Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing you recognize.
Warnings: AU, violence, torture, gore, language, slash.
Author's Notes: This is an AU story, though the first part is based loosely on GoF.
Yes, I have altered the events of PoA, and in general followed the movie rather than the book.
The first part of this first chapter is dark, and includes past character death(s). You have been warned!
Chapter One – Back to School
Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter was standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, at King's Cross station in London. He was about to board the bright purple Hogwarts Express. The train would then take Harry, along with the other students, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that was located somewhere in Scotland. Harry would begin his fourth year.
The previous year had been a turning point in Harry's life. He had learned he had a godfather, who had spent twelve years in Azkaban, the Wizarding prison, for a crime he had never committed.
A few hours after the revelation in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black had been Kissed by a Dementor.
Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione Granger, had used Hermione's Time-Turner to travel back into the past to prevent the death of Buckbeak the Hippogriff and the Kissing of Sirius. However, things had gone wrong.
Professor Lupin, who had transformed into his werewolf form – it had been a night of the full moon – had run after Harry and Hermione, who had been hiding in the Forbidden Forest while their past selves were in the Shack with Ron, Sirius, Lupin and Snape.
Neither of the teens had considered what would happen after Hermione imitated a werewolf's howl to attract Lupin away from past-Harry, and that had cost them dearly. The werewolf, with its superior speed and agility, had caught up to the thirteen-year-olds, and attacked Hermione. Harry had frozen on the spot, watching in horror as the beast sank its razor-sharp teeth in the girl's neck.
It had been a quick, although terrible death.
Then, just as the werewolf was about to lunge at Harry, who was oblivious to everything except Hermione's lifeless body, Buckbeak galloped from behind the boy, threatening to hit the monster with his powerful hooves. Faced with an angry Hippogriff, the werewolf had fled. Unfortunately, its attack had caused the Time-Turner to smash.
Faced with the simple fact that there was nothing he could do to help Hermione, Harry broke down. Leaning against Buckbeak, the third-year wept, mourning the loss of a great friend and brilliant witch.
When Harry had finally recovered enough to leave the Forest, he realized he was most likely too late to save Sirius. The man would get Kissed by the Lake, just like the first time. Dumbledore would then arrive, driving away the Dementors with his Phoenix Patronus before the foul creatures would have the chance to Kiss Harry and Hermione as well.
Harry had hurried toward the Lake, just in case. However, all he had seen had been Dumbledore and Snape conjuring stretchers to get the two teens to the Hospital Wing. Ron was already lying on a third hovering stretcher.
Hermione and Harry's mission had failed, dreadfully. Buckbeak had gotten away, yes, but Sirius and Hermione had not survived.
Harry had spent three quarters of the summer mourning those two people. His fourteenth birthday had been gloomier than any of the previous July 31sts during Harry's life at the Dursleys'.
In the end, though, the green-eyed teen had run out of tears, and his ability of feeling sorrow had temporarily vanished. That rainy day in mid-August had been the day when Harry Potter became as independent as was possible for a minor like him. He would no longer need adults watching his back, nor would he need brighter friends to get him through the yearly exams. Harry also realized he had been under-achieving for the past three years.
When in Muggle primary school, Harry had always been forced to do worse than his idiot of a cousin. Apparently that had gone on for so long Harry had not even noticed he had not done his best at Hogwarts.
That was about to change.
All in all, a very changed Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, 1994.
He managed to find an empty compartment, and quickly entered it. After placing his trunk on the luggage rack above the bench, Harry let his beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig, out of her cage. She was his first and truest friend, her large amber eyes watching him with affection.
"You're such a magnificent owl; you know that, don't you, Hedwig?" Harry asked the bird, stroking her silky feathers.
Hedwig hooted softly in response, gently nipping at Harry's fingers.
The compartment door then opened, admitting a tall, redheaded boy.
As soon as Ron Weasley spotted Harry sitting by the window, he gave an audible growl and left, slamming the door shut behind him.
Oh, yes. Harry had forgotten about Ron blaming him for Hermione's tragic death… as if there had been anything Harry could have done to stop the rampaging werewolf - the werewolf who was currently on the run from the Ministry. From what Harry had gathered Dumbledore had helped Lupin leave the country, because he was wanted for murder. The Headmaster had gotten in trouble after it was discovered he had hired a werewolf, aware of the Lycanthropy the man suffered from. According to the Ministry, werewolves were too dangerous to be allowed to be around normal people, even if they dosed themselves with Wolfsbane Potion every full moon.
However, the Headmaster had slipped off the hook, using the power his various titles provided him with. Harry found that action downright cowardly; Dumbledore did everything he could to save his own skin, but didn't bother helping Lupin so that the former Professor would not have needed to flee Britain. Due to that, Harry's respect for the ancient wizard had diminished significantly.
The Sorting had just ended, and Dumbledore stood up to give his start-of-year speech.
"Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts for yet another year!" the Headmaster began, beaming at the students. "Once again, I have an introduction to make. Please welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody!"
A man with a mismatching pair of eyes – one normal, the other magical – and a heavily scarred face raised a hand in form of a greeting. Harry could only hope Moody was both a competent teacher and fully human.
"Now, on to something you are all sure to enjoy. I have the pleasure to inform you that this year, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!"
Whispers followed that announcement. Harry had no clue as to what the Triwizard Tournament was, but those students who had been raised in the Wizarding World apparently did. There were dozens and dozens of conversations going on in the Hall.
Dumbledore then went over the rather dark history of the Tournament, mentioning some of the participants – Champions – had gotten killed during the Tasks. The Tournament had not been held in a hundred years, despite many failed attempts to revive the tradition. Three magical schools would participate in the Triwizard Tournament; Hogwarts of Britain, Beauxbatons of France and Durmstrang of Norway.
The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students then entered the Great Hall, along with the Heads of the schools.
Igor Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, was a tall, dark man with a small goatee. His eyes were like two cold, black tunnels.
Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was about the same height as Hagrid. She had short, black hair and brown eyes.
A majority of the French seemed to be girls, whereas most of the Durmstrang students were boys.
After the guests had found seats, Dumbledore spoke again. "Due to the Tournament, this year's Quidditch Cup has been cancelled – but I am certain there will be enough action even without Quidditch."
"The Triwizard Tournament consists of three Tasks, all of which are highly dangerous. Therefore, the Ministry has decided that no one under the age of seventeen will be able to even attempt to enter the Tournament."
"What?"
"That's not fair!"
"Ridiculous!"
"We're not kids!"
As if no one had commented on the restriction, the Headmaster of Hogwarts continued, "There will be one Champion from each school, and those three students shall be chosen by an impartial judge – the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore opened the metal box that was sitting on the table, taking out a large wooden goblet that would not have seemed special, had it not had deep blue flames ebbing up the edges.
"The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall, and those desiring to enter their names have a week to do so. I must warn you, though: if you are chosen as a Champion by the Goblet of Fire, there is no turning back. The Goblet's magical contracts are binding. The three Tasks the Champions will be participating in will all require advanced knowledge of magic, advanced skills, and full control of one's emotions. Do not enter on a whim."
September 1st had been a Thursday, so classes began the very next day.
Harry's decision to quit being an under-achiever was put to a test right away, as the fourth-year Gryffindors' first class was double Potions.
"If I'm chosen as the Hogwarts Champion, I'm going to demand to be allowed to skip the greasy git's class," Ron grumbled, much to the amusement of those sitting around him.
"Are you deaf, Weasley?" Harry commented sardonically. "Dumbledore said no one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter. Last time I checked, fourteen was less than seventeen."
"Oh, shut up, Potter. No one wanted to hear your opinion, you murderer!"
"Calm down, mate," said Seamus Finnigan, putting a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "You don't want to anger him too much – who knows what he might do."
Oh, so Weasley had managed to brainwash the Irishman.
"Yeah, you'd better listen to Finnigan," Harry said menacingly. "I have talked with Voldemort, after all, and you have absolutely no way of knowing what we discussed." With the threat hanging in the air, Harry left the Hall. He had been bluffing, of course, but the others needn't know that. Let them think Voldemort had taught Harry some very Dark and nasty curses, in addition to the Killing Curse.
The familiar route to the dungeons felt shorter than before, and Harry found himself standing outside the Potions classroom after what felt like mere minutes. Leaning against a stone wall, Harry mentally prepared himself for the ninety minutes he'd spend in the dungeon; it would not be a good idea to face Snape in the angry mood Harry was in, thanks to Weasley and his accusations.
"Trying to get extra credit by showing up early, Potter?"
Groaning inwardly, Harry turned to look at the group of Slytherins who had just arrived, Malfoy in the lead. The blond was smirking in his usual, arrogant way, his gray eyes full of malice.
"No, Malfoy. There are realistic goals to spend my time on, thank you very much."
"Yeah, like passing your exams without that Mudblood helping you all the time," mocked Parkinson. She was obviously expecting Harry to attempt to hex her for calling his late friend Mudblood.
Instead, Harry's tone merely got a little colder. "You could say that to Weasley, Parkinson. I never needed Hermione's help as much as he did. Without her, he would never have made it to second year." It was exaggerating, but Harry didn't care. There was a seed of truth in his words, however.
Then, just as the pug-faced girl opened her mouth to launch another nasty comment, a terrible pain in the famous lightning bolt scar made Harry clutch his head in agony. It was worse than anything he had ever experienced; even getting bitten by the Basilisk had been less painful than this. However, the pain was gone rather soon. Harry looked up from the floor where he'd apparently fallen, on his knees, only to see the Potions Master towering over him.
Brilliant, just what I needed...
With as much dignity as he could muster, Harry stood up, brushing off the dust on his robes.
Something warm and wet was running down his face, a drop soon falling onto the floor. The gray stone turned red as the liquid hit it.
Shit. Stupid scar...
"As much as you surely enjoy playing the hero, with a bleeding scar your forehead, Mr. Potter, you are to go to the infirmary this instant," Snape said darkly. "Curse scars like yours will not stop bleeding without a professional Healer's help."
Reluctantly looking up to meet the man's onyx gaze, Harry replied, "Yes, sir." With a defeated sigh, the Gryffindor then headed towards the Hospital Wing, feeling the eyes of the rest of the class on him – until the Professor barked at them to enter the classroom.
Such a great day, today... Thank Merlin it's Friday.
Madam Pomfrey refused to release Harry before lunch, insisting she needed to be sure the scar would not start bleeding again the instant Harry left her territory.
So, by the time lunch finally rolled around, the fourteen-year-old was more than happy to leave the Hospital Wing.
As Harry entered the Great Hall, more than half of the students there turned to look at him. It seemed the story of what had happened after breakfast had spread fast, even by Hogwarts' standards. Ignoring the stares, Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table, choosing a seat that was as far from everyone as possible.
About halfway through the meal, Harry felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. It was easy enough to recognize the Headmaster's gaze, because there was a unique...feel to it. Dumbledore seemed to want Harry to look up and at him, but the student refused to do so, instead focusing on his Shepherd's Pie.
Harry would have Defence Against the Dark Arts next, and he was looking forward to the lesson. Moody seemed like a competent teacher, if a little eccentric. With his magical eye and wooden leg, Moody was like a warrior, who had been through a lot.
And that turned out to be the case.
The very first thing Professor Moody did after entering the Defence classroom was to bellow at his students.
"Constant Vigilance!"
Almost everyone jumped, and Moody offered them a grimmest of smiles.
"It is my job to arm you against the Dark Arts, although I only have one year to accomplish that. As a former Auror, I find that time entirely too short. Therefore, we will begin with the worst spells there are – the Unforgivable Curses. Can any of you name one of those three?"
Most of the students looked at each other, and around the classroom, but no one seemed inclined to name an Unforgivable.
Finally, Harry raised his hand.
"Mr. Potter?"
"The Avada Kedavra curse, sir."
"Ah, the Killing Curse. The worst of them all, the one spell whose damage cannot be undone." Moody seemed to enjoy the topic of the Unforgivables, though not in a way a Death Eater would. "There's no counter, and only one person in the entire world has ever survived the curse. Now, I believe in practical demonstration, and am going to show you what these three curses do. You cannot know the spells if you have never seen them cast on a living being."
Seemingly oblivious to the horrified whispers among the students, Moody opened a drawer of his desk, pulling out a glass jar with three spiders in it. He took off the lid of the jar, picking up one of the creatures.
"Engorgio."
The spider was now thrice as large as it had been, its hairy legs the length of Moody's middle finger.
As the Professor raised his wand again, a few students covered their eyes with their hands, knowing what was about to happen to the spider. Harry, however, watched in fascinated interest.
"Avada Kedavra." The words were spoken quietly, yet loud enough for the class to hear. An all-too-familiar jet of green light shot out of Moody's wand, hitting the spider. The insect instantly collapsed, life leaving its magically enlarged body.
Vanishing the dead spider, Moody picked up another one.
"What about the other two Unforgivable Curses? Use one of the three and you'll earn yourself a one-way ticket to Azkaban."
Neville half-raised a shaking hand, looking absolutely terrified.
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"
"The-there's th-the Cru-Cruciatus Curse, sir," the Gryffindor said in a small voice.
"Indeed. Nasty one - the cruellest of spells, if you ask me. Engorgio."
"Crucio."
The spider started to writhe on Moody's palm, and had it been human, Harry was sure it would have been screaming.
Not a second too soon, Moody lifted the curse, leaving the spider lying limp.
"That is what you will be facing, should you ever have the misfortune of being face to face with Dark wizards. The Cruciatus Curse is a favourite among the Death Eaters, and those bastards know where the curse hurts the most. Constant Vigilance!"
Again the class jumped.
"One more curse, the most useful of the three. Anyone?"
Terry Boot raised his hand, obviously relieved the worst of the three curses had already been covered.
"Mr. Boot?"
"The Imperius Curse, Professor."
"Yes, another favourite among Death Eaters. Handy, isn't it, claiming they only worked for You-Know-Who because they were under the Imperius."
A third spider was taken out of the jar.
"Imperio."
The spider began tap-dancing.
"Complete control – I can make it do anything. Do you see how clever it was to use this curse as an excuse for getting caught with the Dark Mark on your arm?"
All of a sudden, the spider leapt at Weasley, landing on the boy's face. The redhead, being afraid of all things spider, froze. Harry found the scene rather amusing, but kept his merriment to himself.
"One bite from it, and you would be dead," Moody said, his eyes on Weasley but words addressed to the class in general. "Its poison is more effective than a Basilisk's – and I assume you all know that that is saying something."
Yeah, I do, Harry thought. He would never forget the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's Basilisk. Only Fawkes' tears had saved his life that day.
The end of class bell then rang, and Moody lifted the Imperius, Summoning the spider back to him.
"Next week, we'll be continuing on the practical. Come prepared. Constant Vigilance!"
The class jumped before leaving the classroom.
History of Magic was as boring as ever, but Harry forced himself to stay awake and take notes. He took great pleasure in noticing that the rest of the Gryffindors, Weasley in particular, had fallen asleep five minutes into the lesson.
After Binns finally ended his lecture for the day, and glided back through the blackboard, Harry was relieved. However, the relief soon vanished as he realized he had no idea about the homework Snape and Sprout had assigned. And while the Hufflepuff was perfectly approachable, going to Snape to ask about the homework would have been nothing short of a suicide mission, especially for Harry.
In the end, luck seemed to be on Harry's side. He was in the common room, writing his History essay, when Neville approached him.
"Harry?"
Looking up, Harry was surprised to see Neville standing there. "Hi, Neville. What's up?"
"I – I thought I'd give you the homework for Potions and Herbology," Neville said a little nervously, "seeing as you missed both of those classes."
Genuine gratefulness flooded Harry's face and voice. "Thanks, I'd really appreciate that! In fact, I was about to go find Professor Sprout...but I had no idea how to find out what Snape assigned."
The two then spent the rest of the evening working on their essays, helping each other when needed. Harry discovered Neville was truly gifted at Herbology, knowing a large number of facts not in their text.
Weasley made a couple attempts at getting Neville to join his group of friends, but the Longbottom heir determinedly declined the invitations.
The redhead did not have all of the Gryffindors behind him, it seemed.
End of Chapter Note: I know the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students did not originally arrive at the start of the term, but I changed that so that I could have the First Task on Halloween.