Harry rose to his feet, albeit a bit unsteadily. He’d halfway expected this, true, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. Especially all the eyes resting on him. Most of them surprised, some envious, some contemptuous. He needed to get on top of this, right now.
“Headmaster! What are you playing at?” Harry shouted, trying to sound as outraged as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione jump a little.
Dumbledore blinked. “Mr. Potter, you need to follow me to…”
“How did my name come out of the Goblet when I didn’t enter it?” Harry demanded.
“Liar!” someone in the crowd shouted. Harry didn’t need to guess that it came from the Slytherin table.
Harry snatched his wand from its holster in a blur of motion and raised it. “I did not enter myself in this ridiculous tournament, nor do I know who did. I swear this on my life, my magic and my dead mother’s soul!” He slashed the wand downward and the plate in front of where he’d been sitting split with a loud crack.
The Great Hall fell utterly silent. Ginny’s eyes were wide and shining.
“Mr. Potter,” the headmaster finally spoke. “Your name came out of the Goblet. You must come with me now.”
“And if I refuse?” Harry asked.
“When your name came out, you were subject to a binding magical contract,” Dumbledore replied carefully. “Breaking it would incur… harsh penalties.”
“What if I destroy the Goblet first?” Harry asked, raising his wand again.
Dumbledore’s eyes widened and for once, Harry saw the man lose his equilibrium. “Harry! No! I mean…” He swallowed as a flick of his wand raised an almost opaque shield around the quiescent Goblet. “Destroying an ancient, one-of-a-kind artefact to avoid competing would not be seen kindly by the wizarding world, Mr. Potter.”
“That’s not my problem, Headmaster,” Harry said flatly. He heard a few gasps. Dammit. People were not supposed to openly defy the Great Albus Dumbledore, Harry reminded himself. He needed to dial it back a notch before he revealed too much. Hermione was going to kill him stone dead. At least much of this could be attributed to his temper, which was well established in the Hogwarts Rumour Mill™.
“Your magic is held in abeyance by the Goblet, Mr. Potter. The destruction of the Goblet would likely invoke the penalties you seek to avoid.”
Harry felt his shoulders sag a little as he lowered his wand. He was well and truly trapped. “Fine. I’ll comply, as long as you answer one question.”
“A question, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asked as he warily stepped toward Harry.
“What safeguards were in place to prevent someone from having their name entered by someone else against their will?”
The headmaster frowned. “But to be chosen means the Goblet selected you as the most capable contestant. It didn’t seem… possible… that such a student wouldn’t want to compete,” he explained in a puzzled tone.
“Being good enough to be selected didn’t keep contestants from dying in previous tournaments. Headmaster, my parents died to keep me safe. It is blasphemous to risk the life they sacrificed themselves to protect, for a thousand galleons and eternal fame,” Harry replied scornfully. The “you doddering old pillock” at the end went unsaid.
Dumbledore blanched. He turned and silently led Harry from the Great Hall, following the other champions.
Harry still felt many eyes on him as he left the hall, but overall the mood seemed more speculative than hostile. He would settle for that.
Shortly thereafter Harry found himself in the antechamber with Fleur and Malfoy. The French girl’s eyes widened when she recognized Harry. “I thought you deed not want to enter ze tournament?” she asked softly.
“I didn’t,” Harry replied wearily. “The geniuses in charge of this never took any precautions to keep people from maliciously entering someone else.”
“Spare us your dramatics, Potter,” Severus Snape sneered as he moved beside Draco.
“Headmaster, did you hear the oath I swore?” Harry spat.
“The lad has a point,” Moody growled, “Someone might be hoping Potter dies in this.” Harry flinched a little at this. Too close.
“I look forward to competing, Headmaster,” Draco spoke. “Testing myself against Hogwarts’ so-called elite should prove amusing.”
Harry clamped down on his emotions with all his will. Even the sound of Draco’s voice could make his magic surge now. Must not think of Ginny! he reminded himself. “I suppose embarrassing you again would be a silver lining,” Harry agreed mildly.
Draco bristled but was interrupted when Bagman spoke up. “Right, we need to give our champions their instructions. Cuthbert? Do you want to do the honours?”
Throckmorton stepped forward, consulting a folded piece of parchment. Harry was quietly relieved that he was still able to get a rise out of Draco. His new public demeanour was somewhat unnerving. A little self-control could make the prat actually dangerous.
“The first test,” the Ministry official began, “is a test of your courage in the face of the unknown. As such, we will not be informing you of the particulars of the task until it begins on November 24th. You are not allowed to request, nor accept any assistance from your teachers for the tournament tasks. You will enter the first task armed only with your wand. You will receive details regarding the second task when the first one is over. Also, given the time demands of the tournament, champions are excluded from year-end exams, barring O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s or the equivalents thereof.” He turned to Dumbledore. “I think that covers everything, Headmaster?”
Dumbledore nodded but looked a little distracted to Harry.
Madame Maxime led Fleur from the room as the meeting broke up. Harry hoped she and the Beauxbatons students could stay friendly even if they were competing now. He found his friends loitering in the hallway and his frown lessened a bit.
“Let’s get out of here before Snape decides to have a go at us for old time’s sake,” Harry murmured. They agreed and quickly made their way back to the Gryffindor tower.
The noise from within the common room was faintly audible before they even gave the Fat Lady the password. When the portrait swung open, the sounds of celebration washed over them, making Harry scowl.
The cheers grew even louder as they entered and were spotted. The twins and Lee Jordan were stringing up a Gryffindor banner between the staircases. Angelina Johnson and the other chasers were passing out butterbeers someone had smuggled in from who knows where. Everyone was celebrating like Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron’s face reddening. He felt a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The redhead opened his mouth, but his words were lost in the furor. His features twisted in anger as his face turned a shade of purple that would have made Uncle Vernon proud. A homemade banner touting Harry as the Gryffindor Triwizard Champion suddenly disappeared with a loud bang.
The common room fell silent as drifting ashes settled to the floor. Harry’s own eyes widened. He couldn’t remember the last time Ron had manifested accidental magic. His friend must have been beyond enraged.
“What the effing hell is wrong with you lot?” Ron roared. “Did you not hear Harry swear on his magic and his dead mum’s soul that he didn’t enter himself? Not an hour later we find you idiots celebrating someone having another go at him?”
“Why would someone enter him?” mocked a voice in the crowd. It was probably a good thing Harry couldn’t see who it was from where he was standing. It sounded like that idiot McLaggen.
“Did anyone not hear a word I said this past week?” Hermione all but shrieked. “They stopped holding the Triwizard Tournament because of the death toll.” She took a breath and steadied herself. “And before someone brings up eternal glory, I’ll remind you that no one could name a single winner without visiting the library.”
“Don’t bother, Hermione,” Ginny added. “Let’s just head up. The Common Room seems to reek of stupidity tonight.” She patted Harry on the shoulder and left for the girls’ staircase. Hermione sniffed and followed, with Luna trailing behind.
Harry spared the room a single glance. Fred and George were both reddening, while Colin Creevey looked like he was about to cry. He shook his head and headed up the stairs to the fourth-year boys’ room. Neville followed, chivvying Ron along.
The three of them were quiet as they prepared for bed. Harry didn’t think it was a coincidence that Seamus and Dean seemed inclined to stay out late tonight.
Thankfully, the next day was a Sunday, so they had a chance to regroup before classes resumed. After an early breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry led his friends on a circuitous course to reach the Room of Requirement. The Marauder’s Map ensured no one saw them.
The room gave them a table surrounded by comfortable-looking chairs. No sooner had they settled in than Hermione spoke up. “I think we need to get together and decide how we are going to approach this year.”
“I assume you have some ideas, Hermione?” Harry asked in a slightly teasing tone.
Hermione’s cheeks pinked up a little. “I think with what happened with the Dementors, it’s safe to say that your foreknowledge is becoming compromised. The necessary changes you’ve made have had further and further reaching effects.”
Harry nodded, conceding the point. “So if we aren’t to keep our heads down, what do we do?” “We still know some things that will happen, don’t we?” Neville asked. “There are things that wouldn’t have changed, right?”
“Voldemort is still out there,” Harry agreed, “and he’s still looking to return.”
“I think we’ve addressed a lot of things,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should work on contingencies. Voldemort might still find a way to return. One we don’t know about.”
“You mean neutralizing his power base,” Harry said. “Death Eaters killed far more people than he did personally.”
“We can’t go around killing people!” Hermione gasped.
“We don’t have to kill them to neutralize them,” Ron said. “Harry, were the Bulstrodes friendly, you know, before?”
Harry shook his head.
“See, Hermione? Neutralized,” Ron added. “You know, Harry, you can be a right scary bastard when you try to be.”
Ginny chuckled and eyed Harry speculatively. “That’s not the term some of the witches use,” she purred, making Harry’s ears burn.
“Ginny!” Ron hissed, causing her to break down in giggles.
“Most of the Death Eaters were male,” Harry quickly pointed out, “but Ron might be onto something. A lot of people joined Voldemort after he returned. Coming back from the dead is apparently good for recruiting. If we can prevent a lot of that…”
“Building up an intimidating reputation can also backfire,” Hermione warned. “At best, you’ll be placing a large target on your back.”
“He already has one because of that prophecy,” Luna pointed out. “Voldemort already wants him dead.”
“I think we have more to gain than lose, all told,” Neville added.
“We?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re going to be watching your back, so we’ll be dealing with a lot of the threats,” Neville explained.
“We’re not negotiating, Potter,” Ginny added.
Harry took a deep breath and blew it out. “I can see that.”
“The Triwizard Tournament!” Ron half-shouted.
Hermione, sitting next to him, half-leapt from her seat. “Ron! What are you talking about?”
“The tournament! It’s a perfect opportunity to start,” Ron said, turning to Harry with a tight grin. “You need to win this tournament and convince everyone they’d have to be barking mad to cross wands with the Boy Who Lived.”
One consolation to the whole sorry mess was a decided lack of enmity from the Hufflepuffs. Having no idea that Cedric Diggory ‘should’ have been the Hogwarts Champion, they were cautiously supportive of Harry as the Hogwarts representative. Harry could appreciate small mercies, as the Slytherins were even worse. The house pretty much uniformly supported Draco Malfoy, still spreading rumours that he’d been unfairly expelled.
Harry almost laughed out loud when he saw the buttons make an appearance. Simply displaying “Draco Malfoy – Triwizard Champion” bordered with Durmstrang’s colours, they were innocuous enough since they didn’t directly attack the Hogwarts Champion. They were sufficient to make Professor McGonagall scowl ferociously, but she couldn’t very well tell students off for choosing to support someone other than the Hogwarts Champion. Harry imagined anything nastier would have been confiscated by Professor Slughorn, earning the wearer a lecture on practising subtlety.
Still, while things were tense, they weren’t as openly hostile as Harry remembered, for which he was grateful.
The Beauxbatons contingent returned to the Gryffindor table for lunch. While they were a little more guarded in their speech, the mood was still basically friendly. Harry did, however, notice Fleur eyeing him speculatively on a few occasions. He supposed between Millicent’s observations before she transferred and the newspaper articles regarding the Dementor battle, there was no chance the French witch would ever dismiss him as a ‘leetle boy’ this time around. While nice for his ego, overall Harry would prefer to be underestimated by his competitors.
Harry was feeling distinctly unsettled as they headed back to the Gryffindor common room after lunch. He was sailing in relatively uncharted waters now, with only a single champion the same as in the original timeline. Ron’s plan was going to shake things up even more. He and Hermione seemed to have a few ideas, but Ginny seemed far less enthusiastic.
As soon as they made their way past the Fat Lady’s portrait, Harry was confronted by a pale-faced Colin Creevey. “H-Harry? Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Harry felt a frisson of dread as he met the boy’s red-rimmed eyes. “What is it, Colin?” he asked. With everything that had happened to date, he wasn’t too keen on going off with people he didn’t fully trust.
The third-year’s eyes darted to Harry’s friends and back. With a visible effort, he swallowed. “I… I didn’t mean to disrespect your parents, Harry.”
It all came together in an instant. “You put my name in the Goblet,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question.
Colin nodded jerkily and started to speak. “I just—” A blur of red hair passed by Harry on the right and there was a loud smack as Ginny’s fist impacted Colin’s left cheek. The third-year boy’s head snapped back and he tumbled onto his side. The sound barely registered with Harry as he darted forward and wrapped both arms around Ginny’s midsection, hauling her backwards and up off of her feet. Her follow-up kick missed Colin’s stomach by inches.
Harry held her tight while Ginny raged. He was just grateful she realized it was him holding her and refrained from throwing elbows at him. As her struggles lessened, Ron and Neville grabbed Colin by the arms and helped him up. Harry noticed that they didn’t let go once Colin was on his feet. Harry took another half-step back, glad there didn’t seem to be any prefects around at the moment. “How did you get my name… wait. You kept that essay, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” Colin choked out, his face already starting to redden and swell, “I just thought you were being modest… and I wanted Hogwarts to win,” he admitted.
“It still should have been my choice,” Harry said as Ginny quieted. He could still feel her practically quivering with rage, so he didn’t loosen his hold much.
“Colin,” she hissed, “if anything happens to Harry in this tournament, I’ll make you and your little brother pay!”
The third year went white as Harry let out a shocked choke. “Ginny!” he hissed.
“I mean it. If you get k-killed in this stupid tournament, he’s as good as m-murdered you himself,” she raged.
Harry tightened his arms around her, bringing his arms up around hers in a reversed hug. He held her there for a long moment before she let out a strangled sob and twisted to face him, burying her face in his chest. Luna came up from behind Harry and began rubbing the girl’s back.
Harry was dimly aware of Hermione passing on the other side, marching up to Colin. “Ronald, Neville, please follow me,” she said after a moment. Her voice was like iron.
“Uh, where are we going, Hermione?” Ron asked, a little wide-eyed at her expression.
“Professor McGonagall,” she replied.
As the four of them left, Ron and Neville kept hold of Colin’s arms, even though he showed no signs of resistance whatsoever. After a moment, Harry led Ginny over to one of the couches. He sat at one end with Luna on the other and Ginny in between. She scooted over until their legs were touching, so Harry laid his arm across her shoulders, letting her lean into his side. It always surprised him, just a little bit, when he realized how small she really was.
After a long moment, Harry spoke. “I thought you liked Ron’s idea?”
She shrugged. “If you are going to be forced to compete in this stupid tournament, yeah. But you originally preferred to give the whole thing a miss, didn’t you?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, my nice quiet year. Bollocks.” He took a deep breath. “Involving Dennis might be a bit over the top?” “Colin doesn’t know I’m bluffing.” Harry relaxed a little. “I want him to feel some of the anxiety he’d bought the rest of us with his utter stupidity,” she continued.
“I’m pretty sure he takes you seriously now,” Luna observed.
They sat quietly for several minutes until Hermione and the boys returned. “Two weeks’ suspension,” she reported without preamble. “She’s apparating him home to speak to his parents as soon as they have his trunk.”
“It should have been longer,” Ginny groused.
“He’s also been instructed when he returns to have no personal interaction with Harry whatsoever,” Hermione added.
Harry nodded. That would likely be torture.
“At least he didn’t say anything about where he got the shiner,” Ron added. “So you’re not in any trouble, Ginny.” She nodded at her brother, but didn’t say anything. “I imagine he rather thought he deserved it,” Hermione observed.
“That’s because he did,” Neville grumped.
Ginny was quiet the rest of the day; no surprise there for Harry. While he was, on one hand, gratifed by her ferocity on his behalf, her anger was a bit daunting. Still, he tried to let her know he appreciated it without being too obvious. Though the bluff about Dennis was just a bit over the top and shocked him a little.
Then again, he wondered how he would react if someone had somehow entered Ginny into the tournament and then abruptly felt like a hypocrite.
Harry went to bed wondering if the tournament was one of those sticky parallels. He stopped Barty Crouch Jr. from entering his name, only to have Colin Creevey, of all people, do the deed. It didn’t escape his notice that the Goblet hadn’t needed a Confundus to pick Harry as a fourth champion from another school. It had picked him as the best Hogwarts had to offer, perversely proving the prat to be perspicacious.
Harry had no doubt the semi-sentient Goblet had picked up on his altered magical core. He likely had greater raw magical power than any of the other students. While that didn’t make him smarter or more skilled, it was something the artefact was uniquely able to measure. Presumably someone with poor spell knowledge wouldn’t enter themselves to avoid embarrassment.
Or maybe it could also sense his expanded memories, a thought that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. He gathered the duvet tighter around him to ward o the sudden chill.
Professor Slughorn was more than willing to let Harry leave class to attend the Weighing of the Wands. He was pleasantly surprised to see Ginny and Luna sent to collect him in Colin’s place.
“No one travels alone if we can help it,” Ginny explained. “We had a free hour, so we hung around the classroom where you said it would be and asked Mr. Bagman if he knew you were currently in class…”
“And so he asked you two to fetch me?” Harry asked with a smile. “Very clever!” he said in an admiring tone.
That earned him a small blush as they made their way to the ceremony.
The other champions had already arrived, no doubt brought by their respective headmasters. Fleur gave him a smile and a nod, while Draco was as unnervingly impassive as before. Harry’s smile when he saw Rita Skeeter next to Ludo was not entirely forced. She wasn’t the nicest person and no model of journalistic integrity, but she’d honoured their deal and even exceeded his expectations at times. That put her ahead of a depressingly large number of the adults Harry knew.
“Ah! Here he is, the Hogwarts champion! In you come, Harry, nothing to worry about. Just the wand weighing ceremony – the judges will be down soon with Mr. Ollivander. Miss Skeeter here is doing a small piece for the Daily Prophet,” Bagman explained.
“Harry and I are old friends,” Rita purred. “I wonder if I could have a word, maybe get some colour for my piece?”
“Certainly!” Ludo boomed. “Er, that is, if Harry has no objection?”
“I don’t mind,” Harry replied mildly, “though I think there might be better stories here today.”
“Oh?” Rita asked, sidling closer as Ludo looked slightly alarmed. Harry idly wondered if she looked like this on Christmas morning. Harry’s eyes moved past Draco. There was no way to bring up his expulsion without coming across as petty and he didn’t doubt Rita was already fully aware. Harry wondered how much gold it took Lucius to get the Prophet’s editors to spike that story.
“I saw your piece last year about Miss Bulstrode and the transfer you helped arrange to Beauxbatons,” Harry replied. “It turns out Fleur took her under her wing and helped her settle in at a new school. They’re quite good friends now. Since the Triwizard Tournament is all about fostering international cooperation…”
“Oh yes,” the reporter agreed, “practically writes itself.” She moved over to Fleur, adopting what Harry knew was her least predatory smile.
The French champion looked somewhat alarmed before schooling her expression into a serene smile, and began answering questions.
Rita maintained an aable demeanour when a somewhat alarmed Madame Maxime arrived and interjected herself into the conversation. The reporter merely turned to the large woman and asked a few questions that appeared to pleasantly surprise the headmistress.
The actual ceremony went mostly as Harry remembered, though he wondered if there was a slight frown on Ollivander’s face when he used Harry’s wand to create a fountain of wine.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Harry also noted, with some satisfaction, that Rita didn’t seem to react to Fleur announcing that the Veela hair in her wand was that of her grandmother.
Of course, that didn’t stop Fleur from tracking him down once they were dismissed and practically dragging him into a disused corridor. Harry discreetly waved o Ginny and Luna, who hung back as they followed.
“Why did you point zat… reporter… at me?” she demanded. Harry was actually surprised – he had no idea Rita’s reputation had spread that widely.
“Relax,” he said. “Remember that she started the ball rolling publicly, with her story about Millicent. Now she gets to do a follow-up piece patting herself on the back with how well she’s doing now. You’re going to want that goodwill once the Tournament starts, especially if you outperform the other champions – who were both born British. At that point a lot of the press might want to turn ugly… but Rita, bless her black little heart, likes to play favourites.”
Fleur eyed him sceptically. “But if she is such a… ‘ow do you know she will, as you say, play along?”
Harry shrugged. “I’m blackmailing her.”
Fleur blinked.
“I know something about her that would land her in a lot of hot water,” Harry explained. “She doesn’t make up lies about me, I don’t tell the truth about her. And I occasionally feed her a story that she knows will be true.”
“Zat’s how you helped Millicent.”
Harry nodded.
Fleur eyed Harry for a moment and then smirked. “Zis Skeeter woman will be ‘ounding Millie for a follow-up interview now. I zink it likely she will hex you for that, mon ami.”
“Not at all,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I think she will welcome the opportunity to pay you back a little. She hates nothing more than feeling like she owes someone.”
Fleur laughed at that, the silvery peals echoing down the corridor. Ginny and Luna stuck their heads around the corner, one on top of the other. Harry gave them a cheery wave.
As the date of the rst task approached, Harry made a point of taking long, leisurely ights around the castle grounds. If anyone asked, he said he missed flying because of the cancelled Quidditch season. He was also establishing an alibi. He wanted to conrm the dragons, since there would only be three champions. More importantly, he wanted to give Charlie Weasley plausible deniability if anyone accused him of tipping off his foster-brother.
Though Harry did wonder once if Charlie might be cheering for Harry’s dragon to win. Then he dismissed the thought. Charlie wasn’t that overprotective, was he?
He also worked on how to deal with the dragon in as impressive a manner as possible.
As expected, the evening after the last Hogsmeade Weekend before the first task, Harry spotted the enclosure near the Forbidden Forest with three dragons. As he circled a little lower, he wasn’t surprised to see a Swedish Short-Snout, a Chinese Fireball and of course, a familiar-looking Hungarian Horntail.
No bets as to which one he’d end up with, he thought as he spiralled back upward.
Well away from the castle, Harry descended into a clearing he’d made far from curious eyes. A few flicks of his wand re-established the perimeter wards, then he began practising his transguration. Large-scale transfiguration.
Afternoon classes were cancelled the day of the rst task. Harry found his nerves were quite sufficient to spoil his lunch, but forced himself to eat something. He planned to expend no small amount of magic. It wouldn’t do to be lacking energy from an empty stomach. Ginny and the rest looked almost as nervous. Harry didn’t envy them a bit.
Fleur was quiet but resolute. He’d conrmed that Madame Maxime had let her know about the rst task. He wasn’t taking any chances.
Finally, Professor McGonagall led Harry to the tent erected to block sight of the enclosure for the champions. She seemed just as ill-at-ease as Harry remembered.
“Just remember,” she said as they approached the tent, “We have wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand. Just do your best and no one will think less of you.”
“I will,” Harry replied. “Maybe I can earn some extra credit for Transfiguration in there?”
The woman stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing him suspiciously. “I wasn’t aware the champions had been informed about the first task.”
Harry smiled. “I saw them wrangling three dragons in an enclosure not far from here. There’s no roof, so anyone using a broom in this vicinity for the last three days knows. I’ve been ying every evening to reduce stress, so…”
McGonagall closed her eyes. “…and of course, no one thought of that. Just because they cancelled Quidditch, it’s not like there isn’t a castle full of students with brooms.”
“I don’t think a lot of things were thought of ahead of time,” Harry suggested delicately.
“Right. Well, Mr. Potter, I suppose with forewarning I should expect your usual standard of performance?”
“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” Harry agreed with what he hoped was an innocent-looking smile.
“Scamp,” she muttered under her breath as she left him at the entrance to the tent.
When Harry entered the tent, he saw Fleur and Draco sitting on stools at dierent corners, while Ludo Bagman held court in the centre. Harry couldn’t gure out why he was still wearing his ill-fitting quidditch uniform from when he played on the Wimbourne Wasps. “Harry! Good-o! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”
Harry did his best to tune out most of Ludo’s chatter. He listened long enough to confirm the task was as he expected, then ignored the has-been. Of course, when it came time to draw the models from the sack, he ended up with the Hungarian Horntail again. He didn’t mind; what he had planned would look even more impressive. As Fleur nervously followed Ludo out of the tent, Harry settled down on a stool in one corner. He sat perfectly still, never taking his eyes off of Draco.
Once they were alone, the blond’s customary sneer slowly reappeared like an unwelcome rash. “So, half-blood, ready to die like a brave Gryffindor today?”
Harry didn’t respond.
“You know, Potter, you didn’t seem that surprised about the dragons. Did your headmaster tip you off? Or one of your sycophants? No matter. I’ve known for weeks and I’ve had plenty of time to work out exactly how to put you in your place.”
Harry stayed silent, but as he gazed at the former Slytherin, he let his mind wander back to his nightmares regarding Ginny. He felt his pulse quicken as his magic began to circulate. It started slowly at first, but steadily increased in tempo as the Durmstrang champion tried to get a reaction. Harry felt the hair of his fringe stir in the non-existent breeze.
Two high spots of colour bloomed under Draco’s cheekbones as the murmurs of the crowd surged louder, then erupted into cheers. “Well, apparently the Veela bitch survived,” Draco drawled. “That’s too bad, it would make my performance all the more convincing if she was eaten and you were maimed. After all, breeding will tell…” He fell silent as the tent entrance stirred and Ludo reappeared to collect Draco.
Once he was alone, Harry concentrated more fully on pulling up his magic as much as he could. He barely registered the gasps and cries of alarm from the crowd outside. However, he snapped out of his meditations when there was a trumpeting roar of pain Harry knew without a doubt came from the Chinese Fireball. Loud squeals and cries followed, rising above the now quieter audience. As the cries gradually trailed off, there was some muted applause.
It was quite a while before Ludo came to collect Harry. The normally ebullient man was quiet as he led Harry out of the tent.
If anything, the Horntail seemed even angrier and more feral than Harry remembered. Then he saw the large gout of blood near the nest, pooled around a burn scar of something that looked like a strong corrosive acid poured onto the solid stone. The nest itself was surrounded by a litter of broken egg shells and smears of uid. Harry felt his gorge rise. As the gate to the dragon pens swung shut, Harry got a glimpse of a stone platform levitated by a team of Dragon Handlers. Resting on the platform was the sprawled body of the Chinese Fireball, its upper face melted as if by a strong acid, both eyes burned away.
Hagrid stood off to one side of the handlers, the face above his beard as pale as milk.
The crowd slowly stirred as Harry paused, staring as the gate closed. He saw Draco standing unharmed next to a scowling Madam Pomfrey, smirking.
Harry ground his teeth as the handlers got the nearly frenzied Horntail settled as best they could. He knew since the Fireball either died or had to be put down, the smell of death was all around his opponent, making his job even harder. Hagrid would never forgive him if he did lasting harm.
Whatever Bagman said was lost in the roar of blood in Harry’s ears as he stepped into the enclosure. The noise of the crowd came up as the Horntail’s head snapped around, orienting on Harry. The Boy Who Lived drew in a breath as he saw the dragon’s hindquarters flex, preparing to launch it across the enclosure at this impudent insect that dared approach its precious eggs.
Harry’s wand came up and snapped downward with a flick of his wrist. “Ferrum Torque!” he shouted as he hurled his magic at the ground. A short, thick iron chain appeared, one end bolted into the stone and the other end attached to a manacle clamped around the dragon’s foreleg. Clearly confused, it tried to rear back but was brought up short.
Dragons are highly magic-resistant creatures; it normally requires an entire team of Dragon Handlers casting in tandem to stun one. But conjured manacles don’t have to defeat that resistance. They just have to be strong enough to withstand the strength of a broody fifty-foot apex predator.
Harry had practised until his conjured chains were extremely sturdy.
As the off-balance Horntail planted its other forepaw to steady itself, Harry’s wand snapped down again. “Ferrum Torque!” and another chain appeared to manacle that leg. The dragon’s head whipped around to look at the new chain and Harry cast again, chaining down the rear legs. The dragon hunched forward, straining to free its limbs, and when its head passed low, another, bigger manacle appeared right behind the head, bound to the ground with a very short chain. A final cast pinned down the lashing tail.
The crowd grew silent at the sight of the massive dragon, awkwardly pinned to the stone floor of the enclosure. Its wings flapped futilely as it struggled against the chains. Harry eyed them cautiously, but they seemed to be holding up. He edged along the wall of the enclosure, staying well away from the area in front of the Horntail’s head. It roared out a blast of re anyway, making him cringe back, even as it fell far short.
Harry cautiously made his way to the nest. The cheers and applause from the crowd picked up as they seemed to catch on to what he was doing. As he circled around the angry mother, a flash of light and a loud crack drew his attention to the top-most of the real eggs. A piece of thick egg-shell spiralled up into the air as albumen exploded away from the side of the cracked shell. The smell that immediately struck him was ghastly; what was worse was the way the struggling Horntail suddenly went utterly still.
Harry’s eyes widened in the instant before the Horntail went mad. Screaming with rage, it gave a full-body heave that cracked and split the scales under the manacles. The chains held for an instant before the one around its neck shattered, then one on a rear leg, then all of them in a blizzard of shrapnel that winked out of existence as the conjured forms were disrupted. The Horntail surged to its feet, spinning to inspect its nest. Harry could see it gathering its breath and thickening its neck as it then turned toward him.
Stunned, he did the first thing that came to mind and cast the strongest flame-freezing charm he could as the Horntail vomited forth a tsunami of flames.
Harry found himself suddenly airborne. His over-powered charm was strong enough to affect dragon-fire, making burning flames ‘feel like a summer breeze’ as Flitwick described it. But it rendered more than a breeze when dealing with this rage-induced inferno. While happily not incinerated, Harry was still blown off of his feet, tumbling backwards as the audience screamed in fear. He was glad he’d endured endless hours of falling drills as he tucked his head in and did a backwards shoulder-roll… thus, protecting his skull and his wand, not necessarily in that order, as he came up in a crouch.
The Horntail seemed to pause for a moment as the ames dissipated, revealing Harry Potter only slightly rumpled. Then it gathered its legs under it and prepared to crush the impudent human before it.
Harry knew he didn’t have time or space to chain it down again. As it prepared to spring, he aimed his wand directly at its head and pushed every ounce of magic he could into his next, and possibly last, spell.
“STUPEFY!”
A bar of red light a yard wide sprang into existence, connecting his wand with the Horntail’s head. It fluoresced so brightly spectators could see afterimages when closing their eyelids fifteen minutes later.
Harry dropped his smoking wand and fell to his knees as grey spots danced in his vision.
The Hungarian Horntail collapsed in a boneless heap. It didn’t take long before Harry slowly climbed to his feet and retrieved the golden egg. The reek of the broken egg was horrid, but the glimpse he got of the half-formed hatchling within was even worse. He thought of Hagrid’s Norbert and winced. He was halfway back to the entrance before the crowd seemed to shake itself awake and began applauding. That seemed to jolt the dragon-handlers back into motion and they cautiously approached the stunned Horntail.
As the adrenalin began to wear off, Harry felt a headache coming on, not to mention a bone-deep weariness. He hadn’t pushed his magic that hard in a while. He raised his wand and examined the tip, wincing at the scorch marks. I need to do something about that, he thought, not for the first time. This is only going to get worse as I get older. If I get older. He sighed. Better not let Ginny hear me talk like that.
Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall was waiting for him at the contestants’ entrance. “An unusual application of transfiguration. Full marks, Mr. Potter,” she said with a small nod.
Harry smiled. “You need to see Madam Pomfrey before you receive your score,” she continued. “You are looking a bit strained, not that that’s surprising. You expended quite a large amount of magic in a short period of time.”
She led Harry to the first aid tent, where the healer eyed him, frowning. “I don’t like your colour,” she stated as she began waving her wand. “Denite signs of exhaustion. If I allow you to leave for your scores, will you refrain from any further magic today?”
Harry nodded. “I’m pretty knackered,” he admitted.
“Good, remember that. I also want you to go to sleep early tonight, preferably after a good meal.”
McGonagall snorted. Harry agreed, Gryffindor Tower was not going to be a quiet place tonight. He turned to his head of house. “Don’t worry, I have silencing charms on my bed. Ron and Neville both snore.”
As they made their way out of the tent, Harry’s friends were waiting. He barely registered how pale they were looking before a streak of red impacted his chest.
“Whoof! Ginny?” he exclaimed. Her face was pressed to his sternum and her arms were wrapped so tightly around his ribs that oxygen was becoming an issue. Feeling acutely self-conscious, especially with the Professor right there, he settled his arms around her shoulders. Any awkwardness fled his mind when he realized how hard she was shaking.
“She’s been like that since the chains broke,” Ron explained. “Not that I blame her,” he added quickly when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
“We all thought you were going to die,” Luna explained.
“Luna!” Neville exclaimed.
“What? Didn’t you say, ‘Oh Merlin, he’s going to die!’?” Luna asked Neville. “It was quite surprising. But Harry, if you could stun the dragon, why wasn’t that the main plan?”
“Er, I didn’t know I could do that,” Harry admitted, “I sort of panicked at the last minute.”
“Oh. So, you thought you were going to die too,” Luna concluded. She smiled. “I’m rather glad you didn’t.”
Ginny let out a muffled sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
Eventually Professor McGonagall corralled Harry and led him in front of the judges on their raised seats draped in gold. It took a bit for Ginny to calm down enough to let him go. Not that he begrudged her. He had some idea of what she was feeling, after all. That nightmare never seemed to get old.
Madame Maxime raised her wand, launching a silver ribbon into the air that formed the number nine. The crowd applauded.
Mr. Throckmorton, looking a little shell-shocked, actually gave Harry a ten. The applause grew louder.
Professor Dumbledore also gave Harry a ten, which surprised him a little. The crowd started cheering now.
Ludo Bagman gave Harry his third ten, which didn’t surprise him at all. Harry wasn’t sure it could get any louder.
Then Severus Snape raised his wand into the air, glancing directly at Harry, and gave him a two. There was a pause, then the booing started.
The agent in place carefully folded the invisibility cloak and with shaking hands slid it into the secret compartment on the underside of his trunk. That had been too close. He’d followed his instructions in what he thought was a creative manner, but he hadn’t counted on the raw violence of the enraged Horntail. No sooner had his piercing charm cracked the shell than the damn beast was breaking loose from Potter’s conjured chains. What he hadn’t expected was the flood of flames that it produced. Fortunately, Potter went with a flame-freezing charm, rather than a less effective shield. Otherwise at the minimum his cloak would have been lit on fire from the backwash. As it was, the cloak had been blown about him, but any glimpses of him that caused would have been obscured by the charmed flames. Still, it had been too close.
Fortunately, between the cloak, the silencing charms on his shoes and the scent-masking charms, he had remained undetected. And he’d almost succeeded in achieving his objective.
“I can’t believe that utter bastard!” Ron raged as they walked past the Fat Lady and into Gryffindor tower. “He gave you a two for winning! A ruddy two!” “
He justified it by saying that Harry’s magic damaged the egg,” Hermione explained. “I asked Professor McGonagall afterwards, who heard it from Professor Dumbledore.”
“But he never cast a spell at it!” Ron protested as the Gryffindors grabbed a pair of couches near the fireplace. Most of their housemates were still at dinner or filtering back through the hallways. Harry was not too proud to admit he’d eaten as quickly as manners permitted and fled the Great Hall as soon as he could.
“He claimed it was accidental magic, since Harry has ‘a history of poor self control’,” Hermione added.
“That’s utter bollocks!” Ron snarled.
“Don’t shoot the messenger!” Hermione snapped. “I’m just repeating what I was told. I personally think it’s utter rubbish, given that he gave Draco a perfect score, saying it wasn’t his fault ‘the stupid beast destroyed its own eggs’.”
“I’m not mad at you, Hermione,” Ron hastily assured her. “I’m just frustrated that he’s getting away with it.”
“Well, the other judges clearly didn’t agree,” Hermione pointed out. “His other scores were low enough to leave him in third place, behind Fleur and Harry.”
“What did Draco do to the Chinese Fireball?” Harry asked. He needed to distract himself from the unfairness of it all. He didn’t mind being a point behind Fleur, if only it wasn’t due to Snape. It was amusing to see her literally mobbed with well-wishers for taking first place. Veela charm plus unexpected competence was evidently a big draw. Not many people could enchant a broody dragon to make it fall asleep and leave its eggs unguarded.
“He banished something at its face,” Neville said, watching Hermione and Ron slowly cool down. “Whatever it was must have been extremely corrosive.”
“The poor thing was blinded immediately,” Luna added in a sad tone. “Then it collapsed and in its death throes it crushed all of its eggs.”
“It was a vial of something,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “I saw light glinting off of what looked like glass.” Harry was a little surprised, until he remembered that she possessed good enough eyesight to fill in for him as Gryffindor Seeker, in a time that never was. Harry squeezed her hand. She’d been subdued all through the evening meal and he was a little concerned.
“What potion could do that?” Ron asked, turning to Hermione, who was just starting to calm down herself.
“Why are you asking me?” she demanded.
“Because you’re smarter than me and know practically everything there is to know,” Ron replied matter-of-factly.
Hermione’s mouth dropped open, clearly not expecting such a blatant compliment after a semi-row.
“He has a point, Hermione,” Harry added. “I can’t think of anything that could do that, but you’ve always been more knowledgeable about potions than I am.”
“I can’t think of anything,” she said slowly, “even in the N.E.W.T. potions curriculum.” She broke off as she noticed Ron’s grin. “I just skimmed it over the summer to get a better idea of what is possible,” she added with some exasperation in her voice.
“Then I think it’s safe to say there’s no way Draco learned to brew that on his own,” Harry concluded.
“Snape brewed it for him,” Ron and Neville said, practically in unison.
“You know,” Harry snarked, “it’s almost making me nostalgic. Snape tells Draco what the task is, then gives him a plan to defeat it. Even brews the potion for him. All Draco has to do is master the Banishing Charm, which is already on the fourth-year curriculum.”
“And as a judge he’s covering for him and clearly biasing the scores in his favour,” Neville added.
“It’s almost like he’s teaching potions again,” Ron groused. “Cheating as usual… wait,” Harry said, thinking hard. “Didn’t Snape put all of the Durmstrang slips into the Goblet of Fire?”
“Why would that…” Hermione’s voice trailed off. “Oh, he wouldn’t!”
“It would explain why he was chosen over someone more competent, like, say, Viktor Krum,” Harry allowed drily.
“You mean to tell me he replaced their entries with ones that all said Draco Malfoy?” Ron demanded, outraged.
“Honestly, Ron, does that really surprise you?” Hermione asked.
Ron subsided. “I suppose not, I just can’t understand…”
“How he can be so foul?” Hermione supplied.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Evil is hard to understand sometimes,” Harry mused. “Your parents raised you right, so it’s unnatural for you to think that way.”
“You figured it out,” Ron pointed out. “I had far worse examples growing up. I’ve… seen… enough that very little can surprise me anymore,” Harry said with a shrug.
Ron looked away, cheeks colouring.
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t a good person too!” Ginny objected.
“Don’t confuse being polite with being nice; I can be pretty ruthless when I need to be,” Harry said in a low voice. “I think that’s why Professor Dumbledore reacts the way he does.”
“Well, he’s doing so out of ignorance,” Ginny shot back, a slow flush rising on her cheeks.
“And we’re very glad he stays that way,” Hermione reminded them in a terse whisper, “or have you forgotten?”
The conversation cut off as the portrait opened again, admitting a large group of chattering Gryffindors who let out a cheer when they saw Harry. The common room grew a bit loud as the party started and everyone that hadn’t congratulated him at dinner came to pay their respects. Harry tried to greet them with some enthusiasm, but it grew harder to do as his headache came back. Between his fatigue and a very large dinner he was not inclined to move any time soon, though he did intend to keep his promise to Madam Pomfrey and retire early. He also pretended not to notice the seam on his Golden Egg. He had no wish to add to the cacophony.
Through it all, Ginny stayed glued to his side. Harry couldn’t really blame her; she must have had a bad shock when the chains snapped. It had been harder than he expected, getting used to people worrying about him again. A little bumping of elbows was a small price to pay. Not that he really minded, he admitted to himself. Sod her overprotective brother.
After a while and a few less than subtle attempts to reel her into the conversation, Ginny seemed to return to her normal outgoing self. But her shoulder never left his.
The next day, Harry awoke very groggy, but at least the bone-deep weariness of the previous evening was done. It still took most of their morning exercises to feel back to normal again. After a large breakfast, he suggested they pay a call on Hagrid. He hadn’t been seen in the Great Hall since the first task, but Harry remembered him standing with the dragon handlers with a face like a wet weekend as they hauled off the poor Chinese Fireball.
At least there was smoke coming from the short chimney when they arrived, so they knew he was around. After Ron knocked, there was some shuing and Hagrid opened the door, looking rather unkempt. “Ron, Harry, what ‘r yeh lot doing ‘ere?”
“We came by to see if you were all right,” Hermione answered, peering at him. “After what, er, happened,” she added lamely.
Hagrid’s face sagged a bit. “Oh, terrible business that. Well, come on in, got th’ kettle on. Charlie came over for a cuppa.”
Harry tensed up a bit as they filed in. He wasn’t sure he was up for dealing with Ginny’s overprotective brother this morning, but the redhead seemed very subdued as he sat at the rough-hewn table. Harry idly wondered if he was a little hung over. Once Hagrid was done being mother and everyone had politely declined the offer of Rock Cakes, he settled onto his own chair.
“I do want t’ say I’m proud of yeh, Harry,” Hagrid said after a moment, “You and that French lass went outta’ the way not to hurt th’ poor things.” He paused a moment to sniff. “It weren’t your fault someone hexed that egg, but you’ll be glad t’ know the Horntail is awake again and jes’ ne.”
“Well that’s good,” Harry agreed. “Wait. You know it was hexed?”
“Plain as day,” Charlie growled. “When we examined the shell pieces it was obviously a piercing hex. Someone got through their wards and did it deliberately to goad her.”
Harry frowned. He supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched for Snape or Malfoy to arrange someone to sabotage him.
“Snape claimed it was accidental magic,” Ron groused.
“He tried that shite with my boss,” the dragon handler snorted, “who pulled out the shell pieces and damn near made the greasy bastard eat them. We’re billing them for two intentional killings.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. “This was supposed to be a non-lethal contest, otherwise we’d never have agreed to supply clutching mothers. We lost one of nineteen adult Fireballs in western preserves! Not to mention a full clutch,” Charlie added bitterly.
Hermione was aghast. “But… why did you agree if they are so rare?”
“Politics. The tournament organizers wanted an exotic variety and they put a lot of pressure on us to cooperate through the Romanian ministry. Most of those half-wits went to Durmstrang, so the fix was in.” Charlie snarled. “But at least we got an agreement regarding safety precautions beforehand. Unless they weasel out of it some way, the penalty clauses should fund our reserve for the next three years.”
Harry also noted Luna was also looking distressed. Neville quietly took her hand.
“I still can’ believe they did somethin’ so cruel,” Hagrid said, looking down into his bucket of tea.
“Did you forget he tried to kill Harry second year?” Ron said, only to quiet down when Hermione gave him a sharp look.
“Draco’s a vicious little thug,” Harry opined, “but right now it’s Snape that’s making him dangerous.”
“You still need to be careful around him,” Ginny reminded him.
Harry scowled. “…and maybe he needs to be careful around me.”
The conversation gradually moved on to happier topics. Hagrid told stories of all the things he and Charlie had gotten up to when he was a student, some of which were quite amusing. Charlie in turn told stories from the Dragon Preserve, some of which were quite alarming. Harry realized, in his own way, Charlie was just as crazy as Hagrid, at least where dragons were concerned.
All in all, it was a pleasant time and slowly Hagrid began to look less morose. Harry supposed it was the half-giant’s own good nature, but he seemed to always be inordinately dismayed when confronting the cruelty of others. He recalled from the original timeline the man’s staunch defence of Snape on Professor Dumbledore’s word… right up until the greasy bastard murdered the headmaster. But if all it required was some company and friendly conversation to restore the kind man’s spirits, it was well worth the time.
Finally, the siren call of unfinished homework and luncheon in the Great Hall made itself heard, so Harry and his friends bade the groundskeeper farewell. As they began to make their way back, Harry heard a voice calling after him. Glancing back, he saw Charlie catching up to them.
“A word, Harry?” the elder Weasley asked.
Harry nodded cautiously. When Charlie glanced at the others, Harry guessed his hesitation and gave them a nod. Hermione led them further up the path, but not out of sight. Harry didn’t miss the cool gaze Ginny gave her brother.
Harry casually flicked his wand, erecting a simple privacy ward that would conceal their conversation.
“Yes?” “All right, I’ll come right out with it. What is the story on that murdering little shite?”
“Draco?”
“Yes. Him. I know Snape likely brewed the acid, but Malfoy is the one who delivered it. He was also the one sporting a sick little smirk as he did it and the Fireball started screaming. We were required to wait until the judges dropped the ward, so I had plenty of time to memorize his expression.” The redhead’s face was flushed with anger and his hands kept clenching into tight sts, making the cords in his forearms jump and writhe. “You know something,” Charlie accused, “something about that little shite and I want to know what it is.”
Harry knew Charlie wasn’t angry at him. He even agreed when Hagrid thanked him for trying to avoid hurting the Hungarian Horntail. But Harry found it hard not to snap back. It didn’t help that the question tapped into a wellspring of rage Harry barely kept a lid on. “It’s less something he’s done,” he said tersely, “than something he might do again.”
Charlie went very still as his face paled. “What. Did. He. Do?” he ground out.
“I don’t know for sure,” Harry began, “other than they were both at the Sacking of Hogwarts. But from the condition of her… body… whoever killed Ginny t-took their time about it. I never found Draco after that, but I know that beforehand he was aware of our… relationship.” Harry closed his eyes, ramming down the magic that wanted to erupt and destroy the clearing in a paroxysm of rage. “But part of me… knows… he did it. He caused the incursion that killed Dumbledore. I have no doubt he was there to finish the job. Nothing he has done since I came back has made me think any different.”
Charlie’s eyes were now at, assessing. “You aren’t going to let history repeat itself, even if it means breaking it off with her,” Charlie demanded.
Harry ignored the latter sentiment, focusing on the former. “If he tries to hurt her again, I will be the end of him.”
He was quiet as he re-joined his friends and entered the Great Hall for lunch. Charlie’s impromptu inquisition stirred up a lot of ugly memories and emotions best left undisturbed. An angry, paranoid corner of his soul wanted to just walk over to Draco and end him right there. Before he could do any more harm.
Finally, Ginny had enough of his brooding. “I think my brother needs a thorough hexing,” she declared.
Ron’s head jerked up from his focus on his food, frowning.
“Not you, Ron,” Ginny said. “Charlie. Either that or forbid him talking to Harry. Every time he does, he leaves Harry a complete mess.”
“It’s not him,” Harry reassured her. “Not really,” he responded to her sceptical look. Harry lowered his voice. “He asked me about Draco, and that always puts me in a foul mood.”
Ginny shrugged. “No surprise there. Try to think of something happier though. Like Draco’s face when he sees tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.”
Sure enough, the following morning the daily owl deliveries left the breakfast tables abuzz as they read the latest edition of the Prophet.
“POTTER’S STUNNING VICTORY!” the headline trumpeted. The rest of the page was dominated by an animated picture of Harry raising his wand and casting as the enraged Horntail bore down on him. Mortified as he was, Harry had to admit it did look rather impressive. Even if a bit overdramatic.
Ron gave Harry a smug look. Harry sighed and nodded. It looked like his friend’s idea just might work. He just hoped it had a discouraging effect in the future. With the legend of precociousness he’d developed to cover any slip-ups, it was unlikely he could count on future enemies underestimating him. So, he really had little to lose in that respect.
“Harry,” Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. He looked over to where his bushy-haired friend was poring over the inside sections. “There’s an opinion piece in here calling out some of the ‘obviously biased’ judgments displayed at the first task. The author is calling for a Ministry investigation into allegations of favouritism.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised someone at the head table hasn’t spontaneously combusted,” he murmured.
Hermione cleared her throat primly. “At least someone might have to display a more even-handed approach going forward if they want to avoid a scandal,” she offered.
“Perhaps,” Harry agreed. He had little doubt the Durmstrang headmaster would find another way. “Speaking of bias,” he continued, gesturing at the paper, “I didn’t win the event yesterday, Fleur did.”
“It might refer to the fact that you still won against the dragon,” Neville ventured, “even after you were sabotaged.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Harry agreed. But he wondered if that would still be true if he and Fleur swapped schools and nationalities. At least the Beauxbatons students didn’t seem to hold it against him. Maybe Neville was right.