what? Mr. Crouch did something before Bertha Jorkins left. Killed her, or did something to her?” Harry frowned. That didn’t seem right.

“Percy did say he seemed really interested in the investigation to find her,” Fred pointed out. “And somebody with access to Hogwarts put Harry’s name in the goblet. So far, Moody and Crouch seem to be the people acting most oddly.”

“Could they be under that imperius curse?” Harry wondered. “Maybe that’s why they’re acting oddly.”

“That’s possible, I guess. But the big question is, if Moody is the one under an imperius curse surely somebody must have noticed? We can’t be the only ones who’ve noticed he’s acting oddly. He’s old friends with…with Dumbledore,” Fred finished with a groan.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“If anyone would notice something off with Moody, it’s Dumbledore,” said stated.

“So, we don’t think it’s Moody?” Ron asked.

“I think that based on the last three years, there’s a good chance that Dumbledore might know something’s wrong with Moody but not do anything about it.”

“What?” Hermione looked stunned.

“He used the stone as a trap for Voldemort in your first year, right? And practically encouraged Harry to work out the puzzle so he could face him. What if he’s doing something similar this year?”

“What? Are you saying Dumbledore put Harry’s name in the goblet? That’s ridiculous,” Ron scoffed.

“No. I don’t think he did that,” Fred shook his head quickly. “I’m just saying, once it did happen, he isn’t above using that situation to his advantage. If he suspects Moody is under a curse or something, maybe he’s using it to find out Voldemort’s plans. Harry said that Moody was the one who suggested his name might have been put in under a fourth school, maybe he thought that because he did it.”

“It makes sense that he might be under a curse of something. And yeah, I suppose I can see Dumbledore using that to his advantage,” Ron agreed slowly. “But if that’s the case, what do we do? Dumbledore’s plans involving Harry haven’t exactly ended well for Harry, even if he didn’t mean for things to go the way they did. The man’s powerful but even he can’t account for the Potter luck.” Harry glared at his friend who just shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“We study. We train. We make sure Harry is as prepared as he can possibly be for the third task, which is when whatever the plan is, is likely to happen,” Hermione stated grimly. She was biting her lip worriedly but there was steely determination in her eyes.

“Agreed. We should probably warn the other champions. I don’t want any of them getting hurt while someone tries to get to me.”

“Cassius can look after himself. So can Viktor most likely. And I’m sure Fleur wasn’t chosen as her school champion just for her looks,” Fred pointed out.

“I’d still feel better if they were on guard.” They all nodded.

It wasn’t long before they all retired to bed, although it was already the early hours of the morning. Unfortunately, it was a Friday and they had to be up for lessons.

They were up again at the crack of dawn so they could head to the owlery so Harry could send a note to Sirius explaining the events of the night before. Fred and George joined them, as they were still attempting to contact Bagman. Harry made a note to himself to speak with Bagman about it should the man try and corner him again to offer help. Harry, Ron and Hermione also had Defence that afternoon, which made all of them uncomfortable.

History of Magic flew by for pretty much the first time ever, although Harry paid even less attention that usual. He and Hermione then had Arithmancy, which was an excellent distraction. It took a great deal of concentration. Professor Vector was an excellent, if strict, teacher, rather like Professor McGonagall. Harry thoroughly enjoyed it, finding it challenging but interesting. Much better than Divination which he no longer had to attend.

The third-year curriculum covered the importance of numbers in magic as well as which numbers were particularly significant, such as three and, most importantly, seven. They were currently studying the base of spells. It wasn’t just a bunch of Latin words as he’d first assumed, although that was part of it. This was required both in creating new spells and in curse-breaking where you had to identify unknown spells and wards and unravel them. The language itself made little difference, it was down to number of syllables and other factors.

After Arithmancy, it was time for lunch. Then they had the dreaded Defence lesson. It crawled by and Harry tried to keep himself from staring at the professor by taking copious amounts of notes. He forced himself to write down every minute detail. By the time the bell finally rang, he had probably rivalled Hermione. They left the classroom as quickly as possible while trying not to look suspicious.

Saturday morning, Harry caught Ron on the way down to breakfast and dragged him into an empty classroom. Ron looked at him in surprise.

“Look, do you fancy Hermione?” He asked. Ron’s eyes went wide.

“What? No! I…of course not,” he spluttered defensively. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Because you’ve been distant and moody ever since Viktor asked her to the ball. Before that you couldn’t stop trying to get his autograph and now, you avoid him every time he’s with us. And the only factor is he’s now dating Hermione.” Ron scowled.

“I don’t…he’s not right for her.”

“What? How?” Harry frowned, surprised.

“He’s too old.”

“He’s only a year older than Fred, is he too old for me?” Ron struggled to find an answer for that, looking rather constipated. “Look, you thought he was just using her to get to me, now that’s obviously not true you’re just making up other reasons not to like him. He cares enough about Hermione to talk to me about it. It’s what we were talking about when Crouch appeared. He knows your avoidance is bothering Hermione and he told me he doesn’t want to get in between you two. He’s a nice guy, Ron.” It was Ron’s turn to look surprised.

“I didn’t know it was bothering Hermione,” he muttered.

“I know it’s been hard for you with both of us getting boyfriends at the same time and we don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but do you think you can at least try to get along with Viktor?”

Ron blew out a long breath. “I’ll try,” he agreed. “I don’t know how I feel about Hermione. She drives me crazy; you know. I admire her and stuff, but we’ve never been as close as you and her, and we never really agree on anything. But, seeing her with him…it just…it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird like jealous? You wish it was you in Viktor’s position? Or weird like seeing Ginny date someone?” Ron considered this.

“I don’t…more like seeing Ginny date. I think. Protective more than jealous.”

“You and Hermione certainly argue like siblings, if Percy and the twins are anything to go by,” Harry nodded. Ron’s eyes widened slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah. She’s like a sister to me.” He seemed more certain of his words this time. “Why do all my sisters have crushes on famous Quidditch players?” He added with a groan.

“What?” Harry was bemused by this complete change on topic.

“Hermione and Krum, Ginny and you.”

“I’m not a famous Quidditch player,” Harry protested, deciding to ignore the bit about Ginny’s crush on him. As far as he knew, Fred had spoken to her after the task and that was that.

“Not yet, but you could be. And you’re the best player at Hogwarts,” Ron shrugged.

“Anyway, we should get to breakfast, I just wanted to get that sorted.”

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t mean to let this affect you guys so much.”

“No matter what, you’ll always be my first and best friend. But there’s nothing wrong with having a few more.” Ron nodded slowly and they briefly hugged before hurrying down to the Great Hall.

“Where have you two been?” Hermione asked as they sat down in the seats she’d saved them. Viktor was beside her and she glanced over at Ron who simply took his seat opposite them, between Harry and Fred.

“Forgot my bag. I’m meeting Cassius and Lexi to go to Gringotts today as it’s Hogsmeade,” Harry told her.

“Let us know how it goes,” Fred told him. Harry nodded as he dug into the food hungrily.

Sirius’ reply also arrived at breakfast. It fluttered down beside Harry at the same moment that a tawny owl landed in front of Hermione, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in its beak. She took the newspaper, scanned the first few pages, said, “Ha! She hasn’t got wind of Crouch!” then joined Ron and Harry in reading what Sirius had to say on the mysterious events of the night before last.

Harry

What do you think you are playing at, walking off into the forest with Viktor Krum? I want you to swear, by return owl, that you are not going to go walking with anyone else at night. There is somebody highly dangerous at Hogwarts.

It is clear to me that they wanted to stop Crouch from seeing Dumbledore and you were probably feet away from them in the dark. You could have been killed.

Your name didn’t get into the Goblet of Fire by accident. If someone’s trying to attack you, they’re on their last chance. Stay close to Ron, Hermione and Fred, do not leave Gryffindor Tower after hours, and arm yourself for the third task. Practice Stunning and shield charms. A few hexes wouldn’t go amiss either.

There’s nothing you can do about Crouch. Keep your head down and look after yourself. I’m waiting for your letter giving me your word you won’t stray out-of-bounds again.

Sirius

“Who’s he, to lecture me about being out-of-bounds?” said Harry in mild indignation as he folded up Sirius’s letter and put it inside his robes. “After all the stuff he did at school! And why does everyone keep telling me to be careful of Viktor?” Ron grimaced but didn’t comment.

“Because of Karkaroff, I guess,” Hermione sighed. “And Viktor is one of his favourites due to his fame, even if Viktor doesn’t like him much.” Viktor grunted at that. Then he bade them goodbye as he was heading to the library to do some homework instead of going to the village with the rest of them.

“Besides,” said Harry once he was gone, “let’s say Sirius is right, and someone stunned Viktor to kidnap Crouch. Well, they would’ve been in the trees near us, wouldn’t they? But they waited till I was out of the way until they acted, didn’t they? So, it doesn’t look like I’m their target, does it?”

“Or it might have been Moody himself. He was the first one down there. He would have had time to stun Krum, get rid of Crouch and get back before you got back with Dumbledore, wouldn’t he?” Ron pointed out.

“You’ve changed your tune,” Harry said, amusedly.

“Well, I still don’t think Moody would do it, but if he is not himself for whatever reason, then it makes sense,” Ron shrugged, glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

Harry decided he’d stop by and see Sirius after the trip to Gringotts to reassure his godfather in person. He also took some food in his bag that Dobby had put in a shrunken container to keep it cold and fresh.

He said goodbye to Fred and his friends, meeting the two Slytherins in the entrance hall. As they walked towards the village, Harry filled the two of them in on the events of the last couple of days and their respective theories. Both of them were concerned, and agreed with the assessment that something was off about Moody. They both promised to be on their guard around him and Cassius was already training for the third task.

Once they were beyond Hogwarts grounds and on a part of the path that was empty except for the three of them, Cassius took hold of Harry’s arm.

“Fair warning, this will be unpleasant. Try not to puke on me.” With that, there was a cracking noise and Harry felt like he was being forced through an incredibly tight rubber tube. It simultaneously felt like it lasted only a second and also an eternity. When his feet hit solid ground once more, he staggered sideways, feeling nauseous. He did, however, manage not to throw up. Once his vision returned to normal, he straightened and shook his head.

“That was awful,” he complained. He’d done it once before with Dobby, but that was definitely worse.

“You get used to it,” Lexi grinned at him.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he muttered. She simply grinned wider and then they set off towards the large, snowy white building that was the wizarding bank.

“We’ll meet you just outside Gringotts once you’re done in, say, two hours? We both have some shopping of our own to do,” Cassius told him. Harry nodded. Then he entered the bank and walked up to a free teller.

“Er, hello. I would like to speak with the Potter account manager please.” The goblin looked up at him with a bored expression.

“Identification?”

“Er, would my vault key do?” The goblin looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but nodded. Harry handed over his key which was thoroughly examined.

“Follow me,” he said after a long minute. He hopped down and moved off towards a side door. A different one from that which led to the vaults. They walked for several minutes before he knocked on a door that looked identical to several they had already passed.

“Come in!” Grunted a gruff voice. The goblin opened the door and ushered Harry inside.

“Mr. Potter to see you.”  Harry walked inside to see a large office. A wooden desk sat opposite him with a goblin seated behind it. Two chairs for visitors were present. The wall to his left was covered in bookshelves full of books. A closer look told him they were all written in Gobbledegook. The other wall was covered in vicious looking weapons, including a great axe and two swords.

Harry waited until he was invited to take a seat.

“I was beginning to think you were never coming to see me. I’m Bloodaxe, the Potter account manager.”

“I didn’t know I had an account manager until recently. I live with muggles. They don’t like magic much so didn’t tell me anything,” he explained awkwardly.

“No matter. Now, I need to do a blood test to confirm your identity as you have never had one done at the bank before.”

“I didn’t need a blood test to access my vault before?” The goblin stared at him like he was stupid.

“No blood is required to access a trust vault. A key is sufficient. A blood test must be performed for entry to the family vault.” Harry nodded. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but he knew from Cassius and Lexi that it was an accepted procedure at the bank. Bloodaxe provided him with a piece of parchment and a knife. “Three drops of blood onto the parchment,” he instructed. Harry did as he was told. The blood soaked into the parchment in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Tom Riddle’s diary, and it made him uneasy. Especially when writing started to appear.

Name: Harry James Potter

Father: James Charlus Potter

Mother: Lily Matilda Potter nee Evans

Available Lordships: Potter (Lord), Peverell (Lord), Black (Heir)

Harry stared down at the parchment. Potter he’d expected, obviously, but Black? Did that mean he was Sirius’ heir? Sirius had never mentioned that.

“I’m the Black heir?” He frowned.

“Yes. Sirius Black is the last male descendant of the main Black family branch. He is the current Lord Apparent, having never claimed his title. He listed you as his official heir a week after you were born,” Bloodaxe told him. Harry was stunned. Sirius had named him his heir when he was a week old? What about his own kids? He couldn’t have known he’d be sent to Azkaban for twelve years.

“So, if Sirius never claimed the title, how can I claim the heir title?”

“Because he has not refused the title. If he officially refuses it after you have accepted the heir position, you will be next in line for acceptance as his appointed heir. Should you refuse, or not accept the heir title before that should happen, the title will pass to the next closest male, through a female line.” Harry wondered who that would be. He’d speak to Sirius about it all when he saw him later.

“I’ll accept it,” he stated. He could also refuse to be Lord if Sirius didn’t want him to accept it for whatever reason. But he knew his godfather hated the rest of the family, and might not want his title to pass to one of them.

“Very good.”

“I also need to see a summary of my vaults and what I own, please.” Bloodaxe nodded. He snapped his fingers and two folders appeared in his hand. He passed them over to Harry. He opened the first one and saw it was a summary of his different vaults, and monetary assets. The first two were his trust vault and the main Potter family vault. His eyes began to sting slightly when he also saw James Potter’s trust vault listed, having never been closed down and assimilated back to the main vault when he became the Lord. There was a few hundred galleons in it.

Harry finally glanced at the total in the Potter main vault and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He’d never, in his wildest dreams, thought he’d own that kind of money. It was in the millions of galleons. And it had only been sitting, collecting interest for the last thirteen years. The only expenditures in that time were the refills to Harry’s trust vault each year on his birthday since he’d started using it, and the yearly rent for having a vault which was miniscule.

The second folder was his non-monetary assets. Of most interest to Harry were the two properties, a cottage in Godric’s Hollow and Potter Manor in Hertfordshire. He owned a manor! It was almost beyond his comprehension.

Then he noticed that there were two house-elves listed under property and that made him feel both angry and a little ill. He really would have to encourage Hermione’s endeavours in regard to house-elves, as long as she went about it in a better way.

Honestly, he wondered if the elves were still alive. It had been thirteen years, after all.

“Godric’s Hollow. Is that where..?” Harry trailed off, unable to finish the question.

“Yes. That is where your parents were living after James Potter’s parents died. I believe the house was listed as a monument by the Ministry and is partially destroyed.”

“Could I get it back? Unlisted as a monument?” He asked immediately.

“You would need to file the appropriate request with the Ministry. We have the forms here, if you wish.”

“I do.” Bloodaxe snapped his fingers once more and handed Harry another sheaf of parchment. Harry took it and took out a quill to begin filling it in. It took almost half an hour, he didn’t understand all of the language and had to ask Bloodaxe to explain things. He was more patient than Harry had expected. Once it was done, his account manager promised to send it off to the Ministry the same day. Harry requested a copy for Lord Greengrass as his lawyer.

Next, he filled out the forms required for emancipation. Once those were officially filed Bloodaxe produced three small boxes. He pushed one towards Harry, so he took it and opened it. Inside was a ring. It was a platinum band with a large ruby set between two smaller diamonds.

“The Potter ring.” Bloodaxe told him. Harry tentatively reached out and took it. He fitted it onto his right ring finger, and it magically resized to fit perfectly.

The next box contained a gold ring with a black stone set in it. The stone had an odd symbol seemingly etched into the surface. A triangle with a straight line down the middle and a circle. Bloodaxe informed him it was the Peverell ring, although it was one of three. Each of the original three brothers of the Peverell family had identical rings. Harry’s ring came from the youngest brother, Ignotus, from whom he was descended. The oldest brother’s line was completely extinct, and the ring remained in the Peverell vault. The middle brother still had descendants from a female line but the ring’s whereabouts was unknown currently. Harry was also descended through a female line, from Iolanthe Peverell who married into the Potter family.

By the time he got to the final ring, Harry’s head was swimming. The Black heir ring was a thin black band with a small emerald. He slid it onto the same finger and watched the ring size to fit him before merging with the other rings. Bloodaxe assured him the rings would separate as soon as he took them off his finger and he could choose which ring was on display at any given time.

“One more thing,” he added after a moment of inspiration. “I, uh, sort of killed a basilisk. And I thought you might know about selling parts of it. It was a couple of years ago, so I don’t know how much will be left…” he trailed off when he saw Bloodaxe staring at him, mouth open.

“You…killed a basilisk. Years ago? You are fourteen.”

“Yeah. I killed it when I was twelve. Got bitten too, but a phoenix healed me, so I’m fine.” The goblin blinked rapidly for several seconds.

“You survived a basilisk bite? I must recommend being checked over by a healer, Lord Potter. Our healers here at Gringotts would be happy to assist. Normally there would be a fee, but for the chance to study one who has survived such a thing, the fee could be waived.” Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable at the eagerness in his tone for Harry to be studied. But…getting checked by a healer was one of the only things Fred had asked of him so far. And it would be better to get the goblins to do it.

“Er, ok. But, I’ll have to come back over the summer for that. I don’t really have the time now to be examined and studied.”

“Very well. We will make an appointment for you at the start of the summer holidays. As for your basilisk parts, Gringotts would be very happy to assist you in the sale of such valuable items.” He recommended a store that sold the tools and containers Harry would need to gather the parts from the carcass himself and bring them to the bank. From there, the goblins would organise an auction where they would take a percentage of the profits, but the majority would go to Harry. Harry was awed, and a little horrified, to find that the sale of a basilisk could well double his existing fortune. It was that valuable. He would definitely be giving some of that to the victims.

When he finally finished all of his business, it was almost time to meet Cassius and Lexi. He made his way to the steps of Gringotts to wait for them.

It wasn’t long before Lexi came wandering up the street, Cassius alongside her.

“All done?” Lexi asked.

“Not quite. I need to buy a few things first. If that’s ok?”

The two exchanged glances before nodding slowly. “As long as we’re quick.”

“On the plus side, I own a manor I can go and live in if I need to,” he told them as they walked through Diagon Alley to the apothecary.

“That’s good,” Cassius smiled slightly.

Once inside, Harry purchased all of the items Bloodaxe had recommended, raising the eyebrows of both Slytherins accompanying him. When he was done, they left the shop. Cassius gripped Harry’s arm once more and apparated them back to Hogsmeade.

Harry thanked the pair once more. Then he offered to take them down into the Chamber of Secrets the next day. They were both thrilled and eagerly agreed to meet him after breakfast. Then they split up and Harry headed off through the village alone. He picked up a few bits and pieces that he needed, including a couple of new books that had only just been released. He also picked up some food and bottles of Butterbeer to take with him to visit Sirius.

As he made his way through the streets, his mind whirled over all of the information he’d gained in the last few days. He was deeply concerned about the next task and still needed to warn Fleur about what might happen. Then he wondered if Winky knew about her former master’s disappearance. Or what may have put him in that state in the first place. He felt for the poor elf.

It didn’t take too long to reach the cave Sirius was staying in. He called out in warning, letting his godfather know it was him coming and he hadn’t been found by anyone. As he walked in, he saw Sirius, leaning against one of the walls, petting Buckbeak.

“What are you doing here, Harry?”

“Seeing you. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, so I didn’t sneak out or anything,” he stated, a little bitterly.

“Harry, it’s dangerous.”

“So is you being here,” Harry retorted. “You could be seen and caught at any time.” Sirius stared at him, then his face broke into a grin. He pulled Harry into a hug.

“Good to see you, pup. No bodyguard today?”

“No. I sort of had Cassius and Lexi take me to Diagon Alley so I could go to Gringotts,” he admitted.

“So, you did sneak off?”

“To a crowded shopping centre. And then the bank.”

“You trust those Slytherins enough to apparate you? They could have taken you anywhere.”

“Yes. I trust them. We’ve been over this.” Sirius still didn’t look convinced. “They took me to Diagon Alley and then back to Hogsmeade. That’s it,” Harry said in exasperation.

“Fine, fine. What did you need at the bank?”

“Well, uh, I did an inheritance test and, I, uh, apparently I’m your heir?”

“Yeah. As soon as I could. Kids was never something on my agenda. And now, with Azkaban, it looks like that decision is likely permanent anyway. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“So, you’re not mad I took up the Black Heirship?”

“You were entitled to it?” Sirius looked surprised.

“Yeah. Since you never officially declined it, and were never formally charged and convicted due to the lack of trial, you’re still in line to be the Black Heir.”

“I was disowned.”

“Not according to the goblins,” Harry shrugged.

“I never wanted it anyway. You’ll probably be loads better than me at that stuff, once you’ve been trained up a little.”

“Trained up? Is that to do with what you said about the Warringtons not being a ‘light’ family?” Sirius frowned at him.

“A little. What do you know about the Wizengamot?”

“Not much. Cassius and Lexi explained a little.”

“The Wizengamot is split into three factions. Dark, Grey and Light. Traditionally, the dark faction stands for Pureblood traditions, want to exclude muggleborns from our society. They also advocate for dark, black magic like blood magic and other horrible things. The light faction is pretty much opposite. They want to give muggleborns and creatures more rights, have a more liberal society. As you’ve probably guessed, they greys are in the middle. They don’t mind muggleborns, but want to preserve pureblood traditions, like our traditional festivals such as Samhain over Halloween. Not every member of a faction believes in all of those things, but they are the general guidelines. The Blacks are very dark. The Potters usually hover between grey and light.” Harry nodded slowly, trying to absorb it all.

“So, it’s not just that the dark families stand for Voldemort and the light ones fight him?”

“No. Not quite, although I can see why you would think that. It did split almost like that, with most dark families supporting him, but not all of them became Death Eaters. Not many Blacks actually became Death Eaters, as far as I know, only my cousin and my brother. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t agree with his ideas. The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters, Harry.” He nodded again.

“I also filled in the forms for emancipation. Turns out I own a manor! So, if I can be declared legally an adult, I can go and live there instead of going to the Dursleys.”

“Potter Manor,” Sirius said, his expression turning wistful. “I loved that place.”

“You’ve been?”

“Yeah. It’s where I went when I ran away from home. Your dad grew up there.”

“You’re welcome to come. You could even head there now, if you want. Instead of staying in this cave, living off rats.” Sirius smiled.

“I should be asking you that,” he sighed. “I’d love to live with you at Potter Manor. Merlin knows what state the Black properties are in, but for now, I would rather be close. Maybe in the summer, we can go and look at our properties together, if I’m free to claim the Black Lordship.”

“That would be nice.”

“For now though, you should get back to school.”

“But I…”

“I’ll see you again soon enough. Just focus on getting through the third task. And stay away from Krum.”

“Viktor is a great guy. He wouldn’t hurt me. He is dating Hermione and he doesn’t even like Karkaroff.”

“That’s what he’d have you believe.”

“No. I trust him.” Sirius looked pained.

“Just don’t trust the wrong people.” Harry reeled back.

“I won’t. Viktor is trustworthy. Just like Cass and Lexi.” Sirius looked dubious but nodded. Harry handed him the extra food and bottle of butterbeer, which he took gratefully. Then he walked Harry back down the mountain in his dog form.

They found Fred, Ron and Hermione sitting on a blanket by the stile. Harry stared at the three of them in surprise.

“We thought you probably shouldn’t walk all the way back to the castle alone. Considering,” Ron offered by way of explanation. Sirius barked in what Harry assumed was an approving manner. Then he licked Harry’s hand and left.

The four of them walked back up to Hogwarts. Fred cast several anti-eavesdropping charms so Harry could explain what had happened at Gringotts and with Sirius.

“So, it’s a case of train and wait for the third task, I guess,” Ron said with a grimace. He had looked uncomfortable ever since Harry had mentioned being a lord twice over and heir to another house. None of them were thrilled with that statement.

“There must be something we can do?” Hermione said worriedly.

“Dunno, I need to talk to Fleur though,” Harry stated.

Once they were back at school, Harry took a detour to the kitchens. Dobby was, as always, thrilled to see him. Winky seemed to have taken a turn for the worse again. Harry knelt down by her, feeling sad for the loyal elf.

“Winky, I have some news for you. It’s about Mr. Crouch.”

“My Master? You has news of my master?”

“Sort of. He came to the school the other night. I think he was attacked. He’s vanished, nobody knows where he has gone.” Winky let out a howl of anguish.

“Poor master! POOR MASTER! He is needing his Winky.”

“Winky, he needed to see Dumbledore about something. Do you have any idea what it could be? Do you know what was so important?” Winky just moaned, sitting up only to rock herself backwards and forwards.

“I is not saying. I is keeping my master’s secrets!” She wailed. Harry shuffled back. Dobby watched on, sadly.

“Winky,” Harry tried again. “I know you care about Mr. Crouch, but would you not be happier with a new…person to look after?” He found it too difficult to say ‘master’, particularly after seeing elves listed as property in his portfolio. It was clear she didn’t consider Dumbledore her proper master, and wondered whether that was because there were so many elves already, she didn’t have much to do, or if she wanted to just mourn.

“Winky is a disgraced elf. Nobody be wanting a disgraced elf!” She wailed.

“I would,” he offered without thinking.

“The Great Harry Potter is wanting a house-elf?” Dobby burst out, looking almost hurt that Harry had asked Winky and not him.

“Well, I think I already have some. I just found out. But I don’t know if they are alive. And only if it would help Winky.”

“Harry Potter be wanting a disgraced elf?” Winky looked at him like she’d never seen him before. “Harry Potter not be paying Winky!” She added hurriedly, looking both disgusted and worried.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to…take advantage or anything.

“Winky may be disgraced, but I is not sinking to being PAID!”

“Er, alright. No pay. But if you want a day off or something then you let me know. Or if you want something, like Dobby likes his clothes.” Winky pulled a disgusted expression that made him hide his smile. The elf still looked hesitant, but it was the longest Harry had ever seen her go without crying, so clearly his offer had had some positive effect on her.

Eventually, she accepted. It took a long of time to convince her she wasn’t betraying Mr. Crouch and that he didn’t consider her a disgraced elf, but eventually, Harry and Winky bonded. He then asked Dobby who practically leapt through the ceiling in his glee. His delighted shrieks made the rest of the elves cover their ears. With both elves bonded to him, and wages agreed for Dobby, the Hogwarts elves were all giving Harry grateful looks. Dobby had been willing to work for Harry for free, despite his current wages, but Harry had insisted on matching what he’d agreed with Dumbledore.

Hermione was going to kill him, but both elves were so happy, he didn’t feel particularly bad. Winky snapped her fingers, and her uniform was immediately clean, while Dobby was still almost vibrating from excitement.

“Can elves do shopping, and stuff? Like, can I give you access to my vault if I wanted you to sort out my house?”

“We can be getting Master Harry Potter Sir anything he needs,” Dobby nodded proudly.

“You don’t need to call me master. Just Harry is fine. Potter Manor has been empty for ages and I don’t know what state it’s in. If you guys could check it out, get it in some sort of order, I’d be really grateful. I don’t know if there will be some other elves there, if there are, they are welcome to come and see me. Not when I’m with other people though.”

“Dobby be making it the best house ever!” Dobby exclaimed.

“Winky will do as Master Harry asks,” Winky said. She didn’t sound exactly happy, but neither did she sound sad. And she wasn’t crying, which was a bonus. They both disappeared with a crack.

“We be thanking you, young master,” Blinky said to Harry once they were gone. Harry smiled slightly and left the kitchens. The elves insisted on giving him as many snacks as he could possibly carry in their gratitude.

He made his way back to Gryffindor tower, where he shared his gifts with his friends who were all sitting by the fire. They filled George and Angelina in on some of the things that had been going on, causing Angelina to be spitting mad on Harry’s behalf.

Fred insisted on coming to the chamber the following morning. Hermione also wanted to see but Ron refused to go back down. Angelina didn’t want to go either, but George agreed to come. They would all meet after breakfast and head down with the two Slytherins. Harry figured the more the better when it came to harvesting the basilisk parts. If there was anything left. He didn’t know how quickly something like that would decompose.

Either way, he soon turned in, absolutely exhausted after the days events.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry packed all of his new equipment into his bag that had an undetectable extension charm on it, something he’d picked up in Hogsmeade. It was a good thing too; he’d need a lot of magical containers to hold the whole basilisk. He hoped to get it all done in one day, as he did not want to have to make a third trip down to the chamber.

After a quick breakfast, the group met in the entrance hall and Harry, after introducing Hermione to the two Slytherins properly, led the other five to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Are you having us on, Harry? A girl’s bathroom?” Cassius wrinkled his nose. Harry grinned at him.

“Nope. This is where the entrance is.”

“No wonder nobody ever found it. Who would look in a bathroom?” Lexi shook her head. “Especially one haunted by Myrtle.” They pushed open the door and slowly entered. Harry approached the sinks in the middle of the room.

“This is it,” he announced, pointing to the tap with the snake on it. “The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

Just then, Myrtle came floating out of the stall, clearly having heard him talking. Her expression was as sullen as ever, darkening when she saw four males in the girl’s toilet. Then she registered who one of them was.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted him with a giggle. “How are you? Have you come to visit me? It’s been a long time.”

“Er, hi Myrtle,” he replied awkwardly. “Sorry, not here for a visit,” he added apologetically.

“I should have known. Nobody wants to visit miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle,” she wailed dramatically before disappearing into the stall she’d come from. After a second there was the tell-tale splash indicating she’d returned to the U-bend.

“What was that?” Cassius asked, astonished.

“Moaning Myrtle. She was killed by the basilisk fifty years ago and has haunted the bathroom ever since. She’s quite…uh, sensitive,” Harry explained.

“So I see,” noted George.

“She seemed to like you,” Fred noted casually. Harry glared, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He didn’t bother to give a reply.

He turned instead to the sinks and found the snake engraved on the tap once more. He tried to envision it as a living snake. To picture it moving. After a moment he told it to open. A hissing noise came from him and slowly the sinks began to move. Everyone else took a step back instinctively as the entrance revealed itself. Soon they all stepped forwards and peered down.

“So, you just jumped? At twelve? Down there? With a basilisk waiting?” Lexi asked Harry. “No wonder you’re a Gryffindor.” He grinned at her.

“We sent Lockhart first.”

“I don’t suppose you could ask it for stairs or something?” Cassius wondered. “Or we’re going to need a way back up.”

“Oh yeah.” Harry realised his mistake.

“You forgot about that part, didn’t you?” Fred teased. Harry grimaced.

“Stairs!” he hissed at the hole. Nothing happened.

“Really? There must be a way, I can’t see Salazar Slytherin sliding town a filthy tunnel to get to his chamber,” Cassius commented.

“Unless he didn’t intend to use it much. Just to be a home to the basilisk, then he wouldn’t need to go up and down,” Hermione pointed out.

“Brooms it is then,” George suggested. All four Quidditch players summoned their brooms. Lexi would ride with Cassius and Hermione would go with Harry. To begin with, the way down was almost vertical, and as soon as Harry dived, he heard Hermione’s shrill scream in his ear, making him wince. She clutched him tightly around the middle, holding on for dear life.

He flew slowly, knowing just how many sudden twists and turns there were on the way down, and so the journey took much longer than he remembered to reach the bottom. He hovered in the bottom chamber and waited for the others. It didn’t take long for them all to be gathered at the bottom of the tunnel. Nobody dismounted, not wanting to walk over all of the bones littering the floor. Harry led the way down the tunnel, stopping at the shed skin that was still a poisonous green.

“Woah. That’s the shed skin?” Lexi asked in astonishment. “It must be twenty feet. Maybe twenty-five.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered grimly.

“It’ll still be worth something,” Cassius noted.

“It’ll take forever to harvest this and the whole basilisk. If this skin hasn’t decomposed or anything, it’s possible the monster itself hasn’t, right?”

“Not sure. It’s possible, I suppose,” Lexi mused. “Let’s find out. We can come back to this later.” They all nodded, and Harry reluctantly moved on, until they came to the rockfall. The gap he had squeezed through two years prior, looked really, rather small now. Now they all had to dismount.

“Er, I’m not sure we’ll fit through that,” he noted, mostly to himself.

“Duro,” said Lexi, pointing her wand at the rockpile. Immediately, all of the loose rocks solidified into one lump that seemed to have fused to the ceiling. She then began to almost carve into the rock, making the gap bigger. He’d never seen anything like it before. Cassius, Fred and George all had their wands out, either helping Lexi or strengthening the other walls.

It only took a few minutes for the four of them to have created a solid wall with an archway big enough for all of them to walk through comfortably.

“That’s incredible,” Harry said, awed. All of them looked smug. “You’ve got to teach me that.”

“Not bad work, for a Weasley,” Lexi winked at the twins.

“I suppose you could have done a worse job, Farley,” Fred replied with a grin. “And, of course I’ll teach you. We’ll add it to the list.” Harry rolled his eyes at the two bantering before shooting Fred a grateful smile. Reluctantly, he headed through the new archway. The tunnel felt much shorter this time around. The twists and turns much less ominous now a basilisk wasn’t possibly waiting around any corner. He reached the next door, which was still open. Beyond, lay the chamber itself.

He tentatively climbed down the ladder at the entrance and looked around. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. The dead beast lay, seemingly untouched by the passing of time, in the middle of the main tunnel. Harry shivered. Then he felt a warm hand slide into his own and squeeze comfortingly. He gave Fred a grateful smile and, together, they walked slowly towards the monster.

Lexi and Cassius could be heard behind them, gasping in awe as they took in the chamber, in all of its slimy, damp glory. The pillars loomed above them, the carved snakeheads with their eyes that seemed to watch them. The same eerie, green gloom was present. He shuddered once more.

“Lumos Maxima,” murmured Cassius. The bright light lit the gloom. The chamber was not anymore pleasant in the light than it was in the dimness.

The sight of the basilisk made Hermione squeal. She moved over to hug Harry so tightly he thought his ribs would break.

“I’m alright, Hermione,” he muttered, awkwardly patting her on the back with his free hand.

“I can’t believe you had to do this alone,” she said, sounding horrified. He shrugged not knowing what to say.

Once she released him, they moved to stand right by the basilisk’s corpse. Which was in perfect condition, aside from the gaping sockets where the eyes had been. It was like it had died yesterday. Harry wondered if it was because the creature was magical, or if, somehow, the chamber had been preserved.

Fred then pulled him into yet another hug, burying his face in Harry’s hair. “I can’t believe you fought that thing. That you survived being bitten by it!” He muttered shakily. Harry could feel him trembling.

“But I did survive. I’m fine. Fawkes healed me and I’m here. Alive.”

“By pure luck,” George commented from nearby. He looked like he was restraining himself from joining the hug. “Thank you, Harry. You did all of this, to save our sister. You did save Ginny. And I hate that none of us really knew, still don’t truly know, what you had to go through to do that.” Harry felt Fred nodding in agreement. He didn’t know what to say in reply. Instead, he just hugged Fred back tightly and remained silent.

Eventually, Fred pulled back slightly. Just for something to do, Harry began pulling the equipment out of his bag as the two Slytherins wandered to the far end of the chamber, where the statue of Salazar Slytherin stood. Hermione moved to join them, highly interested in what else may be in the chamber. As he stared at the humungous carcass, Harry was struck by a sudden idea.

“Er…Dobby?” Harry called tentatively. There was a resounding CRACK that echoed horribly through the chamber, making everybody jump, even Harry who’d been expecting it.

“What can Dobby be doing for The Great Master Harry Potter Sir?” The house-elf asked before noticing what Harry was standing beside and shrieking.

“Dobby, it’s ok. It’s dead,” Harry reassured the elf as the others all hurried over to see what was going on. Dobby stared between the dead basilisk and Harry before wailing once more and hugging Harry’s knees so tightly he thought he might fall over. He shrieked about how the great Harry Potter had defeated such a dangerous beast and how he must be the best wizard ever.

“What’s going on? Why is there a house-elf clinging to you?” Lexi asked Harry, eyeing Dobby with disdain. He glared at her.

“This is Dobby.”

“The elf that almost got you killed at the Dursleys?” Fred growled. Dobby stopped his wailing at that and stared at Fred, wide-eyed.

“The elf who saved my life from Mr. Malfoy.”

“Your life wouldn’t have been in danger if you hadn’t tried to free him,” Cassius reminded him.

“It’s fine. Dobby is my house-elf now. And, Dobby, I was wondering if you’d be able to help me with harvesting this carcass?”

“Dobby can be helping,” the elf said eagerly.

“What do you mean, Dobby is your elf?” Hermione asked, glaring at Harry.

“I mean I hired him and Winky,” he admitted, bracing for the rage that was sure to follow. He could see her puffing up in outrage. “Why don’t you ask Dobby what he would like?” He put in quickly.

“He’s been brainwashed.”

“Dobby is not being brainwashed, Harry Potter’s Grangey,” the house-elf put in indignantly. “Dobby is liking working and The Great Harry Potter is the best master Dobby could imagine.” Harry winced at the word ‘master’. He also was ready to grab the elf, who seemed to have realised his statement could be construed as a slur on the Malfoy’s and tried to bash his head against the floor.

“Hermione, leave it. I understand what you’re trying to achieve, but you’re going about it the wrong way. We can have this argument later, if you insist, but can we not do this now? Here of all places.” She glared at him for several long moments but eventually nodded. He could tell it wasn’t over, but he didn’t have the energy to have the argument with her, especially here of all places.

He sighed gratefully. Soon, they all got to work harvesting the basilisk. It was gruelling work. And pretty gross. The magical tools were only of limited use on the highly resistant skin. It was physically difficult and after three hours, they hadn’t harvested even half of the skin. Cassius had managed to spell the remaining venom into three vials.

The most productive was Dobby, as his house-elf magic turned out to be far more effective than the tools designed to do this exact thing. After a while, they were all covered in grime and basilisk blood. Cleaning spells only covered so much, despite reapplying them every half an hour or so.

Eventually the stopped for a break. The house-elf happily fetched them a hearty lunch and a picnic blanket to eat on. Lexi dried one area of the floor and they made themselves as comfortable as they could. They shared several butterbeers with the food, of which there was plenty. Hermione did at least mellow slightly when Harry invited Dobby to join them. The Slytherins looked completely confused and shocked but gave no argument at the look on Harry’s face. Dobby didn’t stay too long, happily getting back to work while the humans finished eating.

“What’s your deal with house-elves?” Lexi asked Hermione curiously. Harry groaned. Hermione shot him a glare and then angrily answered the question.

“They are slaves!” Lexi and Cassius exchanged looks and then shrugged.

“So? It’s what house-elves are for. They like it,” Cassius said.

“So?! So?!” Hermione hissed in outrage. “Slavery is barbaric. Just because they are brainwashed into believing they like slaving away for wizards does not make it right.”

“Hermione,” Harry said warningly, glancing over at Dobby.

“House-elves need the bond. You’d think you’d know that seeing as you know so much about them,” Lexi said dismissively.

“What do you mean they need the bond? Wizards probably just made them think that to keep them enslaved,” Hermione retorted.

“No, Granger. If you actually looked into the matter, you’d find that elves have their own magic, but it’s unstable. It can overwhelm them and cause a backlash. They bond to wizarding families to have an anchor. To stabilise their magic. In return, they help the wizarding family,” Cassius explained. “That’s why it’s so shameful to an elf to be given clothes. It means they have not upheld their end of the bargain."

“Help? Help? If it’s all about helping the elves be stable and them helping wizards in return, how can Lucius Malfoy force his elves to shut their own ears in the oven? How can he beat them and force them to punish themselves over nothing? That’s not helping them. That’s torture. It’s not right.”

“Why do you care so much?” Cassius wondered.

“Why don’t you?” She shot back.

“They are just house-elves. Yeah, clearly Lucius Malfoy is a terrible person, but that doesn’t make the whole system wrong,” Lexi frowned.

“Yes, it does! The fact that he can do that, that nobody even cares, that’s what wrong. There are no laws to protect them. To ensure the bond, that they apparently need, is fair. They supposedly help wizards in return for helping them. Torturing them isn’t helping them. It’s slave labour under the guise of doing them a favour,” she said disgustedly.

“It is pretty terrible that house-elves are listed as property,” Harry put in. Hermione rounded on him.

“They what?”

“Er,” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “turns out I own a couple more. I inherited them and I only found out at Gringotts. They were listed as property, as part of my assets.” He could see her puffing up in further outrage, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she actually exploded at the rate she was going.

“What do you suggest then, Granger?”

“They should be free.”

“What, and let them all die? You’d rather eradicate an entire race?” She visibly deflated at that.

“No.”

“But laws could be put in place to protect them,” Harry said.

“And how would you police it? House-elves won’t complain, it would be a betrayal of their masters. And you can hardly police people’s homes. Even if you could, you couldn’t monitor every person who owns a house-elf,” Lexi told her. Hermione scowled.

“Maybe you should look into the bond. If Cassius is right about how the whole thing began, it’s likely the bond wasn’t quite so…one-sided in the beginning. It’s probably been warped and twisted to favour wizards over time. If you could find a way to reverse that, then house-elves wouldn’t be bound to stay in such abusive environments,” Fred suggested. Hermione looked at him in astonishment.

“That’s…brilliant.”

“I frequently am,” Fred smirked.

“And modest,” Harry said sarcastically.

“But of course.”  

Thankfully, that was the end of that discussion. Everyone returned to their food and let the matter lie. Hermione was busy mumbling to herself, thinking of all the research she would need to do on Fred’s suggestion and mentally running through all the books she knew of that could be of some help.

“You know, this could be a pretty good place to practice for the task,” Cassius said thoughtfully after a while. “More space than most of the classrooms and you’re much less likely to be disturbed.”

“Rather you than me,” Harry shuddered. “I’ll keep using the Room of Requirement, thanks.”

“The what?” Cassius and Lexi asked at the same time.

“It’s a room up on the seventh floor. It can pretty much turn into anything you could want. I used it to learn to swim before the second task.”

“You couldn’t swim at all, before the second task?” Lexi asked, looking shocked.

“My relatives would much rather I drown than spend money paying for me to have swimming lessons,” he told her dryly.

“Surely not!” Hermione looked horrified while everyone else scowled and muttered darkly about what they’d like to do to the Dursleys. Harry just shrugged at her.

Harry then spent the next ten minutes teaching Cassius to say ‘open’ in Parseltongue so he and Lexi could use the chamber whenever they wanted, without having to ask Harry to open the entrance. Then the two of them went back to the tunnel with the shed skin so they could attempt it on the door at the entrance to the main chamber. Harry told it to close, which it did, and then Cassius tried to open it. It took him a couple of tries, but eventually he got the hang of it.

“Thanks, Harry,” Cassius said quietly as they returned to the others. “I know you have bad memories of this place, but it is a great honour you have given me, the ability to access Salazar Slytherin’s chamber.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry offered him a small smile. “It’s the least I could do. Now, what do you think would upset Salazar Slytherin the most, the fact that a muggleborn is now in his chamber, and not as a victim, or that his only living descendant is the half-blood son of a muggle?” Cassius let out a snort.

“You know, I really can’t guess. Probably Granger being down here. His descendant may be a half-blood son of a muggle, but he is at least upholding the whole ‘rid the world of muggleborns’ thing.” Harry grimaced.

As they found the others, they saw Hermione and Lexi in another heated discussion. They seemed to be discussing pureblood traditions. Harry winced. Cassius retook his seat next to his girlfriend, immediately joining in on the conversation. Harry sat next to Fred, who was discussing some of their new designs with George. Harry vaguely listened to parts of both conversations, he found some of Lexi’s points to be highly interesting but said little himself. She did give both of them some recommendations for books to read.

Once everyone had finished food and conversation, they returned to work. Harry was happy that the heated debate had ended on relatively friendly terms, with Lexi successfully managing to refute several of Hermione’s points. It was a novel occurrence for his friend who was now determined to research more into the topic.

As they worked, Fred conjured a wizarding wireless, which caused an argument over which music should be on, but eventually the four purebloods settled on a band called The Hobgoblins, who had apparently just reformed with a new lead singer. Harry wasn’t familiar with much music, the Dursleys weren’t fans, or rather, Dudley wanted to watch his programmes on tv and so no music was allowed to interfere with that. The Weird Sisters from the Yule Ball had been alright, he supposed. Some of it was far too screamy for his taste, but the slower songs, the ones he’d danced to with Fred, were his favourites.

Once they had harvested enough of the skin to see, Cassius and Fred began working on the internal organs.

Harry had sent Dobby to start work on the shed skin in the tunnel, and, once out of Hermione’s hearing range, had called for Winky to help. Winky informed him that the two house-elves at Potter Manor were indeed still alive, and eagerly awaited Harry’s call. Their names were Tibbs and Krafty. He promised he would call them soon. She also told him the Manor was in fairly poor condition and would require some work to be fit to live in. They had made a start on procuring the necessary furniture and items to make it better, but it would require some reconstruction.

With both elves working on the shed skin, Harry returned to the others and went back to work.

“Cass?” He asked as he carved a particularly stubborn piece of skin. “Do you know any magical construction companies? Apparently, my manor needs some work.”

“Of course. I’d also recommend getting a warding expert to redo the wards after this long.”

“Bill could do it,” Fred offered. “If he can get the time off work, I know he wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll get you the name of some companies and some experts, in case Weasley can’t do it anytime soon,” Cassius assured him.

“Thanks. I’m hoping to have it ready for me to move in at the start of summer. I don’t want to have to go back to the Dursleys.”

“You won’t go back to them,” Lexi vowed sternly. “I don’t care if Cass or I have to kidnap you.”

“Hey, no kidnapping my boyfriend. If anyone’s going to do that, it’s me,” Fred protested. Lexi just winked at him.

“Thanks guys,” Harry smiled, feeling warm all over at their declarations.

They continued working until almost dinner. Winky had disappeared and Dobby had returned to help them once the shed skin outside was dealt with. They managed to finish the carcass and they all flopped to the floor in relief.

“Let’s never do that again,” Hermione panted.

“Agreed,” Harry nodded. “Dobby, can you take all of these containers to my vault at Gringotts and then let my account manager, Bloodaxe, know he can start organising an auction. Hermione, do you have some parchment and something for me to write a note with?”

“Of course.” She dug a sheaf of parchment, quill and ink from her bag and handed them to Harry. He penned a note to Bloodaxe. He wanted to open vaults to separate the money from the basilisk sale.

Penelope Clearwater, Hermione, Colin and Justin would all get a portion of the money as they had been the victims. He also planned to give some to Ginny, she had been a victim, whatever her possible choice of participation later on, and Ron who had come to the chamber, and faced acromantula with him. Harry also planned on giving a portion to Hogwarts as Nearly Headless Nick had also been a victim, but a ghost hardly needed money. He’d been petrified saving a student’s life so it was the least he could do. Maybe they could afford some better broomsticks for flying class.

He was keeping some of the skin for himself, hoping he could find someone to make basilisk hide robes, which would be just as, if not more, protective than dragonhide. Even split eight ways, with some skin kept aside for Harry and not sold, it would likely amount to over a hundred thousand galleons each, from what Bloodaxe had told him. It could go as high as a quarter of a million each. Harry shivered at the thought of such an amount, especially if he didn’t plan on sharing it. He simply didn’t need another million galleons. Or more. He hadn’t told Ron or Hermione about this plan, knowing they would try to object. His plan was hopefully to have Gringotts mail out the keys to the correct people, with a letter informing them it was the proceeds of the basilisk so they knew why they were getting the money, so it would be a surprise. He had no idea how to reach Penelope Clearwater otherwise, as she had already graduated. And he didn’t even want to think about Colin’s reaction if Harry told him personally.

As he was writing, Harry realised that technically Mrs Norris had also been a victim, and therefore Filch should probably be entitled to a portion of the money, if somewhat smaller than that of the human victims. He wasn’t particularly thrilled by this, especially with how Filch had accused him of the deed, and taken out his pain on all the students, but it would be unfair to leave him out completely. Harry sighed, as Nick was a ghost and Mrs Norris was a cat, maybe he could split the Hogwarts portion between the two and leave Dumbledore to distribute it how he saw fit.

He finished the missive, sealing it with the Potter crest from his ring, and handed it to Dobby to take to Bloodaxe once he’d finished transporting all of the containers.

“We have about half an hour before dinner. It’s probably time to head back,” Hermione said, checking her watch.

“We haven’t really explored any of it yet,” Cassius protested.

“Well, now you guys can come down whenever you like. I’m happy to leave the exploring to you,” Harry shrugged.

“What if we need more parseltongue?” Lexi wondered.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry sighed and strode over the to the statue. “Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.” As before, the entrance hidden in the statue slowly opened and Harry couldn’t quite stop the flinch, as he pictured the basilisk appearing. “That’s the only other thing I know about. The basilisk came out of there though, so it might be its nest. Which I have no desire to see.”

“Thanks, Harry. We’ll let you know if we find anything interesting,” Lexi promised.

With that, the group made their way back up the tunnel before flying out of the chamber. Myrtle was nowhere in sight when they emerged, much to Harry’s relief. Once outside the bathroom, they went their separate ways as they all wanted to have a shower before going down to dinner.

As they entered the Great Hall, Harry spotted Fleur as the Ravenclaw table. He hurried over.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said nervously.

“Ah, ‘Arry. Welcome,” Fleur smiled at him. He took a seat next to her and, in an undertone, told her as briefly as possible what he suspected about the third task. Her eyes were wide by the time he’d finished, and she promised to be on her guard, thanking him for warning her ahead of time.

“I was wrong, when I said you should not compete,” Fleur told him. “You ‘ave been more than our equal throughout.” Harry smiled at her.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“Still, merci.” With that, he took his leave and hurried back over to his friends.  

Once they’d eaten Harry went to the owlery to send a letter to Bill, enquiring about warding his manor. He also asked for recommendations, should Bill not be able to do so personally. On Fred’s advice, he also included what the third task was and any recommendations for any tips.

With that done, Harry and Fred headed to the room of requirement. Fred had been teaching him wordless magic. After he had successfully cast a couple of spells under the lake, they had been trying to expand his repertoire. Along with his spell knowledge. He’s so far managed the stunning spell, impediment jinx and the tripping hex. He’d only managed the impediment jinx non-verbally so far and it only lasted a matter of seconds. But, as Fred pointed out, a few seconds could make a big difference.

They had also been researching magical creatures. The news that Hagrid was planning on lending some creatures to the task greatly concerned Harry. He had a horrible feeling the skrewts would be involved. He had to be grateful Norbeta was no longer with him. Aragog was though. If Hagrid allowed Aragog to be part of the tournament, Harry might just kill him. Still, unwilling to risk it, he and the others had researched ways to deal with acromantula. There was no works on the skrewts, lending credence to the likelihood than Hagrid had bred them himself. He wondered if Hagrid could be persuaded to tell him about any weaknesses. If Hagrid knew of any himself. Chances were, he didn’t.

It was well past curfew by the time Harry and Fred returned to the common room. Harry groaned as he realised how much homework he still had to do. His Herbology essay was due the next day, so rubbing his eyes and cursing, he drew some parchment out of his bag and made a start.

It was a few days later when Harry got a letter from Edmund at breakfast, letting him know everything was finalised. Harry was officially and legally emancipated. Additionally, Potter cottage in Godric' Hollow was no longer a monument, although there had been several unhappy murmurings in the Ministry at that news. Harry wondered who would be unhappy that his house, the place his family had been murdered was no longer a public monument. It sickened him.

Unfortunately, there was little news on the Sirius front. Despite the lack of trial scripts, the Ministry was dragging its feet on rescinding the kiss on sight order. They didn’t want to admit they might have been wrong and were adamant his confession was enough. Amelia Bones was on their side, and he was confident in getting Sirius a trial, but it would take time. It was disappointing, but at least it was being worked on. At least they were closer to Sirius being free.

Edmund’s letter happened to arrive on the same day that the Daily Prophet dropped the article announcing the sale of basilisk parts. There was a buzzing around the Great Hall at the news, everyone, including the article author, speculating on where a basilisk could possibly have come from.

Glancing up at the staff table, Harry saw Dumbledore looking straight at him with something akin to surprise and possibly disappointment. Harry’s attention was caught by Moody’s reaction who had just opened his paper and almost choked on his mouthful of food. He took a drink from his hipflask before hurrying from the room. Harry wondered what could possibly have garnered that reaction, unless he was desperate for basilisk parts for some reason.

A far funnier reaction was Snape’s. His eyes almost fell out of his head as he saw the news and he hurried out of the room almost as quickly as Moody. Now that was someone Harry knew for sure would be after basilisk ingredients, and he found it deeply amusing that should Snape purchase any, he would effectively be paying Harry. He almost wanted to tell him, to see him work through whether his desperation for such rare and valuable potion ingredients outweighed his hatred of Harry. He imagined it would be rather like watching Uncle Vernon chose between allowing him to be happy going to the Quidditch World Cup or having him out of the house two weeks early.

Still, he scoffed down some breakfast and headed to his first lesson of the day, which was Transfiguration. After the lesson McGonagall held him back to inform him Professor Dumbledore wanted to see him. She gave him the new password and Harry sighed.

He attended Arithmancy and double History of Magic before it was lunchtime. Harry decided to get it over with and headed to the headmaster’s office. Hermione promised to save him some food as he didn’t know how long it would take.

Harry gave the password to the gargoyle, who leapt aside, and climbed the spiral staircase. He knocked on the door and Dumbledore’s voice called for him to come in. Harry opened the door and looked around the familiar office. Fawkes was sitting on his perch and made a soft noise as Harry approached.

“Hey Fawkes,” he smiled. “You wanted to see me, professor?” He asked, taking the indicated seat.

“Indeed. Lemon drop, Harry?”

“No thank you.”

“Very well, am I to assume that you are behind the news of basilisk parts for sale this morning?”

“Yes. I hadn’t even thought about it before, but it was brought to my attention that technically, as I killed it, it belonged to me and could be quite valuable.” The headmaster peered at him over the half-moon spectacles.

“You are aware that basilisk parts are incredibly rare potion ingredients?” Harry nodded, not liking where this was going. “Would you agree to allowing Professor Snape access to a portion? The potions he could create and make with such ingredients could be of great use in the near future.” Harry wondered what that meant. Did he mean they could be useful against Voldemort? Or something else?

“Unfortunately, not, professor. He is, of course, welcome to purchase any ingredients at the auction, but his behaviour to myself and my classmates does not lend itself to favours. Why would I give him access to ingredients to make more potions, when he has already tried to poison Neville’s toad last year and has been trying to poison me this year, under the guise of testing antidotes.”

“Severus would not harm a student.” Harry scoffed loudly at that.

“Sorry professor, but he already has. He has bullied me, and plenty of other students, for years. Failing to teach us properly and using our failures to poison or attack us. I have no desire to help him with anything.”

“This is not about helping Severus, but rather helping the wizarding world at large. The potions he could create would be for the good of the many.”

“I’m sorry, professor. The auction is now in the hands of my account manager and the parts have already been listed. Even if I wanted to help, it is too late. I kept no parts myself, except for some skin that I already have plans for. I have planned to set aside a portion of the money to donate to Hogwarts as compensation for Nick and Mrs Norris being petrified, as I have for all of the other victims. That is the best I can do.”

“That is very generous of you.” Dumbledore seemed to approve of that at least, but he still seemed disappointed Harry wouldn’t give in over Snape.

“Is that everything, professor?”

“How are preparations for the third task going?” Harry was surprised by the sudden interest.

“Fine. Not concerned at all that whoever put my name in the goblet is down to one last chance to do me harm.”

“There will be protections in place,” Dumbledore assured him. It took everything in him not to scoff at that as well. Like the protections around Hogwarts had served him well in the past. He was sure the headmaster would do his best, it just seemed that his best never quite seemed to be enough to protect Harry. Part of that was his own fault, and some of it was not. Either way, he was preparing to have no help but himself during the task.

As he was thinking, he suddenly felt an excruciating pain in his scar. He slapped his hand over his head, shaking as a violent rage rippled through him. He closed his eyes and suddenly he was in another room. There were three dark shapes on the floor beside the chair, two of them were stirring. One was a huge snake... the other was a man... a short, balding man, a man with watery eyes and a pointed nose. He was wheezing and sobbing on the mat. The third figure was a man with straw blond hair, down on one knee, head bowed and still as stone.

“How could this happen?” Harry demanded, his voice high and cold.

“I don’t know, master. I only saw the news this morning and thought you would wish to know immediately.”

“But how? How could anyone have found the secret?” Harry asked, more to himself than the two men at his feet.

“I can investigate immediately, master. Surely the staff will know something,” the blond man offered.

“You see Wormtail,” Harry hissed softly, “my true servant brings me solutions.” Wormtail sobbed some more. “Somebody will pay, for this.” He pointed his wand at Wormtail, fury still coursing through him and no better target in place. “Crucio!”

Wormtail screamed, screamed as though every nerve in his body were on fire, the screaming filled Harry’s ears as the scar on his forehead seared with pain; he was yelling too... Voldemort would hear him, would know he was there…

“Harry! Harry!” He opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore kneeling over him. He had clearly slid off his seat and was lying on the office floor. His scar was still on fire. The professor slowly helped him to sit up. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“Uh. Yeah. Fine,” he mumbled, still clutching his aching forehead. After several seconds he attempted to haul himself back into the chair. He felt embarrassed when Dumbledore had to step in and support him that short distance. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“It is no matter.”

Harry sat back in the chair, resting his head against the back. He felt a warm weight on his lap and saw Fawkes had flown over to him. He mumbled a greeting, stroking the soft feathers. He slowly began to feel normal.

“Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologise, Harry. Have you had any other pains in your scar? Other visions? Aside from your experience over the summer?” Harry opened his eyes to look at Dumbledore.

“What? How do you know about that?”

“You are not Sirius’ only correspondent.”

“Er, no, professor. It hurts every now and again, but I haven’t had any further dreams like that one until now.

“Do you feel able to tell me what you saw?” He nodded slowly and began to recount the dream. Dumbledore did not interrupt him, looking grave throughout. Once Harry had finished, he felt exhausted. Dumbledore rose and began to pace up and down behind the desk.

“Professor, the man, the one I didn’t recognise, he said something about investigating and asking the staff. You don’t think…Professor Moody has been acting strangely. Meeting with Mr. Crouch in the middle of the night, other things.” Dumbledore looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean Alastor was meeting with Mr. Crouch in the middle of the night?” Harry swallowed. He didn’t really want to explain about the map. Then he recalled that the headmaster likely already knew. It had come out at the end of last year in the retelling of events in the Shrieking Shack. “Fred was teaching me to swim before the second task. We finished late one evening and checked the map to avoid any, er, professors. We saw Mr. Crouch heading right to Professor Moody’s office after searching Snape’s storeroom,” he explained.

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore said, though he seemed to be more of an automatic reaction than an actual scolding. He resumed his pacing, more frantic this time. “I shall investigate these matters, Harry, though I have complete faith in Alastor. You need to focus on the third task.” Harry nodded, reluctantly.

“Professor?” he said quietly, after a couple of minutes. Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry.

“My apologies,” he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.

“D’you — d’you know why my scar’s hurting me?”

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, “I have a theory, no more than that.... It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred or anger.”

“But... why?”

“Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed,” said Dumbledore. “That is no ordinary scar.”

“So, you think that vision I just had... did it really happen?”

“It is possible,” said Dumbledore. “I would say — probable. Harry — did you see Voldemort?”

“No,” said Harry. “Just the back of his chair. But, when he was talking, it…it felt like I was talking. Like I was him,” he shuddered slightly. “But, how? He hasn’t got a body, has he? And... and how could he have held the wand?” Harry said slowly.

“How indeed?” muttered Dumbledore. “How indeed...”

“Professor,” Harry said after several long moments of silence, “do you think he’s getting stronger?” It felt like a stupid question, but he couldn’t think of anything else to break the silence.

“Voldemort?” said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pensieve. Harry fought not to reply sarcastically to that. Obviously he meant Voldemort. “Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions.” Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

“The years of Voldemort’s ascent to power,” he said, “were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared... within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort’s father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends.” Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry. “These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees.” Silence fell between them again and Harry soon took his leave.

As he walked back down the spiral staircase, his mind whirled. That was not what he’d been expecting when he was called to Dumbledore’s office. That vision had come out of nowhere. His head still ached with phantom pain. He could still feel the effect of the cruciatus he had somehow cast on Wormtail. The one he had somehow also felt.

But Dumbledore knew now, about his suspicions about Moody. Hopefully he would be able to find out the truth. Assuming he didn’t know it already. And he had been right about one thing, Harry needed to focus on the third and final task. On surviving one more time.

Somehow the fact that Dumbledore had actually expected him to give some ingredients to Snape was not the most surprising thing to occur in the visit. Maybe it was petty, maybe Snape truly could come up with some potions for the good of wizards everywhere but given the number of potions Snape had threatened him with, poisons and veritaserum included, he had no interest in helping him create more. Snape would absolutely not be above threatening him with poisons he had given him the ingredients to create.

Chapter Text

He met the others in the Great Hall and told them about the meeting. Before he could get much further than the first part, the original reason he’d been called up, they were interrupting him. Hermione seemed to think Dumbledore had a point, Ron was outraged at the idea of giving Snape anything and Fred was outraged Dumbledore would even dare ask Harry such a thing given Snape’s behaviour towards Harry. Pretty much exactly how Harry had expected them all to react. He smiled to himself at how predictable his friends could be. George had agreed that it would be good if Snape could make potions to help people, but he took Harry’s side in the fact that he’d tortured Harry enough with potions and he understood Harry’s desire not to give him extra ammunition to use against him.

“I know you’re really good at potions. If you want, I could contact the Goblins and ask if they could set aside some of the ingredients for you,” Harry offered. George looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No, no. I’m fine. I couldn’t possibly…”

“Would it help you create stuff? I don’t care if it’s helpful in the future or if it just makes people laugh. I get the feeling we’re going to need that sooner rather than later anyway?” Harry asked, cutting off what protest George was going to muster.

“The venom could…usually venoms make the best antidotes and healing potions,” George admitted, clearly reluctant.

“Alright,” Harry nodded. He was already planning to send Dobby to Gringotts to ask Bloodaxe to take one vial of venom off the auction lists. So far, as far as he knew, only the news that there was to be an auction had been revealed, not what was available, so he did still have time, whatever he’d told Dumbledore. He trusted George far more than Snape.

“Harry…you’re not…” George trailed off, looking at him in astonishment.

“Of course not,” Harry told him, trying to look innocent. Judging by Fred’s raised eyebrow, he failed. He turned to Hermione and started a conversation about lessons, which set her off and required very little input from himself. Fred looked amused and shot him a look that clearly meant Harry had won this round but to expect revenge.

Once Hermione had finished, he told the group about the rest of his visit to Dumbledore.

“Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who’s getting stronger again as well?” Ron whispered.

“Yes,” Harry nodded for the fifth time.

“Right, right. Well, it makes sense. If he was able to get someone to put your name in that goblet. If he was able to influence Crouch or Moody, he would have to have gotten more powerful.” Ron looked terrified at the prospect and Harry couldn’t blame him.

“At least he knows our suspicions about Moody. If he somehow hadn’t noticed anything odd by now, he has a reason to investigate,” Fred pointed out optimistically.

“Except Dumbledore said he had complete faith in Moody,” Harry reminded him grimly.

“We’ll just have to up your training. Whatever happens, you’ll get through it,” Fred stated, looking determined. Harry nodded, more to appease him than out of confidence.

Once lunch was finished, Harry had to struggle through a Charms lesson where he could barely focus, and a Herbology lesson which was thankfully the last one of the day. Harry was almost bitten by the Venomous Tentacula because he wasn’t paying attention.

He spent every free moment with Fred, George, Ron and Hermione in the Room of Requirement practising spells. He had managed to learn a few more and could perform several of them wordlessly, including the stunning spell and the shield charm. Although his shield did not hold for very long when cast wordlessly, it did work. George was working with him to improve his stamina with the wordless shield while Fred taught him new spells that weren’t typically useful but, if creative, could cause a good distraction. These included the hair growth charm, the bat-bogey hex, the sneezing charm and the melfors jinx which would cause a pumpkin to encase the victim’s head.

All of their efforts had been about buying Harry enough time to get away, rather than winning a duel. He already knew the tickling charm and the dancing hex.

He duelled Fred and George several times, sometimes together, and could soon enough hold his own. He still lost every time, but it took longer and longer for the twins to defeat him. Both of them were adamant he could hold off an attacker for several seconds, which could prove crucial in whatever was going to happen in the third task.

They had also learned the spider-repelling charm ‘Arania Exumai’. It could blast young acromantula, they didn’t know if it would affect one as old as Aragog, and none of them were about to go and test it. It would have to do.

As for the blast-ended skrewts, they made little headway. Ron had caved and finally asked Hagrid who had all but confirmed their presence in the third task. However, he had also confirmed they lacked weaknesses, at least that he knew of. Harry made sure to pass this information onto the other champions. Fleur had been a little suspicious about how much he was helping her, even after their comradery in the second task, but the others were both grateful for the knowledge. As was Fleur, after she worked through her suspicions and realised that Harry just wanted everyone to survive the third task. He wasn’t aiming to win, he just wanted everyone to be ok. If anything, he was rooting for Cassius. Something he made clear to the general population of Hogwarts.

They seemed to disapprove. Despite the Slytherin Champion’s general popularity increase, Harry was still by far the favourite of the two champions. He tried to advocate for Cassius every chance he got, but most ignored him. He really should be used to that. Nobody listened to him. Except his friends. And Cass and Lexi. They had listened, and believed him, when they had no real reason to do so. They were amongst his best friends, and he would do everything in his power to make sure Cassius was not caught up in whatever bad luck tended to follow him around.

By the time the third task rolled around, a month later, Harry felt as prepared as he could be. No more knowledge was going to soak into his skull. It was a very good job he didn’t have to take his end-of-year exams. Although, tutoring from George meant he’d probably pass his potions exam, as well as Defence, Transfiguration and Charms. He wasn’t sure about the others and got Hermione to give him a copy of the exams, grateful for her eidetic memory, so he could try his luck.

It also meant Viktor was incredibly busy, studying for the third task and his equivalent of NEWTs. He also knew Hermione, when she wasn’t helping him, was helping Viktor with his training. She was adamant that she was supporting Harry and wanted him to win, something the Bulgarian constantly teased her about, but she didn’t want her boyfriend to be hurt either.

Sirius was sending daily owls with recommendations for spells to learn. Harry took most of them on board and he was fairly confident as the end of June arrived rapidly. He just wanted it over with.

A week after their Chamber excursion, Harry had received some quotes from a couple of construction companies that Cassius had recommended for the work to be done to Potter Manor. Harry knew the cottage required some work too, but that was a can of worms he wasn’t ready to open. He’d approved one of them and they had begun work. Krafty kept him up to date. The two Potter elves had been beyond ecstatic to have their master return after so long. They almost reminded him of Dobby in their excitement and a bit of Winky in the strength of their devotion. It bothered him a little. He saw how Winky struggled after being sacked by Mr. Crouch and, while he didn’t plan on sacking them, he didn’t like the idea of them being so enthralled by him. Dobby was a different matter. At least that’s what he told himself.

The work was scheduled to be completed three days before the end of term. Bill had also written back and agreed to ward the property as he had some time off coming up. He’d said that, based on the description Harry had sent him, it would take him a further three days to ward the whole property, finishing the day he returned from Hogwarts, meaning Harry could go straight there without needing to return to the Dursley’s. He was excited to see his family home. He would also be glad when Sirius wasn’t having to live in a cave and feed off rats to be there for him. He’d been sending as many care packages as he could, Dobby was an absolute blessing here, but the very thought of Sirius living as a dog and eating rats for him made his insides squirm with guilt.

There was still no movement on getting Sirius a trial. Fudge was determined to delay any decision until after the tournament had finished. In his letters, his godfather constantly assured Harry he didn’t mind, that the fact Harry was even trying on his behalf was enough for him. That didn’t make Harry feel any better.

Harry had also made contact with a recommended tailor who would be able to make his basilisk hide robes from the skin. It would take them a while as the material was not the easiest to work with, but it would be worth it. Harry ordered one each for both twins, Ron, Hermione, Cassius and Lexi. He also ordered one for Sirius, though getting his size right was harder than the others. Especially as he would likely put weight on once he started eating properly and recovering from his time in Azkaban and on the run. Additionally, he, Ron and Hermione were also likely to grow plenty and there wasn’t enough skin to continually make them new robes as they did so, so there had to be enough room to grow into as well as resizing charms as those only went so far.

Dobby turned out to be a massive help there. Not only did house-elf magic work better than human magic on the basilisk skin but, as he made his own clothes, Dobby had studied up on sewing and other skills involved in such endeavours. Providing the skin himself, as well as Dobby’s assistance meant the robes were actually relatively cheap considering how lifesaving they may turn out to be.

Harry took great delight in presenting George with a vial of basilisk venom one night after their duelling practise.

“Harry…” he said, trailing off, unable to find words. Harry smirked.

“You didn’t doubt me, did you?”

“This is…do you understand how valuable this is? Many potions master’s would kill to get hold of this,” George whispered.

“Snape might actually kill me if he finds out,” Harry grinned happily. Fred snorted. “Besides there are two more vials going to auction.”

“Two! There are two vials left? You gave me a third of all the basilisk venom available in the UK?” George gaped at him, his voice getting higher and higher as he spoke.

“Yeah. You saw Cassius harvest the venom, right?”

“No. I thought there was more than that,” George said. “Harry…I can’t…this is too much.”

“No. It’s not. The things you could do with this…Dumbledore was right to an extent. It could be used to do so much good. And I think you could do that good. Besides, you’ve spent most of the year training me, which might well save my life. This is the least I can do.”

“But I’m not…I’m good at potions but I’m not a master. I’m not…I’m not Snape.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Fred muttered. “I don’t want Snape as my twin brother thank you very much.” George managed a shaky grin at that.

“I know you’re not. And that’s why I think you’ll actually be able to do some good with this. I’m not taking it back George, so you’re stuck with it.”

“Marry him,” George told his brother firmly, causing both Fred and Harry to turn bright red.

The weekend before the task was the auction for the rest of the basilisk parts. Harry did not attend, busy studying for the task ahead, but Winky was there on his behalf. The elf had returned with a folder containing the results of the auction. Harry had almost fainted. It had exceeded even the goblin’s wildest dreams. The final total, after the goblin’s percentage was taken out, had come to just over three million galleons. That came to 375,000 galleons per person in the way Harry intended to split it.

It was one of Harry’s fondest memories, the morning the letters from Gringotts arrived. He’d been sat next to Ron and opposite Hermione and Viktor. The owls landed in front of Hermione and Ron who had both looked perplexed. Further down the table, Colin had received an owl of his own and Harry almost vibrated with anticipation. Ron had opened his letter and stared at the contents; mouth hanging open.

“Ron, please close your mouth. Nobody wants to see your half-eaten breakfast,” George told him casually.

“Uh, but…this is…Harry, what did you do?!” Ron turned to stare at him. Harry fought to hide his smirk.

“Me?”

“Harry Potter…this is ridiculous!” Hermione told him. “This is…”

“What’s going on?” Fred asked.

“They found out how much the basilisk was worth,” Harry told him. Fred immediately leaned around Harry to read over his brother’s shoulder, and his mouth had also fallen open.

“That…the goblins certainly know what they are doing,” he muttered.

“Everyone who was attacked by the basilisk got some of the money. It was only right,” Harry explained to Ron who was still speechless.

“But I didn’t…” Ron looked at him, seemingly torn between desperately wanting the gold and feeling like he didn’t deserve it.

“You came with me. You were the one who suggested we go to Lockhart and do something,” Harry reminded him. Fred snorted.

“Which was a terrible idea.”

“If we hadn’t gone to Lockhart, we probably wouldn't have gone to the chamber. It was Ron’s idea,” Harry said. “Just because you got stuck on the other side of the rockfall doesn’t mean you weren’t brave,” he added, looking at Ron. “You came with me to see Aragog. You came down to the chamber. I couldn’t have done it without you. I expect the fee for the onmioculars now,” he teased. Ron feigned a glare, but he couldn’t hold it and shook his head, laughing. His laughter did have a hysterical edge to it.

“Harry…did you know…” Hermione asked him, unable to finish her questions in a way Harry had never seen before.

“I didn’t know it was going to be this much money. But I knew it would be a lot,” he admitted. “And, I want to invest,” he added, looking at Fred.

“What?”

“I want to invest. Give you money for your store.”

“No. That’s your money,” Fred protested.

“And you already gave us that venom,” George agreed.

“That wasn’t…I want to do this. I know you guys can do this by yourselves, you’re brilliant, but you don’t have to. I know Bagman screwed you over and I want to fix it. I want to invest what he should have given you for your bet at the Quidditch World Cup,” he told them both quietly, so nobody else would hear their business.

“Harry…” Fred began.

“We’ll work out an agreement. Make a contract with Gringotts if that’s what you really want, but I want to help you guys. We’re going to need the laughs, and I just know you’ll create the best joke shop ever seen. You’re wicked smart, fantastically creative and some of the stubbornest Gryffindors I know.”

“Bit rich, coming from the stubbornest Gryffindor in history,” Fred muttered. Harry just grinned at him.

“We’ll work something out over the summer, but I won’t forget about this. I will make it happen,” he vowed.

“I have no doubt about that,” Fred chuckled. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.” Harry knew that he was the lucky one out of the two of them but didn’t say anything. He just smiled and leant into the hug Fred offered.

As they had left the hall to head to their first lesson, Ron pulled him aside, looking incredibly awkward.

“Mate, I…the money…”

“Ron, don’t worry about it,” Harry told him.

“But…I…I’ve been a shit friend this year and you…Harry,” Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ron, really, don’t worry about it. I forgave you for that. And you did come with me to the chamber. You came with me to Aragog. You literally faced your worst fear to help Hermione and try to save people. You deserve this, Ron. It was me that killed the basilisk, through pure luck and Fawkes, but I couldn’t have done it without you and Hermione.”

“But she’s the one who thought of the pipes. You killed the thing. I just got disarmed by Lockhart of all people,” Ron scoffed depreciatively. “If I hadn’t let him get the better of me…you wouldn’t have faced that thing alone.”

“If you and Lockhart had been there, you would probably have died. Riddle’s ghost, or whatever it was, only didn’t attack me at first because of who I am. And the basilisk had a far greater chance of killing someone with three of us there, rather than just me,” Harry said. He could tell his friend wasn’t convinced. “Look, if you don’t take the money, I’ll give it to Percy.” Ron spluttered at that.

“No, it’s not…” Harry chuckled.

“Come on, we’ll be late for Charms if you don’t hurry up.” They headed to their lesson without further discussion.

Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. The parchment was folded in half, with a muddy paw print on the front while he had written some final tips on the inside. He was sandwiched between the twins, whose solid presence kept his mind from wandering too far.

Fred squeezed his hand every once in a while, to make sure he hadn’t drifted off too far and Harry was grateful, though he could only show it with a wan smile.

A screech owl arrived for Hermione, carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.

“What?” said Harry and Ron together, staring at her.

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it.

He stared at the headline and said, “No way. Not today. That old cow.”

“What?” said Harry. “Rita Skeeter again?”

“No,” said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” said Harry.

“No,” said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone. “Not entirely.”

“Just give it to me,” Harry told him sternly. “You know I’ll hear about it either way.”

At that moment, several people, who had also been reading the prophet, turned to glare at the Slytherin table.

“It makes so much sense,” one person whispered.

“Dirty Slytherins,” another one said.

“Poor Harry. I hope someone can fix it.”

Bewildered, Harry stared at his friends. Reluctantly, Ron handed him the paper. Harry opened it and stared at the picture of himself. He thought it was him after the first task, when he’d told her she could have a word, and that word was ‘goodbye’. Cassius and Lexi were standing nearby looking amused, and a little surprised. Ron was on Harry’s other side, eyebrows high in shock. He, himself, looked angry. He looked at the bold headline emblazoned along the top: PUPPET POTTER.

What followed was an incredibly insulting article that essentially claimed Cassius had been controlling Harry for almost the whole tournament. She’d interviewed several people who had informed her Harry had only ever shown animosity towards Slytherin house before the tournament and suddenly he was supporting the Slytherin champion. All of these supposed sources claimed that they believed Harry would only support Slytherin if he was enchanted to do so. Skeeter went to far as to suggest that Harry’s excellent performance in the first task had spurred Cassius to get him ‘onside’.

Once he finished reading, Harry was outraged. He opened his mouth to protest this, loudly, but Fred squeezed his arm.

“If you protest right now, it will just reinforce what that Skeeter woman is saying. Cassius can look after himself.” Harry turned to his boyfriend and saw the anger in his eyes. Over the year, Fred had become good friends with the Slytherin pair as well. Harry grimaced, knowing he was right. The best thing he could do was write to Edmund and hope he could do something about it.

Once he’d finished quickly scribbling a letter to his lawyer, Harry turned to his friends, recalling their reactions to the headline. He raised an eyebrow at Ron.

“Was it just me, or did you get upset at the implication that Cass had put a spell on me? I’d have thought you’d be the first one to accuse him of such a thing.” Ron flushed.

“Yeah. And at the start of the year, even at Christmas, I would have. But I know I haven’t spent much time with them, or any at all really, but the twins like them. You like them. I know he’s helped you with some stuff. What I’m trying to say is I don’t think he’d do that. Even if I don’t…he’s an alright bloke, for a Slytherin. And we all know Skeeter is a massive liar.” Several people were listening in to Ron’s statement and Harry saw them nodding along, looking thoughtful. He addressed the watchers, namely his own year mates.

“It’s not like I’ve changed massively. I still hate Malfoy and his stupid cronies. Ron and Hermione are still my best friends. I just don’t hate Cassius. He is the rightful Hogwarts champion as chosen by a highly powerful, magical artefact. I didn’t even want to be in this stupid competition, I didn’t enter my own name, no matter what people think. So, why wouldn’t I support him? I still want a Hogwarts victory.” They all nodded again. Neville offered him a smile.

“History of Magic exam this morning,” Ron moaned, unhappily. “You going to read again?” He asked Harry.

“Probably,” he shrugged. “Nothing more to do.” He was just contemplating whether Binns would even notice if he didn’t turn up and went to the room to practice when Professor McGonagall came walking alongside the Gryffindor table toward him. “Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast,” she said.

“But the task’s not till tonight!” said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front.

“I’m aware of that, Potter,” she said. “The champions’ families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them.” She moved away. Harry gaped after her.

“She doesn’t expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?” he asked Ron blankly.

“Dunno,” said Ron. “Harry, I’d better hurry, I’m going to be late for Binns. See you later.” He and Hermione left.

Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. Fred gave him a quick kiss before he and George had to leave as well. He saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cassius as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Viktor looked at Harry, who waved him off, before slouching off to join them shortly afterward. Harry stayed where he was. He really didn’t want to go into the chamber. He had no family. Well, no family who would turn up to see him risk his life, anyway. Actually, the Dursleys probably would be happy to watch something that could get him killed, but they wouldn’t be seen dead in a magical building. And Sirius could hardly attend, though Harry knew he would if he could.

Just as he was getting up, thinking that he might as well go up to the library and do a spot more hex research instead of bothering with History, the door of the side chamber opened, and Cassius stuck his head out. “Harry, the Weasley’s have come for you. Come on.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and then he grinned. He jogged across the Hall and headed into the chamber. Cassius and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had clearly inherited his father’s hooked nose and thick eyebrows.

On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Gabrielle was holding her mother’s hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back, grinning. Then he saw Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him.

“Surprise!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as he smiled broadly and walked over to them. “Thought we’d come and watch you, Harry!” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

“You all right?” said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. “Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn’t get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail. And that you’d better write to him to let him know how this task goes.” Harry smiled, unbelievably grateful they were here.

Over Bill’s shoulder, Harry spotted Fleur, eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother’s shoulder. Harry could tell she had no objection whatsoever to long hair or earrings with fangs on them.

“This is really nice of you,” Harry muttered to the pair of them.

“We wouldn’t miss it, dear,” Mrs Weasley assured him.

“It’s great being back here,” said Bill, looking around the chamber. Violet winked at him from her frame. “Haven’t seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?”

“Oh yeah,” said Harry, thinking on the annoying portrait. He wrinkled his nose. The knight had caused far more problems than he solved.

“And the Fat Lady?” said Bill. He nodded.

“She was here in my time,” said Mrs. Weasley. “She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning —”

“What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?” said Bill, surveying his mother with amazement. Mrs. Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll,” she said. “He got caught by Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker in those days, your father’s still got the marks.” Harry was quite glad the rules must have changed before Filch became the caretaker, if the previous one was allowed to permanently mark students. He dreaded to think how awful Filch would be. He then agreed to a tour, just to change the topic.

Before they could leave, Cassius beckoned him over. “Mother, father, this is Harry Potter. He has been advocating for me as the champion of Hogwarts. Harry, these are my parents, Eustace and Cassiopeia Warrington.” Cassius was almost a carbon copy of his father, although he had his mother’s smile, which was evident as she looked at her son.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, offering a shallow bow. They both inclined their heads at him. “I’m really sorry about the article,” he added sheepishly. “I don’t…Cass wouldn’t… I hate Skeeter.”

“Well met, Mr. Potter. Cassius speaks very highly of you. Despite Ms. Skeeter’s… unfortunate articles, we appreciate your recognition of our son as the Hogwarts champion,” Mr. Warrington told him, offering his hand which Harry shook.

“She will regret her choices,” Mrs Warrington hissed. “But I don’t blame you, dear,” she added, smiling at Harry.

“Cass is one of my best friends. Honestly, I just want to survive and I’m rooting for him to win.” Cassius shot him a wink while his parents both looked astonished.

“I’ll explain later,” Cassius promised his parents. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, Harry. Enjoy your afternoon.”

“You too,” Harry smiled. As he turned to leave, he was then accosted by Viktor, who wanted to introduce him to his parents as well. Sofia and Aleksandar Krum were seemingly very nice people who spoke very little English. Viktor acted as translator. Harry shook hands with them and hovered relatively awkwardly as Viktor conversed with them in what he assumed was rapid Bulgarian. Maybe Russian? He honestly had no idea. They exchanged pleasantries and then Harry headed back to the Weasleys.

“Since when have you been all buddy, buddy with Viktor Krum?” Bill asked, looking impressed.

“He’s dating Hermione,” Harry grinned.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. He’s really nice, actually,” Harry told them.

“And that Warrington?” Molly asked suspiciously. Harry sighed.

“He is also very nice,” Harry stated firmly. “He is a great friend and has helped me massively throughout the year. I am not under an enchantment. If I was, someone would have noticed. Ron and Hermione would both have reported me acting so weirdly.” She still looked dubious but made no further comment.

On their way out, Harry stopped to introduce Bill and Fleur, having noticed her looks at the curse-breaker. The two seemed to hit it off immediately, making him grin inwardly.

Harry had a very enjoyable morning walking over the sunny grounds with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, showing them the Beauxbatons carriage, which Bill had a lot of question about, and Harry was very tempted to tease him about. Instead, he decided to pass that tidbit onto the twins for future leverage.

He also showed them the Durmstrang ship, where they ran into Viktor and his parents once more. Mrs. Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she had left school, and reminisced at length about the gamekeeper before Hagrid, a man called Ogg.

As she was talking about Ogg, Harry suddenly found himself wondering just how old Mr. and Mrs Weasley were. Given that he knew Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago, and Dumbledore had given him the position for most of his adult life, they must have attended Hogwarts quite a while ago. Which sort of made sense, given how old Bill was, but he’d never really thought about it before.

“How’s Percy?” Harry asked to distract himself as they walked around the greenhouses.

“Not good,” said Bill.

“He’s very upset,” said Mrs. Weasley, lowering her voice and glancing around. “The Ministry wants to keep Mr. Crouch’s disappearance quiet, but Percy’s been hauled in for questioning about the instructions Mr. Crouch has been sending in. They seem to think there’s a chance they weren’t genuinely written by him. Percy’s been under a lot of strain. They’re not letting him fill in for Mr. Crouch as the fifth judge tonight. Cornelius Fudge is going to be doing it.” That didn’t seem fair to Harry. He didn’t like Fudge much, anyway, especially considering he was stalling over giving Sirius the trial he deserved.

But Percy had only been working with him for a short while. Even if he worked most closely with Crouch as his assistant, surely his other colleagues could have noticed something as well.

They returned to the castle for lunch.

“Mum! Bill!” called out Ron, looking stunned, as he joined the Gryffindor table. Hermione briefly greeted them as well, before moving over to join Viktor and his parents. Harry watched as Viktor smiled at her approach, putting an arm around her shoulders and clearly introducing her as his girlfriend, which made Harry smile.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked, though he was a little distracted, watching Hermione and Viktor.

“Come to watch Harry in the last task!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly. “I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to cook. How was your exam?”

“Oh... okay,” said Ron, finally bringing his full attention back to his mother and going slightly red. “Couldn’t remember all the goblin rebels’ names, so I invented a few. It’s all right,” he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty, while Mrs. Weasley looked stern, “they’re all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn’t hard.” Harry chuckled.

Fred, George, and Ginny came to sit next to them too, which immediately increased the tension at the table. Fred took his usual seat next to Harry and Mrs Weasley’s expression turned frosty. Harry suddenly recalled the Howler, and the fact that he’d been mad at her. He had forgotten all about it, in his delight to have someone turn up to support him. But now it returned in full force.

“Mrs Weasley, you are aware Fred didn’t steal me from anyone. He asked me to Hogsmeade, and I said yes,” Harry stated, deliberately leaning into Fred as he said it. His boyfriend automatically put an arm around his waist and squeezing gently.

Ginny grimaced ever so slightly but then sighed. “It’s true, mum. I spoke to Fred, and we’ve sorted everything out.” She’d heard about the Howler her mum had sent her brother and she’d felt bad about it. Yes, she’d had a crush on Harry, and she’d been devastated to find out he was dating her brother, of all people, but she’d come to see just how well-matched Harry and Fred were. And he didn’t deserve to be accused of such things by their mother so publicly.

Thankfully, Ron changed the subject, telling his mother about the money from the basilisk. This distracted her very effectively. She pulled Harry into a very tight hug. Harry awkwardly patted her on the back, not knowing what else to do.

“Alright mum, let Harry breathe. It was very decent of you though, Harry,” Bill gave him a smile as he practically pulled his mother off Harry.

“Yes. I, uh, thanks, Harry,” Ginny mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. Harry waved away the gratitude.

Harry, Bill, and Mrs. Weasley whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle. The twins joined them partway through, having a free period. Harry was grateful for Fred’s presence. It helped keep him feeling calm.

“Here.” While his mum and brother were distracted, Fred held out what looked like a small stone to Harry. On the side that was face-up, he could see several tiny runes etched into the surface. He took it, looking at it curiously.

“What is it?”

“I realised one small flaw in your training. We forgot to really study healing spells. And I highly suspect you’ll need them. So, I made this. If you rub your thumb over one of the runes, it will activate a healing charm. You need to press the rune, imbue it with a bit of your magic and then press the rune side to whichever part of the body needs healing. If you press this rune,” he indicated with his finger, “then it’ll cast the equivalent of an episkey. This one’ll cast ferula and this last one will cast reparifors.” Harry stared down at the small stone in astonishment.

“Fred…this is…it’s incredible. How did you manage it?”

“I am pretty good with runes,” he said smugly.

“I’ll say. Thanks, Fred. This’ll probably save my life.” Fred grimaced slightly, but quickly forced a smile on his face.

“I’d say I hope you don’t need it, but we both know you will. Be careful, I don’t know how many times you’ll be able to cast with it. Theoretically, as you’re imbuing it with your own magic, it should be able to be used forever, but I don’t know if I’ve done it well enough. It was hard to get the runes that small.”

“I’m sure you did it perfectly.”

Eventually they returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harry thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her. He really didn’t want to know.

There were more courses than usual, but Harry, who was starting to feel really nervous now, didn’t eat much. Fred ensured his plate only had his favourites on and kept urging him to at least have little bites.

As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Harry got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding him; the Weasleys and Hermione all wished him good luck. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were cheering for him too. Fred pulled him into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Across the hall Lexi was doing the same to Cassius.

“You’ve got this,” Fred whispered. “Just get yourself out alive and well. And don’t forget to win.”

“I will,” Harry smiled slightly. Then he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cassius, Fleur, and Viktor.

“Feeling all right, Harry?” Cassius asked him, looking concerned.

“I’m okay,” said Harry. It was sort of true; he was nervous, but he kept running over all the hexes and spells he had been practicing in his mind as they walked, and the knowledge that he could remember them all made him feel better. Cassius squeezed his shoulder. “How about you?”

“Honestly, I’m just glad this is the end.”

“I vish you both luck,” Viktor stated. Harry smiled.

“You as well,” Harry said.

They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The first stars were starting to appear in the sky as Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. Harry eyed Moody warily. He still wasn’t sure he trusted the man.

“We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze,” Professor McGonagall told them. “If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?” They all nodded, exchanging nervous looks. Harry wondered what happened if you couldn’t send sparks, but his mouth was too dry to ask the question out loud.

“Off you go, then!” said Bagman brightly to the four patrollers.

“Good luck, Harry,” Hagrid whispered, and Harry offered him a weak smile. Then the four of them walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat and magically magnified his voice once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eighty-eight points — Mr. Cassius Warrington of Hogwarts School!” The applause was muted, and Harry scowled. “Tied in second place, with eighty-five points — Mr. Harry Potter of Hogwarts School and Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!” The noise and applause for the two of them sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. Fred and George, for it could only be them, set off several fireworks that formed the words ‘GOOD LUCK HARRY!’ It made him smile. “And in third place — Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!”

Harry could just make out Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione applauding Fleur politely, halfway up the stands. He waved up at them, and they waved back, beaming at him. Hermione was also waving at Viktor who offered her a slight smile and a nod.

“So... on my whistle, Mr. Warrington!” said Bagman.

“Three — two — one —”

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and, after one last wave to Lexi and a wink at Harry, Cassius hurried forward into the maze. Harry stared after him, feeling a pit in his stomach.

After several long seconds, Bagman blew his whistle once more and, with one last glance up at Fred, Harry started forward with Viktor. The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, whether because they were so tall and thick or because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment they entered the maze. Harry felt almost as though he were underwater again. He pulled out his wand, muttered, “Lumos.” Viktor did the same.

After fifty yards they reached a fork. “Stay safe,” Viktor stated before hurrying off to the right.

“You too,” Harry called after him before turning to move down the left path. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right and hurried on. Despite the sound from the crowd being seemingly silenced, Harry heard Bagman’s whistle for the third time, and he knew all the champions were now in the maze.

Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him. The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork.

“Point Me,” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go northwest for the centre of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork and go right again as soon as possible.

He briefly considered what might happen if he summoned his broom and flew over the maze, instead of going through it. He’d probably be disqualified, but it might be a possibility as a last resort.

The path ahead was empty too, and when Harry reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked. Harry didn’t know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. He surely should have met something, anything, by now? It felt as though the maze were luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but its beam of light fell only upon Cassius, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side. Cassius looked shaken. The sleeve of his robe was smoking.

“Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts!” he hissed. “They’re bloody enormous. I can’t believe he was allowed to use those things in the tournament. They must be illegally bred. If you meet them, watch out. They are resistant to magic. Use shields, and only attack if you can get a shot at the underbelly,” he advised quickly.  

“Great,” Harry groaned, but he nodded, appreciating the advice. “Be careful.”

“You too. I’m not facing Lexi if you don’t come out of this in one piece.” Harry chuckled and they separated once more.

Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the skrewts, Harry hurried off again in a different direction. Then, as he turned a corner, he saw a dementor gliding toward him. Twelve feet tall, its face hidden by its hood, its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing its way blindly toward him. Harry could hear its rattling breath; he felt clammy coldness stealing over him but didn’t panic.

He summoned the happiest thought he could, concentrated with all his might on the thought of getting out of the maze and celebrating with Ron and Hermione. He thought of Fred. He raised his wand, and cried, “Expecto Patronum!”

A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry’s wand and galloped toward the dementor, which fell back and tripped over the hem of its robes. Harry frowned, he’d never seen a dementor stumble. Then he realised what the creature must be. “Riddikulus!”

There was a loud crack, and the boggart exploded in a wisp of smoke. The silver stag faded from sight. Harry wished it could have stayed, he could have used some company. Still, no time to dwell, he moved on, quickly and quietly as possible, listening hard, his wand held high once more.

He continued carefully through the maze, left turns and rights but still no more obstacles. And the single one he’d dealt with so far was by no means difficult, given they were taught in third year. Given the difficulty of the other tasks, he found this sudden easiness worrying.

Twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Four-Point Spell again and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him.

Harry approached it cautiously, pointing the wand’s beam at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way. Unlikely, it didn’t seem solid.

“Ventus,” he tried, seeing if he could disperse the mist. Nothing happened.

He was about to turn back and find another way around when he heard a scream pierce the air. It was immediately recognisable.

“Fleur?” Harry yelled.

There was silence. He stared all around him. Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead and he didn’t want to risk taking a longer route. He took a deep breath and ran through the enchanted mist.

The world turned upside down. Harry was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, his glasses dangling off his nose, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. He clutched them to the end of his nose and hung there, terrified. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely.

He desperately tried to think, but all the blood rushed to his head, giving him a headache.

Not one of the spells he had practiced had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Sure, he could counter being levitated, but this was completely different. Did he dare move his foot? He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Time was running out, he’d heard nothing from Fleur since the scream. Of course, he might have missed it due to the blood rushing to his head.

He had two choices: try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task.

He shut his eyes, so he wouldn’t be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could away from the grassy ceiling.

Immediately, the world righted itself. Harry fell forward onto his knees onto the wonderfully solid ground. He felt temporarily limp with shock. He took a deep, steadying breath, then got up again and hurried forward, looking back over his shoulder as he ran away from the golden mist, which twinkled innocently at him in the moonlight. He scowled at it and set off.

He paused at a junction of two paths and looked around for some sign of Fleur. There was no sign of her or red sparks, but he didn’t know if that meant she had got herself out of trouble, or she was in such trouble that she couldn’t reach her wand.

Harry took the right fork with a feeling of increasing unease. The longer he went without hearing anything, the more it disturbed him. There was still no noise from outside the maze, but that scream had been clear as day. If they couldn’t hear outside the maze, could those outside hear them? Had any of the patrollers heard Fleur scream? Would they bother coming without the red sparks?

He met nothing for ten minutes, but kept running into dead ends. Twice he took the same wrong turning. Finally, he found a new route and started to jog along it, his wandlight waving, making his shadow flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt. His first thought was that Cassius was unfortunately right. It was enormous. Ten feet long, it looked more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over its back. Its thick armour glinted in the light from Harry’s wand, which he pointed at it.

He tried to back up quietly, but it had already noticed his presence. It sent a jet of fire out of its backside and blasted towards him. Instinctively, Harry knew running would be pointless. He’d seen how quickly the things could move.

Recalling Cassius’ advice, he flung himself to the floor and pointed his wand at the unprotected underbelly. He yelled, “stupefy!” The skrewt froze, inches from him. It was solid and unmoving. Harry jumped to his feet and saw that, past the skrewt was nothing but another dead end. He turned to retrace his steps.

He took a left path and hit yet another dead end. He cursed, turned back, took a right, and hit another. His heart was hammering in his chest as the silence around him remained undisturbed. Nothing from Fleur, or the other champions and so far, he’d faced barely any obstacles. His nerves were raw and every single part of him was on high alert. Forcing himself to take a breath and calm down, he performed the Four-Point Spell again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest. He had been hurrying along the new path for a few minutes, when he heard something in the path running parallel to his own that made him stop dead.

“What are you doing?” yelled Cassius’ voice. “Krum, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Harry stopped dead, listening intently.

And then he heard Viktor’s voice. “Crucio!” The air was suddenly full of Cassius’ yells. No! Viktor wouldn’t! Harry began sprinting up his path, trying to find a way to the pair of them. When none appeared, he grew desperate and frustrated.

“Bombarda!” He yelled, finally. It wasn’t as effective as he would have liked, but it did blast a hole in the hedge. Twigs and thorns went flying in all directions. “Incendio,” he tried. A fire ignited, burning its way through the wood much more quickly. Harry was briefly distracted, wondering if he could just burn down the whole maze. But another yell drew him out of his musings. He put out the fire with a quick ‘aguamenti’ and forced his way through the gap.

Looking around, he saw Viktor standing over a twitching Cassius. “Viktor? What are you doing? Why would you cast that spell?” He demanded, wand pointing at the Durmstrang champion. Viktor said nothing, instead turning and running. Harry was confused but pointed his wand the champion he’d thought had been his friend and yelled, “stupefy.” Viktor stopped dead, falling face first in the grass.

Harry turned his attention to Cassius. “Are you ok?” He held out an arm and helped Cassius to his feet.

 “Yeah. I don’t…he crept up on me,” he panted, leaning slightly on Harry. “I heard something, turned around and there he was. Wand aimed straight at me. I thought he was alright.”

“He is. I mean, I thought so too. Something isn’t right here. I can’t believe Viktor would do this.” He pictured Viktor earlier, arm around Hermione, smiling at his parents.

“Delacour screamed earlier. No sparks.”

“You don’t think he attacked her too? But why attack Fleur and you, but turn and run when I arrived?”

“Because it might not be his choice,” Cassius realised. “What if whoever put your name in the cup, put Krum under the Imperious curse in order to make sure you win?”

“But why? Why go to all this effort to make me win the tournament?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t like it. But I agree, this isn’t like Krum and it’s the only thing that makes sense. If he was truly a bad guy, he wouldn’t have hesitated to attack you too.” They moved over to Viktor and Harry turned him over on the grass.

“I’ll send up sparks. Someone can come and collect him and hopefully they can sort this out,” Harry suggested.

“Agreed. And watch your back, Harry. If someone is making this easier for you, I doubt it’s for any good reason,” Cassius warned. Harry nodded in agreement. He looked reluctant to split up.

“You watch out as well. If they do want me to win, and are willing to curse Viktor to do it, you might be next.” Cassius nodded.

Harry sent up the sparks and they went their separate ways. He made liberal use of the Four-Point spell to make sure he was going the right way. As he walked, his mind whirled. He could only hope that Viktor was under a spell of some sort. Hermione would be devastated if he had cursed Cassius like that of his own free will. Let alone whatever he might have done to Fleur.

Still, that meant it was just between him and Cassius. And if someone wanted Harry to get to the centre of the maze, Cassius was in danger. He nervously wondered what might await him in the centre. If someone had put this much effort into making sure Harry got there, it was unlikely to be good. Still, it was the only way to end this nightmare.

Every so often he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. Then, as he strode down a long, straight path, he saw movement once again, and his beam of wand light hit an extraordinary creature, one which he had only seen in picture form, in his Monster Book of Monsters. It was a sphinx. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, was that of a woman. He wondered where she had come from and how they’d convinced her to take part in this tournament.

She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Harry as he approached. He raised his wand, hesitating. She was not crouching as if to spring, but pacing from side to side of the path, blocking his progress. Then she spoke, in a surprisingly deep, hoarse voice.

“You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me.”

“So... so will you move, please?” asked Harry, knowing what the answer was going to be.

“No,” she said, continuing to pace. “Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess — I let you pass. Answer wrongly — I attack. Remain silent — I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the centre.

“Okay,” he said. “Can I hear the riddle?”

The sphinx sat down upon her hind legs, in the very middle of the path, and recited:

“First think of the person who lives in disguise,

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,

The middle of middle and end of the end?

And finally give me the sound often heard

During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together, and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”

Harry gaped at her. He could barely remember half the lines. “Could I have it again, but this time more slowly?” he asked tentatively. She blinked at him, smiled, and repeated the poem. “All the clues add up to a creature I wouldn’t want to kiss?” Harry stated questioningly.

She merely smiled her mysterious smile, so he assumed that meant yes. Harry cast his mind around. There were plenty of animals he wouldn’t want to kiss; his mind immediately went to the Blast-Ended Skrewt he’d seen not too long ago, but something told him that wasn’t the answer. For one, he suspected they were new creatures that wouldn’t have made it into riddles just yet. He’d have to try and work out the clues.

“A person in disguise,” Harry muttered, staring at her, “and one who lies, hmm, I suppose that’d be an imposter or a spy,” he mused. “That’s not my guess!” He hurried to clarify, and she gave him another half smile. He decided to leave that line for the moment. “Could you give me the next clue again, please?”

She repeated the next lines of the poem.

“‘The last thing to mend,’” Harry repeated. He wasn’t sure what that meant. “‘Middle of middle’? No idea on that either. Could I have the last bit again?”

She gave him the last four lines.

“‘The sound often heard during the search for a hard-to-find word,’” said Harry. “Er... that’d be... er... hang on — ‘er’! Er’s a sound!” Ok. He was getting somewhere now.

The sphinx smiled at him.

“Spy... er... spy... er...” said Harry, as he began pacing up and down, thinking hard. “A creature I wouldn’t want to kiss... a spider!”

The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass.

“Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward. He made a mental note to tell Ron about this one. It amused him to think on his friend’s reaction.

He had to be close now, he had to be. His wand was telling him he was bang on course; as long as he didn’t meet anything too horrible, he might have a chance. Of course, this was his luck, so he wouldn’t hold his breath. Harry broke into a run. He had a choice of paths up ahead.

“Point Me!” he whispered again to his wand, and it spun around and pointed him to the right-hand one. He dashed up this one and saw light ahead. The Triwizard Cup was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away. Suddenly a dark figure hurtled out onto the path in front of him. Cassius.

“Cass! You’re ok,” Harry sighed in relief. The figure stopped and Cassius turned to look at him.

“Glad you’re in one piece,” he smiled. He glanced along the path at the cup and back at Harry. “Come on, we’re almost there.” They made their way up the path, slowly, wands out.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. To the left, so huge he could see it above the hedge, something was hurrying along a path that coincided with theirs. Harry stopped, nudging his friend. They waited with bated breath and a second later, an acromantula came hurrying onto the path in front of them. He realised the Spinx’s riddle had also been a warning.

“Merlin,” Cassius breathed beside him. He raised his wand. “Stupefy!” The jet of red light hit the spider right in the centre of its hairy body. Nothing happened. All it achieved was gaining the monster’s attention. It advanced on the pair of them.

“Arania Exumai!” Harry cried out. The spell hit the spider once more. This time, it flinched but it wasn’t blasted back like it should have been. Harry cursed Hagrid under his breath. How could they get past it? The only other path was back the way they came or where the spider had come from. Neither were good options, but neither was facing a spell-resistant acromantula that Harry knew full well ate humans.

As he considered, the spider suddenly hurried forward. Harry had one horrifying glimpse of eight shining black eyes and razor-sharp pincers before it was upon them. Cassius flung himself to the side, but Harry couldn’t quite twist out of the way in time. He was lifted into the air. He could hear Cassius yelling his name and shooting spells at the ginormous spider. But nothing was effective.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry tried. It worked. The disarming charm did cause the spider to drop him. Unfortunately, this caused him to fall twelve feet without warning. He hadn’t expected it to work, and he felt his ankle break from the awkward landing. He grunted in pain.

“Bombarda!” Cassius yelled. That did something. The spider jerked violently. “Diffindo!” He added quickly. The spider jerked, forgetting about Harry and began to advance on its new prey.

Harry gritted his teeth but used the few precious seconds to pull Fred’s stone out of his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the rune for the bandaging charm and held it against his ankle. Bandages sprung from the stone immediately, wrapping themselves around his ankle tightly. Then he turned back to see Cassius dodge another swipe.

“Together! Try to cast together!” Cassius shouted. “Stun it!”

“Got it!” Harry called back, just so Cassius knew he’d heard.

“Stupefy!” They both shouted in unison. It worked. Together, they achieved what one spell could not. The spider stiffened and began to topple. Harry had to roll out of the way. It flattened the hedge on one side, its legs strewn across the path. He heaved himself to his feet. His broken ankle throbbed, but it was manageable. He used Fred’s stone once more to cast ‘Episkey’. The pain receded. He could tell it hadn’t fully fixed the problem, but it had helped. He felt at least able to stand.

“Harry! You ok?” Cassius called urgently.

“Yeah. Broken ankle but otherwise, I’m good.” He looked up and saw Cassius standing on the other side of the spider, only a few feet from the cup which was gleaming behind him. “Go get the cup.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Cass, you want to win this. You deserve to win this. Just go get the cup and end this damn thing.” Cassius was eyeing him worriedly. Harry huffed out a breath of irritation. Instead of moving towards the cup, he stepped over the spider legs and towards Harry.

“How’s the leg?”

“Fine. I bandaged it and cast a healing charm.” Cassius nodded. Then he flicked his own wand at his leg, casting a diagnostic charm.

“Looks like you’ve done a good job. Nothing more to be done unless you’ve got some skele-gro on you.” Harry shook his head. “Alright, come on then.” He grabbed Harry’s arm by the elbow and supported him so he could walk.

As they carefully stepped over the spider legs, Harry turned to look at his friend. The determined set of his jaw, the confidence in his eyes, confident of his decision. He truly seemed set on this, on not claiming the glory for Slytherin. For himself, after how the school had treated him. After the article that had come out that morning.

“Cass, are you sure you’re not a Hufflepuff?” Harry asked. Cassius turned to glare at him.

“No. I am taking my duties to keep you alive seriously. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. You’re literally picking up the cup.”

“The cup is supposed to portkey the winner to the entrance of the maze. That would leave you here, in the middle of the maze, injured and alone,” Cassius explained. “A perfect place for an ambush.”

“Uh huh. You’re just a secret Hufflepuff.”

“Shut it, Potter.”

“Back to ‘Potter’ now, am I?”

“When you’re calling me a ‘puff? Yes.” Harry chuckled softly.

They both stopped right next to the cup. It was larger than Harry remembered, and it was sitting on a plinth, glowing slightly.

“Last chance? I’ll be fine getting out of here by myself. You deserve this,” Harry said quietly.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. Call it payment for taking me to the Chamber of Secrets. Slytherins don’t like owing favours.” Harry snorted.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ll pretend that’s why you’re doing this.” Cassius shot him another glare, but there was amusement carefully hidden beneath. “On the count of three?” He nodded.

“One… two… three!”

He and Cassius both grasped a handle. Instantly, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet had left the ground. He could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup; it was pulling him onward in a howl of wind and swirling colour, Cassius at his side.

Chapter Text

Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head. Cassius had landed gracefully next to him. The cup fell and rolled a few feet away.

“Where are we?” he said.

Cassius shook his head. "Nowhere good. Stay close." He pulled his wand out and then pulled Harry to his feet with his free hand. Cassius cast a pain-numbing charm on his leg which made Harry sigh in relief. It wouldn’t last long, but hopefully long enough for them to get out of there. Harry took his own wand out and they looked around.

They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously travelled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a large, old house on the hillside. It looked vaguely familiar which only intensified his bad feeling.

"The cup was supposed to take us to the start of the maze, not wherever this is. I think this is why you were entered into the tournament. Whatever this is," Cassius said quietly. "We need to leave." He grabbed Harry's wrist with his free hand. After a few seconds, he grunted. "Anti-apparition wards."

"Someone's coming," Harry realised.

Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves.

Harry couldn’t make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, they were short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over their head to obscure the face. Once they got several paces nearer, Harry could see that the thing in the person’s arms looked like a baby. It was silent and unmoving, so, maybe it was merely a bundle of robes.

They both raised their wands, pointing them at the figure, and Cassius moved so he was slightly in front of Harry. Harry attempted to move forward, wanting to protest but Cassius used his wand-free hand to push him back.

"Who are you?" He demanded. The figure stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. There was no reply and, for a second, Harry and Cassius and the short figure simply looked at one another. “Who are you?” Cassius demanded again.

And then, without warning, Harry’s scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers. He fell to his knees, hands over his face. He felt, rather than saw, Cassius drop to one knee beside him, wand still aimed at the figure.

"What did you do to him?" Harry forced himself to look up, both hands still pressed to his scar, pain coursing through him.

"Kill the spare," a high, shrill voice hissed. It took Harry only a fraction of a second to realise that spare meant Cassius.

"Avada Kedavra!" The voice was high, reedy and familiar. A tip of the wand pointed at them glowed an ominous, vivid green. A green that haunted his nightmares. Harry reacted without thinking and, with the reflexes of a Seeker, threw himself between the blaze of green and his friend. The friend who was only here because of Harry.

"Harry! No!" Was the last thing he heard before it all went black.

When he opened his eyes, everything was white. The contrast to the previous blackness hurt and he had to shut his eyes again momentarily. When he could open them again, the first thing he registered was that nothing hurt anymore. Not his leg or his scar. Slowly, he stood up. Despite the fact it looked like he was standing on some sort of cloud it was, in fact, solid.

He slowly began to recall the events that had led to this bizarre situation. The graveyard. Wormtail. He'd seen the face under the hood, illuminated by eerie green light. Cassius. Harry immediately worried for his friend. He knew Cassius was more powerful than the rat, but the rat was slippery. But before he could worry about that, he needed to worry about himself. Where in the world, was he? Was it the afterlife? He should be dead after all; he'd been hit with the killing curse. Surviving once was miracle enough. Twice would be ridiculous.

Slowly, the fog started to clear, and it became apparent he was standing in, what looked startling like, Kings Cross Station.

He heard a cry from behind him. Spinning around he saw a white bench, and underneath, an incredibly gross-looking...thing. It was roughly the size of an infant, grey-skinned and awful. As Harry watched, the cry stopped, and it stopped moving. The silence was almost more disturbing.

"Don't worry about that, Prongslet," came a voice from behind him. Harry jumped almost out of his skin. "You can't help." Harry spun back around and saw his father. James Potter was standing a few feet in front of him. Harry stared, open-mouthed for several seconds.

"You're dead," he stuttered in his shock. His dad chuckled softly. "Does that mean I'm dead too?" He asked. That sobered his dad up.

"No. Not quite."

"Not quite? How can I be 'not quite' dead?" Harry asked, bemused.

"Two reasons, really. One, the person that tried to kill you," his dad's face contorted horribly at those words, "he owes you a life-debt. And that is powerful magic. Life debts are uncertain magic, and they don’t happen very often. The conditions for life debts are set by magic itself and nobody knows for certain what they all are. Only that you cannot put the person in the danger that you saved them from, and it cannot be part of your duty. Otherwise, Healers and Aurors would incur frequent life debts. Those that do happen will generally be resolved through a contract if both parties acknowledge the debt. What we do know, is that the person who owes the life debt cannot kill the person they owe the debt to, magic won’t allow it. Therefore, the rat couldn’t kill you. However, you're a complicated case even by life debt standard."

"Of course I am," Harry grumbled. His dad offered him a sympathetic smile.

"The night Mouldy-Shorts came and tried to kill you, he failed. Lily's sacrificial magic protected you," his dad smiled proudly at that, "but the rebounding magic had a side effect. Old mouldy had done something incredibly stupid and split his soul."

"Split his soul!? What...how...why would you do that?"

"Killing someone leaves a mark on your soul. Mouldy used that to break his soul into pieces and put those pieces into objects called Horcruxes." Harry's mind raced. He glanced back at the ugly thing under the bench and suddenly felt very sick.

"No! That's not...that was in me?" He asked, disgusted.

"Yes," his dad answered, looking both sad and equally as horrified as Harry felt. "But when you were hit with the killing curse, instead of rebounding on the rat, it found another target, and killed the part of his soul inside you."

"You said horcruxes...as in more than one. How many does he have?" Harry wondered.

"I don't know," his dad said regretfully. "We don't see everything here, just bits and pieces."

"You can see what's going on?"

"It's hard to explain if you're not on the other side, but know that we are always with you, Harry, your mother and I. We are so proud of you." Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he just lunged forwards and hugged his dad for the first time in his life. He wasn't thinking and it wasn't for a second that he realised his dad was solid as he flung himself at the man. James Potter’s arms were warm as they wrapped around him. Harry never wanted to leave.

"Dad," the word felt strange on his tongue, "I..." He found he didn't know what to say. "Why did you call me Prongslet?" He asked, simply for something to say. James smiled.

"Because you're the son of Prongs. Your mother wanted to call you Bambi, whatever that means." Harry smiled.

"Do I have to go back?" He mumbled.

"I'm afraid so. It's not your time yet. You're not dead, the shock of the horcrux dying inside you sent you here, to a sort of in-between place, limbo if you will, but you can't move on just yet. Hopefully not for a long time."

"But..."

"I know. I would love to have more time with you. It wasn't fair that we were ripped apart so soon. But I would do it again if you got to live. And eventually, we'll have forever. For now, Padfoot still needs you. Tell him I forgive him. We forgive him. Besides, that young man of yours still needs you as well. A very good choice by the way. A prankster." At the mention of Fred, Harry felt suddenly very guilty for wanting to be dead. For wanting to stay. But he didn't know how to say goodbye. Fortunately, or unfortunately, there wasn't a choice to make, and the area was starting to fade around him. His dad becoming blurry.

"Dad! I...mum...I love you both," he called out desperately.

"We know, son. We love you too." The words were faint but audible. The last thing Harry saw was his dad's smile as everything went black again.

When he woke up, he was face down on the dry grass. His leg definitely hurt again, Cassius’ numbing charm had clearly worn off while he was out, though his scar was no longer burning. Muffled noises reached his ears, sounding almost like he was underwater again. It took several seconds for him to make sense of them. Then he recognised a voice. Cassius' voice. Angrily yelling at Wormtail.

Harry almost jumped up, but he couldn't feel his wand and had no idea what was happening, so he forced himself to stay still. Ever so carefully, he cracked one eye open, twisting his head to the side slowly. Mercifully, his glasses were intact, and he could see Wormtail tying Cassius to a headstone at wand point. Cassius' own wand was nowhere in sight. He wondered how that had happened.

Harry carefully moved his hand in the grass, feeling for his wand. As he tried to find it, Wormtail began speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” The surface of the grave at Cassius’ feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail’s command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

His fingers found nothing but grass as he desperately scrabbled for his wand.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master." Wormtail stretched his right hand out in front of him, the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, the scream that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too.

He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail’s anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn’t stand to look. He felt sick. The potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry’s closed eyelids. Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony.

"B-blood of the e-enemy, f-forcibly taken," he recited as he approached Cassius, knife raised.

"I give this blood willingly," Cassius declared quickly, stopping himself struggling. Wormtail paused.

"My lord?" He questioned worriedly. There was no reply. Whatever he had been holding had vanished and he seemed to quickly realise his mistake and that there would be no reply.

Harry's fingers still found nothing but grass. He assumed Wormtail had taken his wand. Could he summon it? George had mentioned wandless magic before but all he knew was that it was incredibly difficult. It must be similar to accidental magic but controlled rather than related to emotions. It might be his only shot.

During the momentary pause, Cassius spoke up again, less hurriedly, his voice steady and determined. "I, Cassius Warrington, allow my blood to be taken for this ritual."

"F...f..forcibly taken," Wormtail repeated, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "You will resurrect your foe." He cut into Cassius' arm, but he made no sound, and gave no reaction. When Wormtail turned to put the blood in the cauldron Harry began concentrating as hard as he could, trying to visualise his wand and muttering, "Accio wand!"

Nothing happened. He cursed silently. As Cassius' blood was tipped into the cauldron the burning red became a bland grey that was nothing like the vivid colours the cauldron had produced so far. It began spitting out yellow sparks. Wormtail shuddered and whimpered, seemingly not knowing what to do. Then he simply fell away, slumping on the ground by the cauldron, his part clearly done.

And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn’t see Wormtail or Cassius or anything but vapour hanging in the air.

He desperately tried to summon his wand once more, whispering the charm as quietly as possible. By some luck, his fingers closed around a familiar piece of wood that made him sigh shakily in relief.

But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

“Robe me,” said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master’s head. The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Cassius.

Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake’s with slits for nostrils. Voldemort was back.

Chapter Text

Voldemort looked away from Cassius and began examining his own body. His hands were large and deathly pale; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat’s, gleamed brightly through the darkness. Harry squinted through the darkness as Voldemort finished creepily caressing himself and held up his hands, flexing the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He seemed not to take the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground. Voldemort slipped a hand into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too, and then he raised it and pointed it at Wormtail.

“You killed the boy, Wormtail. He was mine to kill.” Wormtail was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Cassius was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Cassius, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Then his eyes turned to where Harry lay, and he forced his eyes closed and himself to lie still. He could only hope Voldemort didn’t realise he was still alive. His mind raced as he desperately tried to think of how he and Cassius could both get out of this alive. He only had one shot. Once he lost the element of surprise he was done for. And, as far as he knew, the anti-apparition wards were still up. He had no idea where they were or where to run. The only chance was that the cup would portkey them back to Hogwarts, but he had no idea if a portkey could even be used more than once.

He was ripped from his thoughts as his body was lifted into the air magically and floated, he assumed towards Voldemort. He barely dared to breathe. After a few seconds, he was dropped, unceremoniously, on the ground. He landed face down and forced himself to be nearly silent as the air was knocked out of him. Years of living with the Dursleys were finally coming in useful.

He almost faltered as a nearby slithering sound almost made him jump out of his skin. Cracking an eye open, he saw a huge snake making its way towards them. He forced his eyes closed instantly.

“A pity. Defeated in the end by Wormtail. You were nothing special, Potter. Just a boy whose luck ran out,” Voldemort sounded almost disappointed.

“He was not!” Cassius snapped. Harry felt a simultaneously rush of affection and horror for his friend.

Harry could feel it when Voldemort’s gaze left him, presumably turning to Cassius. He itched to put himself between them, knowing that what was coming wouldn’t be good. But he had to think. Thankfully, before he could do something stupid, Wormtail caused a distraction.

“My Lord...” he choked, “my Lord... you promised... you did promise...” There was a slight pause, and only Wormtail’s whimpering could be heard.

“Hold out your arm,” said Voldemort lazily. He sounded almost amused.

“Oh Master... thank you, Master...” There was a pause, and Harry didn’t dare open his eyes even a crack to look, and then Voldemort laughed again.

“The other arm, Wormtail.”

“Master, please... please...”

There was another long, tense silence where nothing but the sound of Wormtail’s uncontrollable sobbing could be heard. Nervously, Harry risked opening one eye the smallest amount possible just so he could see the vague outline of what was happening. Voldemort was leaning over Wormtail, right next to Cassius, examining something on his arm.

“It is back,” he said softly, “they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know...”

He pressed his forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail’s arm. With a look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. The snake began to circle around the group. Harry tried not to tense up as it drew closer to him.

“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?” Harry could only hope they stayed away. The last thing they needed was more company.

He began to pace up and down before Harry, Cassius and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. While he paced, Harry tried to work out exactly whereabouts in the graveyard he was and how far away he was from Cassius. He had his wand, if he could just get a grip on Cassius and summon the cup…maybe, just maybe, they could make it out alive. If it failed, if the cup didn’t take them back, then they would be screwed.

Glancing around while Voldemort’s back was to him, he saw he was lying right by the cauldron, roughly ten feet in front of Cassius. He couldn’t see the cup anywhere.

“You stand, Warrington, upon the remains of my late father,” Voldemort hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool. But he had his uses. I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death.” Voldemort laughed again. Harry was somehow unsurprised that Voldemort had killed his dad. The way he’d spoken about him in the chamber said enough about that. He wondered if he’d killed his mother too. Harry wondered what sort of person gave birth to a monster.

Up and down Voldemort paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.

“You see that house upon the hillside, Warrington? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn’t like magic, my father... He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him. I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name... Tom Riddle.”

Well, that made a lot more sense to Harry. Being taken to an orphanage was a threat the Dursleys made often. If even half the things they’d told Harry about them were true, Harry could maybe see why Voldemort didn’t like muggles. Especially as he must have been growing up around World War Two, with bombs dropping on London. Add his muggle dad abandoning him for having magic, it kind of made sense. It didn’t give him a right to murder them all, but it gave Harry a bit of insight into Voldemort. Insight he didn’t particularly want.

“So, the famous Lord Voldemort, champion of purebloods everywhere, is a half-blood son of a muggle?” Cassius sneered.

“Crucio!” There was a moment where it felt like time stood still and nothing happened. Voldemort hissed with displeasure.

“You can’t even…”

“Crucio!” This time, Harry saw a blaze of red light. Cassius grunted in pain. Once. Twice. Harry could hear him twitching, scrabbling against the stone to which he was still tied. Every fibre of his being wanted to intervene, but he still didn’t have a plan.

“I have no further use for you. But you have aided me in returning to a body and Lord Voldemort always rewards those who aid him. I will give you a choice. Join me. Or die,” Voldemort said softly.

Then he stood up straighter, returning to stand right by Harry who closed his eye immediately. “Ah, there is no need to hurry in your decision, my true family returns...”

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were apparating. Harry was immediately on alert. If they could apparate here… would Cassius be able to apparate the two of them back?

He heard as they moved forward, one by one. They moved slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Or they were terrified of what they did see. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes. Harry could hear the ragged breathing of the man who was only inches from him.

“Master... Master...” he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on their knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up. He assumed they’d formed a group slightly further away. From the sounds of their footsteps, they might have formed a circle? He wasn’t sure.

There was a sense of waiting. Maybe they were expecting more arrivals? Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He stood, still as a statue, not speaking, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run through the group. The snake widened its path to include the newcomers, all of whom shifted uneasily. Harry was relieved it was a little further away from him.

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. “Thirteen years... thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?” He asked ominously. There was silence. Nobody gave an answer, so Voldemort continued. “I smell guilt,” he said. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”

A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed to step back from him, but didn’t dare actually do it. Harry couldn’t blame them.

“I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact. You all arrived so promptly! I ask myself... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground by Cassius, still sobbing over his bleeding arm. Even Harry was transfixed by the voice. He needed to think of a plan. The arrivals made it a hundred times harder to get away. He didn’t even know where they were. He risked another glance through his lashes. It was still dark, and the black cloaks didn’t help. Unable to turn his head, he couldn’t make out much, but it looked like he had guessed right, and they were standing in a circle, or maybe just a semi-circle. He didn’t know how many there were.

“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?”

Harry fought to remain silent. Steps to guard against mortal death? That must be those Horcruxes his dad had mentioned. What he had been. The idea still made him feel sick.

“And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. Perhaps they now pay allegiance to another... the champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?” At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred. Low, nervous muttering broke out.

Harry resisted the urge to pop up and point out it hadn’t been Dumbledore who vanquished him.

Voldemort ignored them. “It is a disappointment to me... I confess myself disappointed...” Harry rolled his eyes behind his closed lids.

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet. He was mere inches from Harry.

“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

“Crucio!” As before, nothing seemed to happen. This infuriated Voldemort. “Wormtail! What. Did. You. Do?” He hissed.

“I…I only did…as…as you asked, Master,” Wormtail snivelled.

“Sanguis Ignis!” A jet of fiery orange light blazed through Harry’s eyelids. For a moment, he thought this spell had failed as well but then Wormtail let out a whimper. And then another. He grew louder and louder before he was screaming so loudly it took everything in Harry not to cover his ears. Harry was sure the sound must carry to the houses around. He hoped not. If muggles came to investigate this…they wouldn’t leave alive.

After what felt like forever, the screaming stopped. Harry didn’t know if Wormtail was dead or not, the echoes of his screams were still ringing in his ears. The Death Eater on the ground beside him trembled.

“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly, turning his attention back to the Death Eater at his feet. Avery did as he was told. “You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?”

He looked down at Wormtail, who, apparently alive, gave no reply other than a rasping groan of agony. Avery moved back to the others.

“You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You killed the boy I had marked as mine. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don’t you?” There was still no reply. Harry felt grossed out as Voldemort called him ‘his’. Especially considering some part of his soul had been in Harry. “Yet you helped return me to my body,” said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail lying on the ground. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers...”

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. Harry cracked an eye open. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand’s wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed in the air and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail’s bleeding wrist.

Wormtail’s sobbing lessened. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

“My Lord,” he whispered. “Master... it is beautiful... thank you... thank you...” He moved forwards, clearly still in pain. With a ragged moan, he kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robe, inches from Harry who barely dared to breathe. He itched to reach out and strangle the stupid rat who had tried to kill Cassius, had killed him in a way, and was the reason Sirius was still on the run. Harry was trying to fix that, but he wouldn’t need to if Wormtail had betrayed his parents and blamed Sirius.

“May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail,” said Voldemort.

“No, my… my Lord... never, my Lord...”

“A final reminder, Wormtail. Sanguis Ignis!” Voldemort called once more. Wormtail whimpered. The whimpers turned to screams that echoed around the graveyard. They lasted for less time than the last, but Harry was sure he would never get rid of the ringing in his ears.

Several seconds after the spell was removed, the screams subsided to anguished pants. Slowly, painfully, Wormtail stood up, clutching his side, and took his place in the circle. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail’s right.

“Lucius, my slippery friend,” he whispered, halting before him. “I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay... but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?”

Harry fought not to flex his hand in anger. He’d suspected Malfoy had been part of that debacle, but here was his proof. Now he just had to survive long enough to get out of here and tell people.

“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” came Lucius Malfoy’s voice swiftly from beneath the hood. Harry squinted. Lucius was standing off to the left. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me —”

“And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?” Voldemort cut in lazily, and Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I know all about that, Lucius... You have disappointed me... I expect more faithful service in the future.”

“Of course, my Lord, of course... You are merciful, thank you...” Voldemort stopped listening to the pleas and moved on. Merciful? Harry doubted that. He stopped to stare at a space, large enough for maybe two people, that separated Malfoy and the next man. Harry wondered if now was his chance. If he could cause a distraction…his fingers tightened on his wand.

“The Lestranges should stand here,” said Voldemort quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us as they are our natural allies.”

That didn’t sound good. Unsurprising, he supposed. The dementors were evil and terrible enough that it made sense for them to be Voldemort’s allies.

“We will recall the banished giants... I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear.” Harry wondered what other creatures would join Voldemort. He didn’t want to find out and felt an immediate need to tell Dumbledore.

He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

“Macnair... destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide...” Harry fought back a sneer. That was the man who was supposed to kill Buckbeak.

“Thank you, Master... thank you,” murmured Macnair.

Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures, which he declared to be Crabbe and Goyle. He told them they would do better in future, and they bowed clumsily, muttering agreement and thanks. Well, now Harry knew where Crabbe and Goyle Junior got it from.

He moved onto the man next to them, identifying him as Nott. Harry vaguely recalled a Nott in his year. A quiet Slytherin, he’d never had an issue with before. He tended to stay away from Malfoy and his gang.

“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful —” Voldemort cut him off and moved on, dismissing the man.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stopped, staring at it.

“And here we have six missing Death Eaters... three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever... he will be killed, of course... and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service.” Harry wondered who they were. Was Karkaroff here, or one who had fled? What of Snape? Had he truly been a Death Eater? Had Voldemort expected him to be among the group?

The Death Eaters stirred but none were brave, or stupid enough, to say anything aloud.

“He is at Hogwarts right now, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight.”

Harry snapped his eyes shut and tensed slightly. At Hogwarts? Well, he’d already figured someone at Hogwarts was helping Voldemort, either Crouch or Moody, but surely neither of them were faithful servants. They had to be under a curse?

“Yes,” said Voldemort. He could feel the gaze of many people burning into his back. “Harry Potter kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour. Though Wormtail stepped beyond his bounds, so young Cassius Warrington had to suffice.”

There was a silence. Then the Death Eater stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy’s voice spoke from under the mask.

“Master, we crave to know... we beg you to tell us... how you have achieved this... this miracle... how you managed to return to us...” Lucius Malfoy’s voice made Harry almost jolt in shock. The diary. The diary he had given to Ginny, containing the spirit of Tom Riddle. Had that been a horcrux? Neither Cassius or Lexi had known what kind of magic would make the diary behave like it did, maybe that was why. Did that mean Voldemort had started murdering people, and splitting his owl soul at sixteen? He felt ill at the idea. It took every ounce of self-control and years of instincts to remain still.

“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” said Voldemort. “And it begins — and ends — with my young friend here.”

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. He felt an invisible force tugging on his chin, forcing it to stretch upwards slightly, likely giving the Death Eaters a better view. It took everything in him not to recoil.

“Leave him alone!” Cassius snapped.

“Somebody never learnt any manners,” Voldemort drawled, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice. “I expect my followers to show me the proper respect.”

“I’m not your follower.”

“Then you will die,” he said easily. Like Cassius’ death was of no consequence to him whatsoever. A ripple of murmurs broke out among the Death Eaters as they shifted uneasily. Nobody dared speak. Harry held his breath. He cracked an eye open, ready to react. He didn’t know if Cassius would be able to apparate, their best hope was the cup. If he could cause a distraction, free Cass, and then summon the cup, they had a chance. A slim chance, but a chance at the very least.

“But, first…you know, of course, that they have called Harry Potter my downfall?” Voldemort said softly, turning his attention back to his followers. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, he wanted to make a spectacle of Cassius’ death, though why, he didn’t know. Maybe he was just a dramatic little shit.

“You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. I could not touch the boy. His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice.... This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it... but no matter. The boy is dead, it did not save him in the end.”

Foolish and arrogant, Harry thought.

“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.”

‘Further than anybody’. That couldn’t possibly be good. How many horcruxes had he made? How many had other people made? What constituted going further than other evil psychos that wanted to be immortal?

“You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it.”

One or more? Well, Harry thought the diary was one. And he was apparently unstable enough to break off a random bit of soul to ‘gift’ Harry with. That was two. But had Voldemort known about Harry? Probably not, or he might not have been so eager to kill him. He knew he needed to get a move on with his escape, but part of him wanted to hear more. To see what else Voldemort might let slip.

“Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself. I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand. I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited. I thought, surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain.”

The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals — snakes, of course, being my preference — but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic... and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long.”

“Then... four years ago... the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard — young, foolish, and gullible — wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of... for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school.” Harry realised he meant Quirrell.

He recounted the events of Harry’s first year and how it culminated in Harry thwarting his plans once more. Frankly, Harry thought that if he hadn’t gotten involved, it wouldn’t really have made a difference. Voldemort probably wouldn’t have gotten the stone out of the mirror before Dumbledore got back. Him accidentally getting it out, had made the stone for less safe.

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless.

“The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,” Voldemort continued, and Harry really hoped that was the truth and he hadn’t actually been the final cause of Quirrell’s demise. “I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers... Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour... I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess... and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me.”

One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice. Harry wanted to roll his eyes. He really was a dramatic little shit.

“And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last... a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends and decided to return to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumoured, I was hiding... helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them...”

He kept talking, telling them how Wormtail had, by pure happenstance, stopped at an innocent and been recognised by Bertha Jorkins. He claimed that Wormtail displayed a presence of mind Voldemort would never have expected from him, and managed to convince her to accompany him, where he overpowered her and brought her to Voldemort. She then proved to be a gift beyond all his wildest dreams as she was a mine of information. Working at the Ministry, she knew all about the Triwizard Tournament.

Despite the fact Harry knew she wouldn’t probably never have told Voldemort willingly, he still couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation, as well as pity for Jorkins. If she had just handed in Wormtail, or done basically anything other than going on a walk with him, this whole thing could have been avoided.

“She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things... but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her.”

Harry’s mind was racing. Bertha Jorkins had already had a memory charm on her when Voldemort found her. That tied in with one of their theories about Crouch doing something to her. But surely Crouch wasn’t a faithful Death Eater, unless the two things were unrelated. Which seemed unlikely considering how neatly everything seemed to be coming together. And Harry hated it.

“Wormtail’s body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own. A body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth, along with spell or two of my own invention and a little help from my dear Nagini,” Voldemort’s red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, “a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided gave me the strength I needed. I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.”

“There was no hope of stealing the Philosopher’s Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower... I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant...” Wormtail whimpered slightly and flexed his silver hand.

Harry wondered if this magic was related to Horcruxes. Could it only revive someone who had split their soul and remained as some weird ghost thing, or could it truly resurrect the dead? Not that he had any plans to try, but he was curious.

“My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe... Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me... as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago... for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too…or it would, until Wormtail made a costly mistake,” he hissed in displeasure. Wormtail whimpered.

“Instead, I settled for lesser. Where Wormtail made a further…mistake. Something happened in that ritual. Time to confess…Wormtail.” The rat whimpered again. Harry heard him stumble forwards, prostrating himself before Voldemort once more.

“He gave… the blood…the boy…he gave it willingly My Lord. But I…he was tied up. He could not resist. It was f..forcibly taken.”

“If that was the case Wormtail, I would not face the obstacles, I am currently facing,” Voldemort hissed furiously. “Sanguis Ignis!” As before it took several seconds before Wormtail whimpered, escalating to agonised screaming. Voldemort left whatever curse this was on him for longer. Longer and longer.

There was a noise, and disgusting squelching sound before the screams were extinguished. There was the thudding sound of a body falling to the floor.

This was Harry’s chance. It was time to act. Voldemort was still nearby, unfortunately standing between him and Cassius. But the monologing was sure to end soon. And he feared discovery, particularly by the snake. He gripped his wand tightly.

“Stupefy! Fumos Maxima!” He muttered under his breath. His stunning spell hit true. He barely had time to register Voldemort’s form growing rigid, both from shock and the spell, before smoke was filling the air. He glanced around to see the Death Eaters standing in a circle.

“What?”

“The boy!”

“He’s alive!”

“Our Lord!” Many voices shouted at once. Harry jumped up, navigated his way around the frozen Voldemort and aimed his wand at the Death Eaters gathered away from him, behind the cauldron.

“Glacius,” he muttered. Then he felt his way the few feet to the tombstone where Cassius was tied up. He desperately felt around for the ropes.

“Harry?” Cassius whispered urgently. “What? How?”

“Not the time,” Harry muttered over the continued shouting.

“Stupefy!”

“Crucio!” More voices sounded and Harry ducked as spells began to fire at random. Someone screamed. There was another thudding sound of a body hitting the ground. Ice cracked. People shouted both instructions and spells. Jets of light flew everywhere.

Through the smoke, Harry pointed his wand at the ropes and whispered, “Diffindo.” The ropes fell away. Cassius immediately gripped his arm.

“I can’t believe…you’re alive.”

“Come on!” Harry tugged at his arm. “Accio Cassius’ wand,” he whispered. The thin piece of wood flew into his hand, and he immediately handed it over to his friend.

“You fools! Dispersus!” Lucius Malfoy made himself heard over the cacophony. The smoke immediately began to thin.

Harry took a second to reorient himself as the graveyard slowly became visible. Then he took off in the direction he thought the cup was in. Part of him wanted to grab Wormtail, to prove Sirius’ innocence, but there was no time. A quick glance told him the rat was dead anyway. Fudge would find a way to spin that in his favour.

The Death Eaters that had been on that side of the circle moved to cut them off.

“Bombarda!” He cried out. Three of them went flying. One hit a nearby tombstone with a loud ‘CRACK’ and lay, unmoving, at its base.

“Stupefy! Diffindo! Confingo!” Cassius shouted in quick succession. His wand was no more than a blur. Those who had avoided Harry’s blast were quickly taken down. One man, Harry saw with a vicious sense of satisfaction that it was Macnair, fell to his knees, clutching the stump where his right forearm used to be. Cassius’ cutting charm had been so strong it had cut straight through flesh, muscle and bone.

A jet of green light flashed by, missing Harry by inches.

“No! The boy is mine! Kill the other, but the boy is mine!” Voldemort’s voice sounded, high-pitched and furious. Someone must have revived him. Harry swore. Spells flew at them as the last of the smoke dissipated. Harry ducked and he felt Cassius do the same right behind him.

“Accio cup!” He called out desperately. The shining cup lifted from the grass, fifteen feet away, and flew towards them. Voldemort screamed with rage. A sickly yellow light flew from his wand, straight towards him. Harry reached out to grab the cup. Behind him, Cassius’ grip tightened, and he twisted. Harry thought he was trying to grab the cup too, but the sickly light collided with Cassius’ back just as Harry’s fingers closed around the handle. There was a jerk behind his navel, and the world went black.

Chapter Text

Harry slammed into the ground. He was face down again. The smell of grass filled his nose. His eyes were still shut tight. He felt sick.

A torrent of noise erupted around him and, for a moment, he was terrified they'd arrived back at the graveyard. Without thinking, he sprang to his feet, letting the cup fall, and spun around, wand raised.

It only took a second for him to register the stands, the crowd of people cheering and applauding, and Cassius, lying on the floor beside him. Something was wrong. Cassius never failed to land on his feet when travelling, either through apparition or portkey.

Harry forgot the crowd. They were back at Hogwarts. They weren't Death Eaters. All that mattered was Cassius' unmoving form.

"Cass! Come on, Cass. We did it, we're safe," Harry babbled as he dropped to his knees beside his friend, desperately trying to find what was wrong with him. He was ashen but there were no visible wounds. His eyes were closed, and his face was contorted slightly, as if in pain. At his reaction, the people nearest him slowly stopped cheering and it turned to confused mutterings.

Harry pulled out Fred's stone and desperately rubbed his thumb over the runes, pressing it Cassius' chest, right over his heart. "Come on, Cass. Wake up! Please wake up!" He begged. He dropped the stone and shook his friend's shoulders.

Nothing happened. Cassius lolled limply in his grip. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn't be.

"Harry! Harry!" Someone was calling his name, but Harry barely heard it. He picked the stone up and tried again, using the Reparifors rune. He waved it over Cassius' torso as one would use a wand. The stone glowed slightly, but there was no visible response from the Slytherin.

"Come on! Work! Please work!" He yelled at the stone in frustration.

There was movement beside him, but he paid it no attention. Cass still wasn't moving. Someone gently grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back slightly. He gripped Cassius tighter.

"Harry, come on now." Dumbledore was crouching beside him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his knees reverberating with their footsteps.

He was right at the entrance to the maze. He grabbed at Dumbledore, forgetting his concerns about the man.

“He’s back,” Harry whispered. “He’s back. Voldemort. He cursed Cass. Help him!" He pleaded.

“What’s going on? What’s happened?” The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared in his field of vision; it looked white, appalled. “My God — Warrington!” he whispered. “Dumbledore — is he dead?”

"No!" Harry cried. "He's not dead! He's not!"

"No, Cornelius, Mr. Warrington is not dead, but he needs assistance now," Dumbledore replied. Harry almost sagged with relief as Dumbledore pronounced that Cassius wasn't dead.

“Harry, let go of him,” he heard Fudge’s voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry him from Cassius’ limp body, but Harry wouldn’t let him go. Then Dumbledore leaned in closely, his expression grave and his voice gentle but firm.

“Harry, you can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go. He needs Madam Pomfrey.”

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey," he agreed slowly. His brain felt stuffed full of cotton wool.

"Dumbledore, they both need the Hospital Wing. Warrington's parents are in the stands. They need to be informed," Fudge hissed, wringing his hands. Dumbledore summoned a stretcher and levitated Cassius' body onto it. Harry rose at the same time, clinging to his friend.

"Harry stay here, I will speak with Mr. and Mrs Warrington before I escort you both to the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore instructed.

"No! He needs to go now. I'll take him myself," he protested. He had no idea what his friend had been hit with, but time could be of the essence.

"No, Harry. I will only be a few moments." Dumbledore said sternly before he disappeared into the still-growing crowd.

"Harry! Harry!" That was Fred's voice. And Ron's. Hermione's. Someone was grabbing him, trying to move him. Move him away from Cassius.

"No. No. I'm not leaving him."

"Come on lad, let's get you to the Hospital Wing. I've got you, Potter." It was Moody's voice. Harry tried to wrench himself away. The grip on his arm was too strong though. He raised his wand.

"Let go of me," he demanded.

"You're confused. Injured. You've had a shock. Come along, Potter," Moody coaxed. Harry shook his head. Moody was the servant. He had to be. Willing or unwilling, it had to be him. Crouch was gone. And Voldemort...he'd been so certain...

"Stupefy!" He bellowed. The crowd began muttering even louder as it looked like Harry had just stunned Moody for no reason.

"Harry!" Someone cried out in shock.

"He's...Voldemort...servant...his fault," Harry desperately tried to explain.

"It's OK, Harry. I believe you. It's OK. He's stunned. You're safe," Fred's voice sounded in his ear. Soothing. Safe. Harry almost collapsed against his boyfriend in relief. Strong arms wrapped around him, easily supporting his weight.

"Cass," he whimpered. "Lexi...need to talk to Lexi."

"And you will. You can talk to whoever you like, but we need to get you to the Hospital Wing," Fred told him.

"Cass needs the Hospital. He needs Madam Pomfrey."

"We'll take him. George can stay and watch Moody, make sure he can't do anything."

"Yeah. He can't hurt you, Harry. You get yourself sorted out," George said. Harry offered him a weak, grateful smile.

"Hermione, can you bring the stretcher?" Fred asked softly.

"Of course. I'll bring him in front of you guys so Harry can see he's still with us," she agreed easily from somewhere behind Harry. He was too exhausted to look around properly.

A large amount of bushy hair came into view, followed by a stretcher carrying Cassius. The older boy was lying, still as a statue, face still scrunched up as if in pain.

"Alright, come on, love," Fred whispered and he pulled a piece of white material from somewhere and wiped Harry's face gently. Everything came into sharper focus and Harry realised he had been crying.

Fred slowly began guiding him towards the castle. As Harry stared at the stretcher, at the motionless body, he saw the slow rise and fall of his chest which was the only thing stopping complete panic from setting in. His gaze was drawn to the Durmstrang ship just past Hermione, and he jolted. Viktor.

"Viktor? Fleur? How are they?" He asked quickly. "It wasn't Viktor. He was cursed. Imperius," he tried to explain.

"Viktor is fine. Physically. Professor McGonagall brought him out of the maze. When she revived him, he admitted what had happened and how he hadn’t meant to do it. Dumbledore did a check on him, and it was announced he was under the Imperious Curse. Karkaroff was furious," Hermione told him.

"Yeah, he worked himself up into a fury, accused Dumbledore, Fudge, you name it. Then, he just vanished. He left to 'deal with something' and he hasn't been back since," Ron piped up. Harry almost jumped having neither seen nor heard his friend come up behind them.

He was pleased that they were both OK, but the thought of Viktor being used in such a way, forced to use Unforgivable Curses just to ensure Harry won. It made him sick. Cassius had been right in the maze; all of this had been in an effort to get Harry to the graveyard. To ensure he touched the cup first.

Moody had tried to help, to give him advice for the first task. He had been one of the teachers patrolling and Harry had run into almost no obstacles during the maze. He had likely been the one to curse Viktor. Because of Harry.

He staggered under the weight of his guilt. His broken ankle throbbed as the second numbing charm wore off. Fred caught him, steadying him. Ron moved so he was on Harry's left and Fred on his right. Together they supported his weight.

"Is it just the leg? Does it hurt anywhere else?" Fred asked him. Harry shook his head. With his free hand, Fred took out his wand to vanish Harry's own bandages from earlier, which were ripped and filthy. Then he reapplied the bandaging charm. It helped a little. With Ron and Fred’s help he could walk easily enough. He barely noticed the pain. He felt he deserved it anyway. After everything, he came out with just a broken ankle, survived the killing curse, again, and Cassius…Cassius was the one suffering the most.

He barely noticed as they made their way through the entrance hall and up the marble staircase. His mind whirled with everything he had learnt tonight. It was too much. He couldn't focus. He felt sick and exhausted.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Warrington! What happened?" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed as they entered the Hospital Wing.

"Harry has a broken ankle but says nothing else is wrong. Cassius was hit with an unknown spell and is unconscious and unresponsive," Fred told her quickly. Harry had never heard him sound so serious.

“Oh, dear. Get Mr. Potter onto his usual bed.” Ron gave a snort at that. “Put Mr. Warrington over here.” She indicated the bed opposite the one Harry had been designated as his own. Hermione floated the stretcher over while Fred and Ron assisted Harry to his.

Madam Pomfrey had her wand out immediately and waved it in complicated patterns over Cassius. Harry sat on the bed anxiously.

“The spell was sickly yellow,” Harry told her in a hollow voice. “I didn’t hear an incantation. It hit him in the back. It was meant for me. It should have been me.”

“No! Don’t say that! Don’t think like that!” Ron burst out worriedly.

Harry was saved from replying as the Hospital Wing doors burst open. Lexi came running in.

“Cassy? Harry? What happened? Are you guys, ok?” Harry closed his eyes, and his insides squirmed with guilt. Fred gave her the run down as Madam Pomfrey was still busy working.

Eventually the matron stood up straight, face grim. “There is nothing more I can do for him. He needs to go to St. Mungo’s.”

“What?” Lexi exclaimed, horrified. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I need to speak to the family first,” she stated.

“What is wrong with Cassius!?” Lexi demanded. Just then Mr. and Mrs Warrington came hurrying into the Hospital Wing, escorted by Professor McGonagall.

“Where is my son?” Mr. Warrington demanded.

“He’s here,” Lexi called out. The pair hurried over. Mrs Warrington pulled Lexi into a tight hug while Mr. Warrington stared down at his son.

“Can we speak privately?” Madam Pomfrey requested. Mr. Warrington glanced around and spotted Harry and his friends on the opposite bed. There was nobody else in the room.

“It’s fine. Harry is a good friend to my son and Lexi is basically family. They deserve to hear this.”

“Cassius has been hit with an organ withering curse. It is slow acting but eventually all of his internal organs will wither into dust. I have put him in a stasis to slow down the effects. But he needs to go to St. Mungo’s. There is no known counter-curse, and they can put him in a complete stasis which will stop the effects of the curse completely. Unfortunately, he will be unable to wake up until a cure is found. Or…well, until you wish to say goodbye.” Madam Pomfrey looked grim as she delivered the horrific verdict.

“NO!” Lexi wailed. Harry felt bile rise in his throat and twisted to vomit over the side of the bed. Cassius had taken that curse for him. Fred vanished the mess with a wave of his wand and conjured some water into the empty glass on the bedside table. Harry rinsed his mouth. He felt no better. It should have been him.

“Move him. Immediately,” Mr. Warrington ordered grimly. His wife was as white as a ghost as she and Lexi clung to each other. All three were crying. Madam Pomfrey nodded and moved Cassius back to the stretcher.

“Portkey will be safer than taking the floo. Are you all going with him?” She asked softly. While she waited for an answer, she moved over to Harry, summoning a bottle of Skele-Gro.

“Yes, we will go with him,” Mrs Warrington stated. Lexi looked between Harry and Cassius. Cassius’ parents both caught the look. “You stay with him, dear. There is nothing any of us can do for my son. Stay and find out how this happened.” Harry cringed and averted his gaze. He was mercifully distracted by Madam Pomfrey offering him a goblet of Skele-Gro. He downed it in one go. It was just as vile as he remembered, and he gratefully took the water Fred offered straight after.

“Alright,” Lexi was saying, “but if there are any changes…”

“We will let you know,” Mr. Warrington promised.

Once Harry was taken care of, Madam Pomfrey summoned a portkey and placed it on Cassius’ chest so his parents could get a grip on it. She counted down from five and the family disappeared, along with the matron.

Once everyone had left, Professor McGonagall came over to Harry's bed. Lexi moved to stand beside him too.

"How are you, Potter?" 

"I'm fine, Professor, " he told her. Fred rolled his eyes. Ron and Hermione were both staring at him, eyebrows raised.

"He has a broken ankle, Professor, and he's freezing."

"No, I'm not. I feel perfectly fine," Harry frowned.

"Harry, you're almost blue," Hermione said. "You were shivering the whole walk up here." The professor studied him before waving her wand. Harry felt like he’d been enveloped in a warm blanket. It felt stifling.

"Professor Dumbledore has requested Harry's presence," she told them, looking angry.

"No way!" All four of his friends shouted at once. 

"He needs rest and to recover," Fred stated.

"Can't this wait?" Asked Hermione. McGonagall's lips pursed with displeasure, but Harry didn't think it was directed at him for a change.

"I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore was quite insistent. He believes you have a right to face the person responsible for this evening's events and hear the whole truth."

"And it can't wait?" Lexi demanded. She sighed. 

"If you do not feel up to attending the questioning I do not blame you, Potter. I shall simply inform Professor Dumbledore you do not wish to."

"No. I'll go," said Harry.

"Harry!" All of his friends glared at him.

"It's a broken ankle. I've had worse. Fred bandaged me up, I’ve had the potion, and I'm fine. I want to hear this," Harry told them.

"Harry..." Lexi looked at him, then she turned to the professor. "If Harry goes, I want to go with him. Cassius was caught up in this mess and his family deserve to know the truth," she said to McGonagall. The professor's face softened.

"Of course."

"There, Lexi can go with me. I'll meet you guys after," he promised. They all looked reluctant. Ron opened his mouth as if to argue but Fred cut in. 

"Alright. It's your choice. I'll be waiting here for you," he said unhappily.

"Thank you." Harry smiled gratefully. Fred squeezed his hand and kissed his forehead while Hermione rechecked the bandages on his ankle.

"We'll be here as well," Ron told him. 

"Good luck. When Madam Pomfrey comes back and finds I've left without her permission she'll go mental," Harry grinned slightly.

"On second thoughts, maybe we should leave and come back later," Ron said with a wince. Harry chuckled slightly. Despite the horrors of the evening, he felt slightly better. He loved his friends.

With Lexi supporting him, he followed Professor McGonagall out of the Hospital Wing. She led them to Moody's office.

"It truly was Moody then?" Lexi muttered.

"Not exactly," McGonagall said. 

George appeared in the corridor, having just come out of Moody's office. 

"Harry, mate. What are you doing here? You should be in the Hospital Wing."

"Dumbledore requested me," he explained. 

"And he couldn't have requested you tomorrow, or some other time that isn't, you know, right after everything?" George scowled.

"That's what we said, but apparently not," Lexi told him.

"Look, I just want to get this over with," sighed Harry. George studied him for a second and then nodded.

"The rest of them are waiting in the Hospital Wing," McGonagall informed him. George nodded once more, squeezed Harry's shoulder, and left.

McGonagall opened the door and led them inside. The office was exactly as Harry remembered it, covered in gadgets whirring away. The Foe Glass showed three faces. Professors Dumbledore and Snape were inside. There was a blond man sprawled on the floor, still stunned. He was pale-skinned with freckles spanning the bridge of his nose. It was the man he’d seen in his dream, kneeling before Voldemort. There was a wooden leg nearby, maybe Moody’s leg? Harry wasn’t entirely sure.

“Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted. “Miss Farley,” he added, with a puzzled look at Professor McGonagall.

“How is Mr. Warrington?” Snape asked. He looked concerned. Harry hadn’t known Snape could actually look concerned.

“Poppy had transferred him to St. Mungo’s for a full stasis. It’s not good, Severus,” McGonagall told him sympathetically. Lexi let out a choked sob and gripped Harry’s hand tightly. Snape’s lips tightened and his hands clenched.

“Who is he?” Harry asked, dully, gesturing to the man on the floor.

“Barty Crouch Junior,” Dumbledore told him.

“What? Isn’t he dead? Sn…someone said he died in Azkaban,” Harry frowned.

“That is what everyone believed. I think it is time we find out the truth.”

“Shouldn’t Fudge be here for this? He’s the Minister for Magic?” Lexi pointed out. “There should be a trial.”

“He has not been charged with any crime, as of yet,” Dumbledore told her calmly.

“He’s technically an escaped prisoner. That is a crime. Besides, Cassius has been attacked. If he is suspected of being an accomplice in an attack, he should be questioned properly,” she argued.

“And he will be, but first, let us get the answers. The news that Voldemort has returned will not be welcomed and we should have all the facts before we move forward.” Snape hissed at the name being said aloud. Lexi’s head snapped round to look at Harry at that pronouncement.

“What?”

“Yeah, I…uh, I’ll explain but not…not now,” he promised. She immediately relaxed and squeezed his hand.

“Of course.”

“You have the Veritaserum, Severus?”

“Yes.” Snape unclenched his fist to reveal a small vial of clear liquid.

Dumbledore got up, bent over the man on the floor, and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall beneath the Foe-Glass, in which the reflections of Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were still glaring down upon them all. Lexi guided Harry to a chair so he could sit down.

Dumbledore forced the man’s mouth open and poured three drops inside it. Then he pointed his wand at the man’s chest and said, “Rennervate.”

Crouch’s son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. Dumbledore knelt before him so that their faces were level.

“Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

The man’s eyelids flickered.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“I would like you to tell us,” said Dumbledore softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?” Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to speak in a flat, expressionless voice.

“My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her enough to agree, though he had never loved me. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother’s hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.”

Harry's eyebrows rose. Mr. Crouch, Mr. Throw-Sirius-in-Azkaban-with-no-trial Crouch, had freed his own Death Eater son? He felt a surge of anger.

Crouch took another deep breath and continued in the same flat voice.

“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterwards in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.” The man’s eyelids flickered.

“How? She would have had to take the potion every hour until she died, surely the guards noticed such resources?” Lexi demanded. Dumbledore frowned at her.

“She had one flask of potion. The Dementors are blind, and the human guards rarely visit the cells. She died five hours after my father smuggled me out,” he explained in the same toneless voice.

“And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Staged my mother’s death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master... of returning to his service.”

Harry had a horrible realisation that the house-elf he meant, was Winky. She should probably hear this. Should he call her, or just tell her himself later? If she'd taken care of Crouch Junior for the last however many years, even though she was bound to him now, he wasn't sure he wanted to put her in the position of choosing between the two. 

“How did your father subdue you?” asked Dumbledore, in the same, quiet, calm tone.

“The Imperius Curse,” Crouch said. “I was under my father’s control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak, day and night. I was always with Winky. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour.”

Harry fought down a scoff. So, Mr. Crouch not only broke his Death Eater son out of the prison he deserved, he also used unforgiveables to keep him under control?

“Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?” said Dumbledore softly. “Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?”

“Yes,” said Crouch, his eyelids flickering again. “A witch in my father’s office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father’s signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate and heard enough to guess who was being hidden. My father arrived home and she confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she’d found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.”

Harry and Lexi exchanged looks. It was all making sense now and Harry hated it. Everything had been connected. Everything. Harry vowed he would make sure every single instance of Crouch’s hypocritical lawbreaking was revealed to the world.

“Tell us about the Quidditch World Cup final,” commanded Dumbledore.

“Winky talked my father into it,” said Crouch. “She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years and had always loved Quidditch. She persuaded him that I would be under the invisibility cloak, hidden and under control. That I should be able to smell fresh air and have the freedom my mother died for. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end."

"Seriously? She hadn't saved you for you to have a life of imprisonment, but that's what you deserved," Lexi broke in. "What you did to the Longbottom's...you deserved everything you got. And your father is just as disgusting." Crouch gave no answer, but a look of hatred crossed his face at the mention of his father. Dumbledore shot her a warning look and prompted Crouch to keep talking.

He explained how they had planned it so Winky would pretend to save a seat for Crouch, while Junior would be sat under the cloak. Unfortunately, Winky didn’t know Junior was getting stronger and beginning to fight the curse. In the Top Box he came back to himself, like waking from a deep sleep, and stole a wand that was sticking out of a boy’s pocket in front of him. Winky had hidden her face, as she was afraid of heights and didn’t see him take it.

Harry grimaced. He hadn't even noticed his wand being stolen. And it had taken him hours to notice it was missing. It wasn't good enough. He was very glad he’d bought a wand holster.

“So, you took the wand,” said Dumbledore, “and what did you do with it?” Harry raised his eyebrows. It was obvious what he’d done with it.

“We went back to the tent,” said Crouch. “Then we heard them. The Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had never suffered for my master. They had turned their backs on him. They were not enslaved, as I was. They were free to seek him, but they did not. They were merely making sport of Muggles. The sound of their voices awoke me. My mind was clearer than it had been in years. I was angry. I had the wand. I wanted to attack them for their disloyalty to my master.”

“If only you had,” Lexi muttered.

“My father had left the tent and gone to free the Muggles. Winky was afraid to see me so angry. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her. She pulled me from the tent, pulled me into the forest, away from the Death Eaters. I tried to hold her back. I wanted to return to the campsite. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it.”

Harry realised that was why Winky had been running so funnily when they had seen her. He felt bad for the elf, even though this was partly her fault. If she hadn’t convinced Crouch Senior to allow his son to go to the World Cup, he couldn’t have stolen Harry’s wand and cast the Dark Mark with it. But then, if Crouch hadn’t been a hypocritical wanker who broke his criminal son out of prison, this wouldn’t have happened either.

Harry remembered thinking it was so harsh of the man to send his own son to prison, but his son had been guilty. He had done his job. But then he broke him out and committed yet more crimes to keep him under control. Really, what was the difference between leaving him in prison and keeping him under the Imperius Curse for the rest of his life, hidden away in a house? How many people were going to pay the price for Crouch’s choice? Cassius already was, Harry too considering he’d sort of died.

“I used the stolen wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky." He took a breath before continuing.

“Ministry wizards arrived, shooting Stunning Spells everywhere. One of the spells came through the trees where Winky and I stood. The bond connecting us was broken and we were both Stunned. When Winky was discovered, my father knew I must be nearby. He searched the bushes where she had been found and felt me lying there. He waited until the other Ministry members had left the forest, before putting me back under the Imperius Curse and taking me home. He dismissed Winky. She had failed him. She had let me acquire a wand. She had almost let me escape.”

Then he told how Voldemort had shown up at the house in the arms of Wormtail and an insane grin broke out on his face. He said how Voldemort had broken the memory charm Crouch Senior had placed on Bertha Jorkins when she saw Crouch Junior on a visit to the house. She also told him about the tournament and how Moody was coming to teach at Hogwarts. When she told Voldemort how Crouch kept his son imprisoned, Voldemort knew he was still faithful and made a plan.

The smile spread wider over Crouch’s face, as though recalling the sweetest memory of his life.

“It’s happened quickly. My master put my father under the Imperius Curse. Now my father was the one controlled, imprisoned in his own house. My master made him go about his business as usual, acting as if nothing was wrong. And I, I was free. Awakened and myself again. More alive than I had been in years.”

Crouch Senior had been under the Imperious curse since before the Hogwarts term even started? He'd certainly looked ill, had he been trying to fight? Harry remembered the feeling of being under that curse and constantly trying to fight that? It must have been exhausting. 

“And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?” prompted Dumbledore.

“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. And I was. More than ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him and prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so.”

Harry and Lexi both pulled faces at that. It made the tournament seem pointless. Although Harry had gotten through with little help from Moody. The only time he’d really ‘helped’ was in the third task.

“He needed a servant who would watch over Harry Potter, ensuring he reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first —”

“You needed Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore cut in. His blue eyes were blazing, though his voice remained calm. Harry stared at the headmaster. Had he really not known? Moody and Dumbledore were supposedly old friends. And this bloke, was able to impersonate Moody so perfectly, his old friend didn’t notice? Something didn’t add up about that.

“Wormtail and I did it. I prepared some Polyjuice Potion beforehand and then we journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to the trunk standing in the corner of the room.

“Took some of his hair and added it to the potion, turning myself into Moody. Wormtail left to tell my master it had been a success. He then went to my father’s house to take care of my father. I took Moody’s leg and his eye, making myself ready to face whoever arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I staged the scene and told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders, who had set off the dustbins. He believed me. Then I packed up Moody’s clothes and Dark detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him, to find out about his past and learn his habits, so that I could fool even Dumbledore.”

That made more sense. But even so, Harry would like to think that if some crazy person tried to impersonate him, his friends would notice at some point in nine months. Especially someone who had been imprisoned, either in Azkaban or his own mind, for thirteen years.

“I also needed his hair to keep making the Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boomslang skin from the dungeons. When the Potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it.”

Harry and Lexi looked at each other once more. They'd been right. Moody and Crouch had been suspect. And it had been both of them, not just one. Harry then turned to looked triumphantly at Snape. It hadn’t been him stealing anything. The Potions Master glared.

Still, Harry wanted to know how someone who had spent, by the sounds of it, most of the last decade in Azkaban or under the Imperious curse, was able to learn to be Mad-Eye Moody so well he could fool Dumbledore, who was supposedly friends with Moody, in a couple of days. The attack on Moody had been the day they came to Hogwarts. Even if he'd quizzed the real Moody all day, he should never have been able to fool anyone, unless Cassius had been right. Unless he hadn't fooled Dumbledore, the headmaster had allowed it to play out to see what Voldemort's plan was.

“And then your father escaped,” said Dumbledore.

“Yes. After a while, he began to fight the Imperius Curse just as I had done."

"Although he did it a hell of a lot quicker than you," Lexi snorted. "And under You-Know-Who's own curse, not your father's." 

"Miss Farley," Dumbledore said warning.

"What? It's true."

"There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he had smuggled me from Azkaban.”

“My master sent me word of my father’s escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So, I waited and watched. For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening I was doing my patrols when Potter ran into me. He told me my father had appeared in the forest where Krum was keeping an eye on him. I offered to go and help him while Potter went to fetch Dumbledore. I Stunned Krum. I killed my father.”

Harry felt ill all over again. He had been the one to give Crouch Junior what he needed.

“You killed your father,” Dumbledore said, in the same soft voice. “What did you do with the body?”

“Carried it into the forest. Transfigured it. I buried it, disillusioned, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid’s cabin. Then I went back and when I saw Potter coming with Dumbledore, I made it look like I had only just found them and was about to revive Krum. Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I wandered the grounds and sent news to my master.”

There was complete silence now. Then Dumbledore said, “And tonight...”

“I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” whispered Barty Crouch. “Turned it into a Portkey. My master’s plan worked. He is returned to power, and I will be honoured by him beyond the dreams of wizards.” An insane smile lit his face once more.