colder than ice by sin of existence

by mellow.fellow

Harry is not the boy who lived. His brother, Henry Potter is. Yep, he's a stuck up git. Enjoy the bashing of him, James and Lily. LOL is nigh. It will also be a SuperHarry? e pairings will be HarryXLuna and OCXFleur. second part of the three part ice series NOTE: this isn't my story. M for language and violence as well as some steamy scenes.

Harry glanced apathetically out the window of the Express. The Scottish highlands passed by in a near blur. In the background, there was the buzz of conversation.

"...And then, Dad showed me this HUGE preserve, where he kept the plants and animals he made for his personal potions..."

Matt was rambling about his summer. Harry knew that Matt spent the summers half with his father, and half in a muggle summer school. Harry knew that the Muggle world had plenty to offer, so he could see the sense in sending him there. He himself wouldn't mind going to one, if he didn't know his parents would never go for the idea.

Besides, he was emancipated now, a legal adult in the eyes of the wizarding world. Since he was not of age, he still had to stay under the same roof as his parents, and they still held some power over him, since he was still a Potter. But he was in a sort of distant branch, now. A Potter, but not of the main family.

Harry was rather peeved that he had missed out on the Quiddich World Cup, but later was pleased as he missed a huge Death Eater attack that left the Wizarding World reeling with shock. Dumbledore showed up at the Potter Manor a lot more frequently, then, for Henry's special training.

So basically, out of the public eye. Just as Dumbledore had intended. So as soon as he turned seventeen, he would be utterly free of them.

It was a debt on Harry. One he intended to right as soon as possible. He had no intention of ending up like Snape, shackled to the Headmaster.

"I read Slytherin's diary." Harry cut in, hoping to stop Matt's blather. It worked.

"Really?" Matt asked curiously. "I thought that it wouldn't come off the pedestal."

"It wouldn't. There were a few scorch marks where Voldy tried to blast it off. It didn't have any charms against copying spells, though." Harry admitted. "It was quite...interesting."

"Do tell." Matt prompted.

"All sorts of insights into his personal life. Did you know he was involved in a scandalous affair with Ravenclaw?" Matt adapted a gobsmacked expression, something Harry chuckled at. "Yep. She knew about the Chamber the entire time. Even helped him build the library."

"Huh. Anything useful? Like how to open the third floor?"

Of the three floors of the library, the first two had been easily accessible. But the third, and final, also Slytherin's sleeping quarters, had remained stubbornly shut and locked when Harry had tried to open it. Harry had tried a number of unlocking spells, but naturally, had come up dry.

"A riddle. Lady Ravenclaw had a hand in that, as well, as he wrote that he put his most secret and precious tomes up there. I bet ol' Tommy boy threw a fit when he couldn't get up there." Harry joked. Matt sat up straighter.

"I'm pretty good with riddles. Lay it on me." Harry shrugged, and recited it.

" I quote, A saying of women and emotions, of which truer words were never spoken. Almost like a analogy of my own life with my Rowena, and how it ended." Matt adopted a pensive expression, his brow furrowed.

"He broke up with her?" Matt questioned.

"Apparently, yes, their relationship got rocky, and his writings got a little hazy later on in the diary. He started his pureblood regime, and she disapproved. Basically, he got fed up and left."

"So the legendary break up of the most famous quartet in magical Europe was because of a lover's spat?" Matt grinned.

"Possibly, but I doubt it. There's probably something deeper." Harry mused.

"Whatever. You're definitely letting me have a gander at that library, though." Matt warned, pushing a finger at him. Harry let out a exasperated sigh.

"Yes, yes, I already told you I would, quit bitching, you're acting like a-"

The door to the compartment opened, admitting Luna, with her arms full of sweets from the cart, forever setting a Mystery of what Harry thought Matt was acting like at that moment.

"They've got a much larger selection this year." Luna announced brightly, dumping them all on the seat. They quickly pounced upon the sweets.

Hey, they may have been mature for their age, but that didn't mean they were kids sometimes too.

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"...And now, I would like to welcome you to another year at our beloved Hogwarts." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled up a storm. "First, let us welcome back Harry Potter to our student body, who has undergone a miraculous recovery from the incident two years ago."

Harry grimaced at the assortment of clapping.

"I do have several important announcements. For one, I have managed to acquire a very famous Auror's help for our instruction in Defense Against The Dark Arts. Some of you may already know him. Please welcome Alastor Moody."

Harry chuckled as the door to the Hall banged open, admitting the grizzled and scarred war veteran, who's magical blue eye swiveled and swerved, causing many students to shiver and shrink back in their seats. No doubt, some of them had heard the tales of the legendry 'Mad-Eye' Moody, and his eccentric qualities. The clicking of his pegged leg ceased as he took a seat.

Dumbledore raised a hand, and the fearful murmurs in the hall ceased immediately. Harry could instantly recognize the mild blanket compulsion charm the Headmaster had utilized, from the flaring of his aura, easily recognized by Harry's second sight. He found that he could nearly know what spells were coming before they came, if they were familiar enough, like a Stunner or Disarmer.

"I would also like to inform you that there will be no Inner-House? Quiddich Cup being held this year." Instantly, protests rose up. Harry was a bit taken aback. Quiddich was the main source of relieving tension and testosterone in the school. Dumbledore had to know taking it away would be detrimental to his 'peaceful' mindset.

Unless there was something else replacing it. Harry's eyes narrowed as Dumbledore spoke his next words.

"Instead, I have the great pleasure of informing you that I have managed to convince the Minister to reinstate a very old, very honored tradition." Harry repressed a snort. Trust Dumbledore to make sure no one forgot his power. "This year, in lieu of the Quiddich Cup, we will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, right here at Hogwarts."

"YOU'RE JOKING!" Fred Weasley exclaimed loudly, upsetting several students around him. Dumbledore smiled slightly.

" I most certainly am not, Mr. Weasley, though I did hear a excellent one about a hag, a leprechaun and a troll who walk into a bar..." McGonnagal? cleared her throat loudly. Dumbledore ceased his brief moment of senility and continued. "Right. To those who do not know what it entails, the Triwizard Tournament..."

Harry tuned him out as Dumbledore explained the guidelines and such. He had read about this event in Hogwarts: A History, as the footnote had caught his eye. A magical tournament that brought several schools together sounded like a good way to meet new people and forge alliances.

"Beauxbatons and Durmstrang shall be arriving soon, and I expect you to all be on your best behavior and treat them with the utmost respect, seeing as they will essentially be ambassadors for their respective magical nations. Now, without further ado, let the feast begin!"

The General hubbub of talk and chatter filled the hall, undoubtedly about the upcoming tournament.

Harry turned, and tried very hard not to groan as he saw the eager look on Matt's face. It didn't work.

"You can't be seriously considering entering that tournament. Matt, it's a death trap!" The grin did not fade in the slightest.

"Who cares? Think what you could do with all that money, Harry! I could start my own business!" Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry, you seem to have overlooked something. Oh wait, I know. Your dad is freaking loaded! You're already set for life!" To his surprise, Matt shook his head.

"Nope. There's a Cooke family tradition. Make your own fortune. A Cooke doesn't inherit anything but the knowledge he learns. I get a monthly stipend to buy my own food and clothes, and if I spend it all, I go hungry, except for nutrient potions. When Dad kicks it, all that wealth will go to a charity selected randomly on a list."

Harry frowned. "That sounds...harsh." Matt shook his head.

"Nah, it's not that bad. He doesn't beat me or neglect me or anything. It teaches me how to be self sufficient. Teaches me how to spend money. If I win that prize, I'll be one step closer to realizing the family goal; start a business, make money." Matt winced. "Ooh, speaking of Dad. He found out I was a Animagus."

Now it was Harry's turn to be alarmed. "What? How?"

Matt grinned sheepishly. "Walked in on me midtransformation. He really shit a chicken, let me tell you. I didn't tell him about you, but he still made me register myself. Damned laws and crap."

Harry subsided, then his curiosity was piqued. "So you know what you are, now?"

Matt perked up. "Oh, yeah! I'll show you later, after we stop by that library." Harry chuckled.

"I doubt you'll want to leave once you get in there, Matt. You'll be like a child in a candy shop." Matt glared.

"Hey! I can SO control myself."

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"HOLY SHIT!" Matt screamed.

Harry stood somewhat off to the side, as Matt let his jaw flap, waving his arms for effect. Harry smirked slightly.

"Indeed. How very eloquent of you, Mr. Cooke." Harry intoned. Matt was too shocked to be angry.

"I didn...I-..." Matt tried and failed to form coherent words to describe the wealth of knowledge in front of him. He settled for simple. "Bi-i-i-i-ii-i-i-ii-ig!" Matt pointed emphatically. Very simple.

Harry sighed. "Am I going to have to hold your hand through this?" Matt finally gathered himself to glare back at him.

"Hey! You've got to admit, this is fucking worth a little amazement." Matt gestured at the large library with a sweeping hand gesture.

"Well, I didn't scream like a bitch when I saw it." Harry informed him tartly. Matt bounded up the stairs, laughing the whole way, completely ignoring Harry's presence.

"I am gonna be rich, IIIIiiie aaam gonna be R.I.C.H!" Matt sang exultantly as he bounded from tome to tome.

Harry followed at a more demure pace, knowing he'd have as much time as he wanted to peruse this treasure chest of forbidden and lost knowledge.

When he finally reached the final step, he found Matt practically in two places as once as he started yanking books off of their shelves, babbling the whole time.

"Christ, this is a handwritten draft of the original Malleus Maleficium! Harry, do you have any idea what a Witch's Hammer original manuscript would go for at a museum?" Matt turned his gaze upwards. "Thank you God, thank yooooooou!"

"You'll be doing no such thing of course, since they would ask where you got it..." Harry was once again ignored in favor of another book.

"Oh, gods above, a Alchemica Vitas volume, there are only a hundred of these in existence, do you know that, Harry?" Matt dashed to another stack, spotting another title that caught his eye

"Matt, if you don't stop jumping around like a fucking rabbit on crack, I'm going to hex you into a fucking pile of anal seepage." Harry snapped.

To his surprise, Matt simply sent him a saucy grin.

"Naughty, naughty, Harry, if you do that, who's going to tell you the answer to Slytherin's riddle?" Harry's eyes visibly widened.

"You already figured it out?" Harry asked incredulously. Matt smiled.

"Maaaaybe." A vein in Harry's eyebrow twitched.

"Matt, I swear to God..." Matt held up a hand.

"I want unrestricted access to this place, and my pick of any ten of the treasures I find here to be mine." He announced.

The first one wasn't anything; Harry had already planned on allowing that. The second, though..."Unrestricted access and any five of the books you find here, with copies for me." Harry returned.

"Access and seven books and two non-books, with copies." Matt wheedled.

"Access and six books and one non book, with copies. And I reserve the right to deny you two of them." Harry stated flatly. "Take it or get the fuck out."

"Fine." Matt retorted. "But I get to make my own copies, for myself." Harry nodded in acceptance.

Matt climbed the steps of the winding central stairwell until he was about a inch away from knocking his head on the locked passage to Slytherin's Secret Quarters.

He daintily let his head rest against the hard stone, before opening his mouth.

"Heaven hath no power like love turned to hate, nor Hell a fury like that of a women scorned." He recited easily. He smiled cheekily at Harry, who glared.

"Matt, are you kidding me? There's no way that Salazar fucking Slyth-"

Harry was cut off by a deep rumbling as the stone door ground open slowly, leaving Matt whistling and leaning on the wall next to it. Still wearing that infuriating grin.

"Oh, fine." Harry snapped impatiently. "You were right, and for one moment in this realm of being, actually right where I was wrong. Now put away that smile or I will put it away for you."

Matt surprisingly heeded his word, schooling his face to stillness. Harry ascended the staircase, and they both entered the final floor of Slytherin's secret library.

Surprisingly, this floor was barely a library at all. It was a bedroom.

A large king sized green and silver bed lay against the wall, undisturbed for what was no doubt centuries of misuse. The entire room was circular, and many glass cases were aligned against the wall, and hung on them. Trophies, swords, strange knicknacks Harry had no name for yet was sure were important and rare. There was a single bookcase in the room, so tall it reached the ceiling.

In the middle of the room, a large circular table stood, just like on the second floor, although much scaled down, or course. Across from the bed, a delicate metal frame supported what could have easily been a hundred wine bottles, most probably the finest vintage.

But it was when you looked up that it really took the cake.

A large, bone white skeleton hung from the ceiling. It was a dead hydra, one of the most rare and dangerous monsters around, which spoke levels about the power and skill Slytherin must have commanded. Each of the heads was fitted with a curved metal rod. The necks arched down and opened, holding human skulls delicately in each pristine jaw. The skulls were open, each holding a large, green inflagration of Ever-Burning? Fire.

Harry sighed and didn't look behind him. He didn't need to. "I can tell you're about to soil yourself, so go ahead and let it out."

"YEEEEEEEES! YESYESYEYSYES!" Matt screamed. He panted a few times, before schooling his features. "I'm done. Let's look at his 'rarest knowledge and tomes'. "

Harry nodded, and they both headed over to the single bookshelf in the room, pulling out titles that interested them.

"Hmm, Magical Dolours, by Salazar Slytherin. That oughta be good..." Harry muttered.

Nearby, Matt let out a triumphant whoop. Harry turned.

"What?"

"a Enchanting the Soul!" Harry winced at the volume. Then he realized what Matt just said.

"Seriously!?" Harry asked.

Enchanting the Soul was one of the supposed seven volumes in a series that detailed how to enchant objects. Sounds boring?

Not a chance.

Enchanting was a very tricky process, right up there with Alchemy on the lists of most difficult professions. You needed Arithmacy, Wards Training, Ancient Runes, a almost complete knowledge of magical creatures, and Potions. And that was just for enchanting within the rules.

Enchanting a object required three steps; Acquire a magical core, draw out a enchanting array to detail what effect exactly you wanted to graft onto a object, and then bind it to the object.

Problem Number One: Magical cores were very expensive, and hard to come by. Plus, each enchanting realm needed a very specific core to gain the effect you wanted.

Problem Number Two: Enchanting arrays were hard. As in crazy hard. As in, training from birth hard. And if you made one itsy bitsy mistake in the runes, or smudged a line, or just breathed too hard on one particular piece of ink, you could end up with a ring that crushes your organs and then makes them sprout little tiny wings and fly out your ass, instead of just a little ring that wards off the sniffles.

Problem number Three: There was no way to experiment.

Each enchanting array that was legalized by the Ministry had been repeated, a hundred times each, to prove that nothing other than what they thought happened happened. And the only way to experiment was to try out your wild-card enchantments on humans, since they often had completely different affects on animals. And that was a big no-no, since anything could happen. And that meant anything.

Enchanting the Soul was not so much a book as much as a dictionary. It would map out a array, tell you what it did, tell you what core you needed, then give you a big warning at the start of each page.

The upsides? It made you insanely rich.

Enchantments weren't like charms; They stayed with a object forever. Charms would fade over time, or need to be renewed, or be dispelled. Enchantments didn't. You were literally grafting a living magical core to a inanimate object. Sure, it drained your magic while it was in affect. But it always worked and never failed, unless destroyed. Never.

Rings to ward off sickness, necklaces and cloaks of invisibility, hell, the sword of Gryffindor was a enchanting wonder. Enchanters made oodles of money.

But they were forced to stay within the bounds of the already known arrays. If you have a death wish but still want to contribute to society in some way with your death, fuck the Army, take a array and then change a few lines. You'll die sooner or later. Pinky swear.

Only three volumes of Enchanting the Soul had ever been recovered. No author ever was mentioned, only that three more books were available and the seventh was in production. Some people thought it was the Atlanteans, or Merlin himself, who had wrote the books.

"Which Volume?" Harry snapped.

Matt quickly tugged on the book. It was huge. It was as thick as Harry's shoulders. Matt tumbled to the floor, book on his stomach.

He quickly opened the cover.

Then, Matt fainted. Harry quickly hurried over, admonishing him.

"Come on, you pansy, it can't be that..."

Then, words failed him as he looked upon the books neatly gold embroidered title.

The Complete Works;

Enchanting the Soul, Volumes One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven.

By Azarath Omnisluctus

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"MINE!" Matt had shouted, as soon as he awoke.

"Fine. I don't have the patience or the time for enchanting." Harry returned boredly. Matt, meanwhile, was caressing the cover.

"Yes...who's going to make Matt lots of money...you are! You are!" Matt giggled slightly insanely as he ran one hand across the worn leather. "My precious..."

"Sure. that's not creepy at all..." Harry deadpanned. "But isn't enchanting pretty dangerous?" Matt shook his head quickly.

"Not for me. Harry, don't you see? I already have most of what I need. The Potions and magical creatures knowledge, those are almost instinctual, I could probably get a mastery in those if I really felt like getting that kind of attention. I'm taking some advanced classes on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. All I really need is some Wards training, and I'm good to go."

Matt was excited, this Harry could tell, so decided to play along a little bit.

"I know a few simple wards, like privacy and a few traps, but not much..." Matt snorted.

"Harry, we're not talking regular wards here. We're talking extreme damage control wards, magical containment wards...Most of the more complex ones need customized wards, just to mold the magical core into the object and design what it'll do." Matt frowned. "And the only Wards Master close enough to ask would be Dumbledore, and bang goes that idea, you know..."

"Slytherin's bound to have some books on Wards down there somewhere." Harry took out his wand. "Serpensortia!"

A long black cobra shot out of his wand. It landed with a thump, before curling around to stare at Harry.

"What is your bidding, my masssster?" It hissed.

"Look for any book with these," Harry quickly drew the word WARDS in the air with his wand. "Words on them."

The cobra slithered down the stairs quickly. Matt looked on in interest.

"Hey, that's pretty smart..." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Duh, I'm the one who thought of it." Matt was preoccupied with withdrawing his wand, however.

"Avis!"

A red finch leapt out of Matt's wand. It fluttered quickly around his head, while he chittered to it in Aeritongue. He quickly summoned four more finches, and they flew down the stairs.

At Harry's questioning gaze, he answered. "A single finch can't carry a huge book." Harry nodded.

In short order, they summoned a taskforce of snakes and birds to go looking for Wards books. They began getting results soon, snakes slithering in in duos, carrying books on their backs, since Harry had incinerated the first one who came back using it's fangs in the book, and groups of a dozen finches often supporting a single book.

Matt began eagerly opening volumes, spreading them out in fanlike fashion. He looked perfectly ready to spend the night there. Harry cleared his throat.

"Before you get immersed," Matt looked up, a somewhat annoyed look on his face. "Didn't you say something about a Animagus form, and showing me it?" Harry finished.

A wolflike grin sprung to life on Matt's face.

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"Why are we up on the Astronomy Tower again, Harry?" Luna asked, rubbing her arms to keep the chill away. She had been rooted out of bed just for this occasion.

"Matt said something about needing the room." Harry muttered, quickly taking off his robe and handing it to her, leaving himself in his T-shirt and boxers. She shot him a grateful look and donned the second robe.

"And now, without further ado, the moment you have all been waiting for!" Matt yelled, spreading his arms wide.

"Attention-whore..." Harry muttered, unheard by Matt as he suddenly crouched.

Matt's form suddenly shot up, feathers erupting from his robes, beak coming out of his face like a sharp hook, talons and wings replacing his limbs. His avian form grew and grew until he towered above them, nearly twice as tall as Hagrid.

His sharp yellow eyes peered at them intently. Harry felt a distinct shrinking feeling as that odd intimidation factor that emanated from Matt's gaze worked it's toll on him.

The towering eagle gave a sharp cry, spreading it's wings and flapping them once, for effect. Harry and Luna were suddenly buffeted by a hard curtain of air, that had their hair and clothes whipping around them.

Then, Matt changed back, leaving him panting a bit on his knees.

"Skumring Eagle. One of the largest birds around. Only live in cold climates. Eyes can paralyze. Used to immobilize prey." Matt panted out, between gasps for air. He gulped down a large breath. "It's still pretty tiring for me to do a instant transformation like that. It's better if I can do a slower morph."

"Impressive." Harry admitted.

Matt grinned.

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They spent the next few weeks just cruising.

Matt excluded, of course. He was whipped into a frenzy.

Nearly every day, he had a new letter to send out on his falcon, and nearly every day, he received a new parcel.

Unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings, the occasional phoenix feather. He grabbed both the eyes of the basilisk in the Chamber, and a good deal of it's scales. Luna was nice enough to sew the basilisk skin into a full suit. And repair it when there were blast holes blown into it.

Magical cores. They were to real problem in Matt's little projects. They were draining his bank account at a prodigious rate, or so he told Harry. Apart from his monthly stipend, he made some money off to the side, selling potions to the student populace, mostly on Hogsmeade weekends. It had started last year, while Harry was in a coma. It was surprising how many contraceptive and stamina potions were needed.

Matt did not have a official business, no. People just knew, if your girlfriend or boyfriend was pressuring you to take the next step, or if you were just a couple of horny teenagers who wanted to fuck like rabbits, Matt was the man to go for a liquid condom. For a few Galleons, you were set to screw till the sun rose. Harry was truly surprised at the ingenuity of preying on a hormonal buying force such as the Hogwarts populace.

Also, he told Harry, he made a couple of pounds in the summer at his Muggle school, singing in a band. His bandmates were all either Squibs or just other wizards.

But magical cores were expensive. Really expensive. Unicorn hairs could easily cost two Galleons per hair. Phoenix feathers were never less than ten.

Harry had no doubt that Matt was good enough to actually learn enchanting. So that's why he wasn't extremely surprised when Matt presented him with a ring, nearly a week after he started learning.

It was a simple band, polished steel. It conjured a shield around just your hand, a localized block. They were almost disgustingly common around dueling rings, used to block or swat spells out of the way. They were referred to as 'Dueler's Shields'. Often, you weren't considered a real duelist until you got one.

Harry probably could have bought one, for around twenty Galleons. He had enough money.

But the fact that it was Matt that made it stopped him from selling it something frivolous, his very first venture into the world of enchanting.

"When you're a old bastard, sitting in front of your fire with your kids, you can show them this, and tell them it was Matt the Magnificent's very first creation!" Matt enthused.

Harry proceeded to turn his ears in to kumquats, with a very amusing spell learned from Luna.

Matt had bought a huge magical easel, that wiped itself clean on command. Harry thought it was a very retarded thing to waste ten Galleons on, until he saw how insanely complex the array was for just that simple Dueler's shield.

It started with just a circular line of runes, like a figure eight. It was about four feet long. The item to be enchanted went in one circle, and the core in the other.

Harry had scoffed.

Then, Matt had added another, circular ring around the figure eight.

Then another.

Then another.

Then, he had spiderwebbed runes in between the rings, in complex patterns, like lace and thread in clothing. He had continued doing this until it looked like a mess of runic shapes, like a stained glass window of lines of runes. Harry's second sight could see each one as a different color, making it look like each line was written with a glow in the dark crayon.

Then, Matt sat there for roughly five minutes, rattling off wards around the array, some Harry knew, most Harry didn't. Harry watched as the wards cast themselves in a dome-like shape around the array, until they were so completely overlapping that it looked like a rainbow shit all over it.

Matt then pointed his wand at the array, and muttered, "Iungo, iunxi, iunctum," Usually followed by a different word each time.

Then the whole array lit up like a damn flashlight, nearly blinding Harry's second sight for around a minute, and Matt was on his knees, sweat rolling down his face, clutching his prize with a weary grin of triumph.

Which was when Harry curtly stopped his scoffing.

Sure, Harry was a virtual spellbook on legs. He could also whip up new spells in a single night, should he feel the inclination. Strictly speaking, you needed a Spell-Creation? license from the Ministry to do this, but Harry was not old enough, and didn't feel like waiting three more years to get one.

But this, this was complex. Harry was impressed. Really impressed. Not that he'd ever tell Matt that, of course. Harry felt almost inadequate.

Harry's competitive spirit, usually quite dormant and subdued by the simple common sense that bringing attention to yourself by owning everyone around you like fresh noobs would bring unnecessary attention, was whipped into motion by those limiters being released. Matt already knew about Harry's hidden intelligence, and therefore, could be trusted keeping it a secret.

So nearly each night, each boy would confront the other with the sign of their toils, Harry, usually a new spell, Matt, another enchanted object created. Matt would grab a phoenix feather and bracelet and create a fire-shield, that supposedly would defend against all forms of fire, and Harry would test it by blasting it with different forms of dragonfire right out of his wand, in concentrated streams, in large conflagratory blasts, to test it's all around effectiveness.

The fact that the whole hall of the Chamber of Secrets was covered in scorch marks, projectiles stuck into walls, and everything else under the sun was a testament to this.

Harry particularly liked nailing first years who weren't expecting it with his joke spell that shot piss at the concentrated velocity of a firehose, then, quickly disillusioning himself, so they were left dripping with urine in the middle of halls.

It seemed like a bliss that would never end.

Then, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived. And the shit hit the fan.

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In a tall, broken down manor far far away, Voldemort sat in a armchair, his form terribly pale and thin, staring into a flickering fire. Nagini was curled up around him, forked tongue flickering, hissing in contentment ever so often as the Dark Lord slowly stroked her head.

He was muttering to himself.

"One...or the other? The more obvious, or the more probable? Hmm...are either more likely than the other, even...?" His thin feature curved into a slight frown. "Why would one hide...or is it in ignorance? Is it even hiding when you do not know...? Both are equally probable...a interesting choice..."

Suddenly, a malicious grin etched itself on his wan face, his serpentine eyes dancing with amusement. His long, slender fingers tapped a drumbeat on the head of Nagini.

"So why not both? Eliminate the choice...yes..."

His voice rose to a high pitched shriek.

"WORMTAIL!"

A short, fat mousy man quickly stumbled into the room, before assuming a prostrate position before the armchair. He looked up only to the hem of the robe of the Dark Lord, terrified, even of the shadow that Voldemort was at that moment.

"Y-Yes?, Milord?" He inquired. Voldemort's arm rose, and Peter cringed in anticipation of the terrible searing pain of a thousands knives entering his body, of that terrible red flash that was Crucio, but the limb casually moved to the arm of the armchair, one thumb gently rubbing a circle in the faded velvet.

"Contact our spy at Hogwarts. There's been a change of plans."

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Matt let out a low whistle as the Beauxbatons students made their way out of their gilded carriage. He pointed to one of them, a tall, leggy blonde with saccharine blue eyes and a haughty turn of the mouth.

"She's a looker, ain't she, Harry?"

Harry looked...

And instantly fell in love. Honestly, why couldn't he see it before? Destiny must have brought her impossibly beautiful form here. He would have no trouble outshining these ugly buffoons around him, but should he do something to get her attention right here...?

A harsh blow brought Harry back to his senses. He fingered his slapped cheek as it stung. "Ouch." he muttered.

Matt looked a bit apologetic. "Sorry. She's a Veela. Suppose you might have trouble resisting the aura."

Comprehension dawned on Harry. So that was why he had become so enamored at first sight. A thought struck him.

"Why aren't you affected?" He asked Matt curiously.

He shrugged. "Practice. My nanny was a Veela, back when I was young. I couldn't start humping her leg every time I saw her, right?"

A dark look crossed across Harry's face. He did not like being controlled. "Can you teach me how to do it?"

"There's nothing really to teach, you just need to keep your wits about you." Matt allowed easily. "Besides, her aura seems weaker than the others, I'm guessing she's only half-Veela, or something. You're lucky you've never met a Veela matriarch." Matt shivered. "It's scary how easy they can enrapture you. Dad had to wear immunity charms whenever he was dealing with her."

Harry looked back at the silvery blonde girl, making sure to concentrate.

It worked. Sure, he could notice she was pretty attractive, but there was no unearthly glow around her, like before. Harry could now fully appreciate how funny it was that all the other students around him, the male ones, that is, were gaping like fools. Ronald Weasley seemed to have a bit of drool hanging out of his mouth, much to the ire of Hermione Granger, who was trying and failing to get his attention.

A tremendous splash to the right of them drew their attention to the Lake, where a large frigate burst out of the water like a submarine, before rocking gently and beginning to let down small sloops to come to shore.

"Durmstrang." Matt offered. Harry snorted slightly.

"Like their entrances, don't they? Let's go inside, it's fucking freezing out here..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"First of all, I would like to welcome our foreign guests, along with their respective Heads. Let us welcome Madame Maxine, from Beauxbatons, and Igor Karkaroff, from Durmstrang. Welcome to Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled as he shook the scowling Karkaroff's hand and embraced Madame Maxine warmly.

"Eet is zo very good to zee you again, Dumblydore." She intoned kindly. Harry was BUSY staring at her size. She looked as big as Hagrid. Was she half-giant or something?

"The pleasure is all mine, Olymphe." He returned benevolently, his eyes twinkling. He turned back to the assembled students of the three school.

"The champions from each school will each be chosen by a impartial judge. Said judge will be..." Dumbledore strode easily to a large object, covered in a black sheet.

He cast it off easily. Harry felt his breath catch.

"The Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore finished, as the students assembled murmured and pointed at the archaic cup that sat atop a simple stool, a stark contrast. "Any and all those who wish to compete will scribe their names on a single piece of parchment and cast it into the Goblet."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the Goblet lit with flickering blue fire. The mutterings of the students increased.

"To discourage anyone from under seventeen to enter their name in the tournament, I will be drawing a Age Line around the Goblet." There were a few protests voiced, but quickly quieted. "Any of those who wish to test the Line, of course" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly as he smiled. "-are welcome to do so. However, you may find that the results are not to your liking. The Goblet will be accessible for three days here in the Great Hall, before the names will be chosen and the tournament begun."

"The Beauxbatons students shall be bunking with the Ravenclaws, and the Durmstrang students are welcome to stay with the-" Dumbledore began, before being cut off by Karkaroff.

"We will stay on our ship." He announced tersely. Dumbledore merely bowed his head in acceptance.

"Very well. Without further delay, let the feast begin."

Food magically appeared appeared on the platters, and the students began digging in. The foreign guests picked at the food, seemingly unsatisfied or put off by the English menu. Harry smiled slightly as he heard the girl Matt had pointed out before start complaining about how all the foods were horrendously fattening.

"Sounds like you've hit a rut, Matt." Luna chipped in, loading a generous slice of Sheppard's pie onto her plate. Matt didn't touch his plate, as he had his fist on his chin, a deeply pensive look on his face. "You do know that Dumbledore got his Arch-Mastery? in Wards, don't you?"

Dumbledore was one of the few wizards in existence that was regarded as a Arch-Mage?, or Arch-Wizard?, a title given to those few and in-between that had achieved a Arch-Mastery? in several subjects, along with being evaluated by any available Arch-Mages? for their position. It was not a title easily given. They had to achieve Arch Masteries in at least seven subjects. And a Arch Mastery was a whole other can of worms.

Arch Masteries were only given to those in a field that submitted something that generally improved the whole field in general. Naturally, this had to be something totally unheard of before, in order to sufficiently impress the thirteen Masters in the field needed to approve of the Arch Mastery.

Albus Dumbledore had received no less than nine Arch Masteries. In Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Wards, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Alchemy, Potions, Astronomy(which was widely regarded as a farce).

"Yeah, he's a Ward Arch-Master?, he's not exactly going to fuck up a Age Line. Maybe you should be reasonable and just drop this tournament idea, Matt." Harry added, piling a few biscuits and some mashed potatoes with gravy onto his plate.

"No. No, I'll find a way around it..." Matt muttered. Harry chewed thoughtfully on one of his biscuits.

"Well, there's Occlumency. If the line can't sense you, it can't stop you. But I doubt you're good enough in that to completely mask your presence. That takes a right master in Occlumency." Harry offered. Luna was half-heartedly picking at her Sheppard's pie, obviously thinking.

"Can't you break the ward somehow?" She asked. "Like, destroy it or alter it to go a little lower?" Harry shook his head immediately, shortly followed by Matt.

"No, for one, he's probably going to do put it somewhere hidden, like on the ceiling, or under the floor tiles. Secondly, he'll probably make it in Eternity Ink, ink that only comes off when the writer who put it on decides to take it off. So you can't rub it out."

"I suppose I could ask a older student to put it in for me...?" Matt theorized slowly. Harry snorted.

"Who would? One more name means more competition. Even a Gryffindick could figure that one out. Besides, what are the chances it would pick you over all the other students entering? You probably won't be able to put a Compulsion on the parchment, he'll probably set up wards against charming the parchment, too."

Matt frowned. "Damn it, you're right." He pushed his plate away. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going to go study about Age Lines. See you in the dormitory." Matt got up from the table and strode out of the Hall, leaving Harry and Luna at the table.

A awkward silence ensued between them as they picked at their respective plates.

Harry knew he had been avoiding Luna since that hospital visit. He knew he had. She knew he knew he had. The simple problem was, he didn't know how to deal with Luna liking him. At least, he thought she liked him. Would she kiss him if she didn't like him? What if she was just thankful for the saving from the basilisk thing?

It was Harry's tendency to over think things as such that led to his General uncomfortableness.

Plus, Luna was his friend. He couldn't honestly claim to have too many of those, he would easily admit. His respect was not easily gained and very easily lost. He would admit he was anti-social to the point of hermitry for days on end, likely due to the lack of attention he received as a child as his parents heaped it on Henry.

Harry was afraid of losing that. Of, if, he made the plunge and asked Luna if she liked him, if he told her that he liked her, that he might be totally wrong, she might not be his friend anymore. The thought of losing one of his very few friends actually pained him physically, sending a sharp pain lancing through his chest, making it feel tight, constricting.

Harry knew he was staring at her. He knew because she was staring right back.

"I've got homework to do." Harry mumbled, before pushing back his plate. Something flashed across her face. Anger. Frustration, perhaps.

"Now you wait just a minute, Harry Potter." She started, but Harry was making his way quickly out of the doors of the Great Hall.

He didn't hear them shut behind him for a little longer than what was usual.

He barely got to the corner of the corridor, before he was taken rather roughly by the shoulders, pressed up against a tapestry, and snogged rather thoroughly by a pair of cherry lips and a soft body pressed against his.

Harry wasn't exactly sure how long it lasted, only that he came away with his head spinning, staring into a pair of silvery eyes crinkled in amusement.

They both stared into each other's eyes for what had to be a minute.

"This is the part where you ask me out, Mr. Genius." Luna prompted, a smirk tugging at the edges of her lips.

"Er, right, em, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" He asked hesitantly.

She replied by pecking him once more on the lips and smiling.

"Love to. This weekend."

"Right."

"Six' o'clock."

"Okay."

"Don't be late." A giggle escaped her lips. "Or I'll send the Nargles after you."

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't want to upset the Nargles...?" Harry ventured. She answered with a saucy smile, before letting go of the front of his robes and sauntering off. Harry watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared around the corner.

Harry slid down to his bottom against the wall, just as a lazy clapping filled the air. His head whipped around, to find Matt leaning against the wall, smirking cheekily. His eyes narrowed.

"Matt...!"

"Finally, dude. It's about time you grew a pair and asked her out. Merlin, even Cedric asked Cho out, finally, come the start of term."

"Matt, I'm warning you...!"

"You know, Cho actually did the same thing to Cedric, except she grabbed him by the balls and threatened to rip them off if he didn't man up and ask her out. Maybe Luna's waiting until after the date for that..."

"You will die a horrible and painful death if you don't shut the fuck up right now..." Harry growled.

"You know, I was actually kind of starting to wonder if you preferred a big fat 'D' in your 'A'-"

"Fecisio!" Harry snarled. A brown matter shot out of the end of Harry's wand and splattered the spot next to Matt's head, who jumped away.

"What the fuck is that? Shit!" Matt yelled. Harry grinned, a touch of insanity around the edges.

"Exactly. Fecisio!"

Matt screamed girlishly and ducked the large wad of crap, narrowly avoiding a blast of fecal matter. He took off at a dead run, as Harry chased in hot pursuit, shooting off more flying fudge-monkeys at the fleeing form of his friend.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't believe you."

"Mmhmm."

"You covered me in shit."

"Yep."

"I smell like shit."

"You do."

"I took like, ten baths. My wrinkly skin still smells like shit."

"It does."

Matt stood, glaring at Harry from across the room, who was very demurely drawing out a Arithmancy equation. Matt's prodigious scent could be smelt from across the room. Matt pointed one finger at Harry.

"I hate you."

"Mhmm."

"I will wreak my revenge."

"Have fun."

"I will ruin your date."

That one gave Harry a bit of pause. He shrugged it off, and answered in one word.

"...Luna."

Matt winced.

"Okay, maybe not. But I'll...I'll..."

"If I get rid of that stink, will you shut the fuck up?"

Matt looked upon Harry's form with puppy dog eyes, all previous animosity forgotten.

"You can do that?"

Harry responded by whipping out his bone white wand and pointing it carelessly at Matt's form.

"Odorous"

There was a whoosh of air, and Matt lifted one hand tentatively to his nose and gave a heisitant sniff. He grinned.

"It's gone. Good." Matt abruptly wrinkled his nose. "My robes still smell like shit, though."

"Deal with it. I'm not your fucking Laundromat. Honestly, if you'd just play by the rules we set for insulting each other..."

Rules. Matt frowned. That word, it struck something. Rules. Listen to the rules. Abruptly, a epiphany hit him like a hurricane. Matt sat up quickly on the couch he was previously lounging upon, his mind already whirling.

"Harry, you're a genius. I've got to go."

And Matt speeded out the door.

"Nice to see someone appreciates it." Harry muttered, to no one in particular.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Matt's head was already whirling.

Quickly, he scanned through the enormous full volume of Enchanting the Soul, looking for something very specific. He had already all but memorized the few Parseltongue phrases he needed to get in the Chamber, and those needed to close it, too. They weren't that difficult.

"Conflagratory...combustion-protection...combustion-creation? Ooh, I am so doing that one later...Aha!"

His finger's quickly did the walking to the page required, and he read the details for the enchantment with a practiced eye.

"Right, let's see...damnit, they're mostly in Greek, I suck in Greek runes, looking those up is going to be SUCH a bitch...Yeah, yeah, regular wards, don't do this if yadda yadda yadda...Why the fuck would I even be reading this if I didn't know how to write a basic containment line? Stupid fucking tosser author..."

His eyes fell upon the core needed to perform the enchantment, and he grimaced.

"Fuck...Veela hair."

Veela hair was not for sale, unless you were deep in the black market of the wizarding world. Veela hair was so exceptionally rare because it could only be given willingly, by the Veela herself, and they very seldom gave hairs to anyone but lovers or family members.

Seeing as Matt was not a some smuggler, he had no earthly idea how to even get in contact with the black market, so he was flat out of luck.

He let out a enormous sigh. It echoed in the large library.

He abruptly brightened.

"Well, there's always foraging locally...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Excuse me ladies...?"

The several blue clad Beauxbatons girls turned, rather annoying several of the boys trying to get their attention. He could tell they had Veela blood, from their hair and the way there were several boys attending each of them at all times.

Matt thanked his lucky stars for his lessons in French and Japanese. Without them, he doubted he could have even gotten their attention.

He could feel them flexing their Veela auras, testing his resistance. He weathered them easily, having faced the likes of much worse than theirs.

If I'd have to guess, they're half and 3/4 Veela bloods..."I was wondering, could I bother one of you for a single hair on your head?"

Shocked and slightly scandalized looks appeared on some of their faces, and Matt feared he had DONE something wrong. He hastened to explain.

"You see, I am a aspiring enchanter, and I need one in one of my more...obscure, enchantings." Their faces turned to derision, and perhaps something of disgust? Matt schooled himself from cussing out their faces. One of the faces turned coy.

"Maybe you should ask Fleur, she gives out her hair rather recklessly, does she not, Marietta?" The imperious Half Veela asked her friend, and the whole gaggle of Veela erupted into giggles. Matt didn't even try to figure out why they were laughing. Probably some girl joke.

"Sure, whatever, where can I find her?" Matt asked. One of them pointed by the common room fire.

There was the girl Matt had pointed out when they had been stepping out of the carriage. She was hunched over a book, chewing on her full bottom lip thoughtfully. Matt quickly thanked the girl who told him (not sincerely, of course), and headed over.

As he fell out of range of their auras he walked into hers.

It was even weaker than theirs, but somewhat fluctuating. Not enrapturing, but almost hostile, as if it were telling you to get the fuck out of her breathing space before she made you do so, forcefully.

Not that she wasn't hauntingly beautiful in spite of it, of course. Silver blonde hair, not totally unlike Luna's, but more wavy and glossy, and longer, too, and blue eyes, like sapphires...

Matt shook himself out of his daze, realizing it was likely just her Veela aura sneaking up on him. Yeah, that was it.

"Excuse me, are you Fleur?" He asked. She looked up, almost cautiously.

"What of it?" She asked, a guarded look flashing across her face.

"Well, I'm trying to enchant a object, but I needed a Veela's hair, I was wondering if you could help me with that?" He asked hopefully.

Rage and shame flashed across her face, and the book clattered to the ground as she shot up from her seat. Matt flinched back slightly defensively. "The girls over there are the one's that said you gave them out!"

That did it.

She nailed him with a slap across his face that nearly unhinged his jaw, and the girls across the room erupted into laughter as she stalked out of the common room.

"What the fucking-?" Matt growled, wincing as he touched his sore cheek. He ran out after her.

She was pacing furiously in the hall. Matt walked up to her.

"Why the hell are you so fucking angry?" He asked, forgetting to switch to French in his annoyance.

Wrong move on his part. She grabbed him by the collar of his robes and slammed him against the stone wall with unnatural force, rattling one of the suits of armor nearby. There were unshed tears of anger in her eyes, and her face was red.

"Did Marietta put you up to that? Or Lucile? To insult me? To shame me so?" Fleur snarled. Matt shook his head so hard he nearly broke his neck.

"No, you crazy woman! I'm really a enchanter! Look!" Matt held up his right hand, pointing to the steel ring on it. He activated it, and the blue sheen of a Dueler's Shield shone over his hand. "I made that! All I was asking for was a hair for a project, and you nearly break my jaw!"

If anything, this seemed to piss the French girl off more. She grabbed one of her hairs, and yanked it out of her head. She practically shoved it down his throat and stalked down the corridor. "Here! Take the stupid hair, you bastard! And stay the fuck away from me!"

"Gladly! I hope someone bends over and pinches a loaf off in your mouth! MAYBE THAT'LL IMPROVE YOUR SHITTY ATTITUDE!" Matt yelled after her. He got no reply. "Crazy bitch..." Matt muttered. He held the one silvery blonde hair in front of him.

He then smiled.

"Now to enact my plan. 1000 Galleons, here I come!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The three days had passed rather quickly, honestly. The Hall had always been very BUSY, considering the amount of seventeen year old students that were entering themselves.

Incidentally, the Hospital Wing was also very BUSY, on account of the amount of underage students who attacked the Line, some trying aging potions, others trying to just throw themselves far enough to get their paper in. None of them worked, and all of them ended up with the same thing. Long, white beards, and wrinkled skin.

Strangely, Matt never even touched the Line. He would sit off to the side, watching the students come and go, and write notes on a little notebook, and mutter to himself. Harry found it rather odd that he wasn't even looking for the runes that constituted the Line.

A few times, he would rip pieces of paper out of textbooks and throw them at the line, something Harry found rather odd. The odder thing was, that some of them caught fire and were incinerated as soon as they passed the line, and some of them weren't.

But Matt never actually crossed the line himself. Harry thought that Matt, given his temperament, would be practically trying to blast the Line right out of existence by now. Even when enchanting, he seldom wrote one array more than once, before copying it onto a piece of paper, so he wouldn't have to do it again. Matt was not the most patient of individuals.

Harry began to consider the possibility that Matt had given up. That, or gone crazy.

Well...crazy-er.

Matt, however, was the least of Harry's problems.

Moreover, Luna was.

What was Harry going to do, come tomorrow? He had no fucking idea how to act on a date, or what to wear. The fact that he was actually putting forethought into the issue was testament to how stressed he was.

It was a very good thing Matt couldn't read thoughts, or he'd piss himself laughing. The great Harry Potter, bested by a date to Hogsmeade. Oh, the shame. Harry would alternate between making contingency plans for things that had a very improbable chance of happening on a date, like a assassination attempt or a Death Eater attack, and kicking himself in the ass for having such a overactive fucking imagination.

One could say that Harry was lacking in social skills. That one would be right. He'd get punched in the fucking face, but he'd be right.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

The night was very solemn. All the students sat quietly assembled, all practically quivering in anticipation of what was about to happen. Harry was rather interested in spite of himself, after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he'd be a fool not to enjoy the spectacle. Matt hadn't dropped a strange grin from his face ever since they walked in.

The Goblet of Fire was placed in front of the Head Table, with Dumbledore waiting in front of it. The blue-green flames flickered eerily in the dim.

Suddenly, the flames leaped high, to nearly twice their original height, and turned purple, like a magical whiskey shot had been dropped into it. A single piece of paper drifted down gently and was snatched out of the air by Dumbledore.

"The champion for Durmstrang will be...Viktor Krum!"

There was tumulus applause as the scowling Quiddich star stood up, before walking to the front of the room and heading behind the curtains. The applause died down like a cut throat as the purple flames reappeared.

Another single scrap of parchment floated down, and was caught by Dumbledore.

"The champion for Beauxbatons will be Miss Fleur Delacour!"

A tall, haughty girl stood up from among the French students sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Harry noted with amusement that many other girls were shooting her venomous glares and weeping, instead of joining in on the applause, which was considerably louder, likely on account of her considerable allure. The part-Veela bore it all like a queen, walking with her head held high towards the front, before disappearing right where Krum had.

Now, a very tense silence blanketed the Hall, as the most anticipated choice was awaited. Hogwarts was the home team, after all, in this little equation.

The purple flames roared up, even higher than before, before whipping a piece of parchment into the air, almost violently.

It was plucked out of the air. Dumbledore's face turned grave, unmistakable even in the poor lighting.

"Matthew Cooke."

Matt stood up, and walked up there, wearing the grin like the cat that ate the canary. He wasn't even trying to hide it; nay, he was broadcasting it on all channels. He had fooled Dumbledore's Age Line. And he had gotten picked because of it, too. There was no applause, only angry stares and narrowed eyes. From nearly every single Hogwarts student. Not a few Ravenclaws, most of the Slytherins were grinning at someone issuing such a slap to the face of Dumbledore, but most.

Matt was stopped by a hand on his shoulder by Dumbledore, but easily shouldered it off roughly and walked into the room.

Harry considered applauding, just to pound the nail further into the old coot's heart.

"Well then." Dumbledore began, breaking the tense silence, "That concludes-"

A near explosion from the Goblet halted him in his tracks. The purple fire billowed to the ceiling, licking the artificial skylight and stone beneath.

Everyone's eyes were on the two papers that were left it's trail, fluttering gently down, like two gentle feathers. They turned on over and over and over again, until each one was deftly snatched by Dumbledore's wizened fingers.

He opened them, and Harry got a terrible sense of foreboding, the kind where your stomach drops like a rock straight into your toes. The kind where you're standing in a ABANDONED subway tunnel and suddenly you hear the train.

That kind.

"Henry and Harry Potter, would you please join me up here?"

And Harry thought-

Fuck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For one, someone had put his name in the fucking Goblet of Fire. Some heads were going to fly for that, Harry would make sure. Now he was magically bound to compete in this bullshit.

For two, he was sitting next to Henry, enough said. He hadn't stopped trying to get the French bird's attention since he entered the room. Grinning, not so subtly straightening his collar and throwing his hair back like a idiot. Harry could feel the aura coming off her.

Thirdly, he was receiving a bunch of odd looks from Matt, when he wasn't BUSY glaring at the Beauxbaton's champion, glares which were returned with equal animosity . No doubt he would be interrogating him straight out of earshot.

Last, he was sitting next to Henry.

Madame Maxine was throwing a fit all around the small room. Dumbledore seemed to be trying to placate her, with McGonnagall? at his side, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Madame, please, I am sure there can be a compromise negotiated." Dumbledore tried. She wasn't buying any of it.

"I do not like being ze 'shanghied', Dumblydore!" She roared. "Eet is a outrage! A scandal! Three champions for 'Ogwarts!"

"I am agreeing with the Madame, on this matter, Dumbledore." Karkaroff intoned, his eyes slits. "I do not see how there is being any possibility for compromise, considering the insult you have forced upon us! This is nothink more than svek! Treachery!" The former Death Eater snarled.

"Really, I'm with the Headmaster, I'm sure if we can just calm down that everyone can get along." Ludo Bagman tried, looking a bit nervous at the possible prospect of the Tournament being cancelled. Harry let out a tiny snort. No doubt he had bets placed on it. The former Quiddich star was a notorious gambler. Off to the side, Bartemius Crouch was standing, with Percy Weasley at his side, holding a large tome. Brown-noser if Harry ever saw one, and Harry saw many in the fans trying to see Henry. Percy was just there as Crouch's alternative to masturbation.

"If anyone would like to listen, I have a suggestion...?" Harry offered. He was getting really tired of a bunch of old people arguing, it was seriously getting on his nerves.

He almost laughed, as they looked at him as if just there and then realizing he had the ability to form coherent speech. None of them seemed to object too terribly, so he continued.

"Matt's a transfer student from America, couldn't you," Harry nodded at the Ministry representatives. "-whip up some fancy legal bullshit and pull him in as a champion representing the US, or something? That way, Hogwarts is left with only two representatives-"

"A excellent idea, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore, sensing where he was going, and snatching control of the situation. "Mr. Cooke's four year transfer program is ending this year, as a matter of fact, so it will be even easier to engineer this, considering the United States of Magical America's rather ambitious plans in moving up the magical social chain." Harry's head whipped around at this, before he turned and sent Matt a incredulous look, who answered with a sheepish smile. How could he not tell Harry about that?

"Two champions is still a unfair advantage, Dumblydore." Madame Maxine stated, although noticeably calmer than before. "I vote that each school brings in a extra champion, to even the odds."

"Yes. Reactivate the Goblet, and cast the names again. Your school is obliviously disgruntled with the champion's ending up as little boys-"

"Hey!" Matt and Henry both protested loudly, something Harry found rather creepy, before being rode over by Karkaroff.

"-so it will not be terribly hard to convince them that another spot has magically opened up for them. They will welcome it, even." Karkaroff finished, smiling darkly.

"My deepest apologies, but I'm afraid that is not possible. The Goblet has gone dark, and will stay so until the next TriWizard? Tournament." Dumbledore intoned, with a note of sadness inserted into his voice.

Just as the French Headmistress seemed to swell up with fury, Harry dispelled it with a careless snort, drawing all attention to him.

"Forget it. Put me down as independent, I don't even want to be here anyway, except now I'm all magically bound to compete and all that, so I guess I'll play along..." Harry drawled boredly.

The French witch sneered. "Az eef you wish uz to believe that you deed not cheat your way eento ze Tournament! Thees is not a place for leetle boys!"

Harry took that easily, while Henry was too enamored with her to notice. Matt was not so accepting.

"I've got your 'leetle boy' right here, you arrogant self-righteous bitch!" He yelled, serving up a magnificent middle finger. Harry sighed. That had Matt written all over it.

"Mr. Cooke!" McGonnagall? gasped in shock. Of course, the French witch was not so chastised.

"Chauvinistic American pig!" She screeched right back, her aura whipping from alluring to terrifying in the blink of a eye.

"Fleur!" Madame Maxine gasped. Huh, so that was her name.

"People!" Dumbledore's mere presence was enough to send the clamor into instant stillness, a testament to how powerful he was. Even Harry could not help but feel intimidated by it, ashamed as he was. "We must endeavor to be at the very least civil to each other, if we wish to continue!"

There was complete stillness in the small room. Dumbledore sighed tiredly.

"Thank you. Harry, as you wish, we will mark you as independent champion, without any school affiliation. Henry shall be our Hogwarts champion, and I trust you will send the invitations to the President?" Coot. As if he wasn't thrilled at Henry being the mascot for the entire school. Barty Crouch nodded, and Dumbledore turned to the rest of the room. " I trust this sits well with you all?"

"Fine." Madame Maxine sniffed, turning her head upwards regally.

Karkaroff gave a non-committal grunt. "Acceptable. Come, Viktor, let us return to the ship." Viktor got up and wordlessly followed, sending what he probably thought were intimidating glares at all those present. Harry got worse from Snape on a bad day.

"We will be taking our leave az well, Dumblydore. Good night!"

She pushed the drapes aside, followed shortly by Fleur, who didn't stop shooting dirty looks at Matt for one second, nor he, her.

Dumbledore turned on them, his face grave, as soon as they were alone except for McGonnagall? in the dim room.

"Now there is a single matter to attend to, that of your entrance into the Goblet." Dumbledore began, in a very somber tone. Harry was way ahead of him.

"We didn't cheat to get into the Tournament! Well, I know me and Matt didn't!" Harry protested.

"Hey, I didn't either!" Henry spoke up. And was ignored.

"Actually, I kinda did..." Matt admitted, in a slightly guilty voice. Dumbledore's attention immediately turned on the Cooke heir.

"Really? Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me as to why you would do such a foolish thing?" Dumbledore wasn't making a request, and everyone knew it.

Matt shrugged. "1000 Galleons. But I didn't put any Potter's name's in, only mine. Why add needless competition? And it wasn't really cheating, since you said we could try to put our names in, if we wanted to."

"I find it somewhat hard to believe that you fooled my Age Line, even as old as I am." Dumbledore smiled softly.

"That's because I didn't!" Matt chirped. "I completely obeyed it, in just a different sense."

"Would you like to elaborate?" Dumbledore said politely. Matt didn't stop smiling, he was looking pretty smug.

"Well, Headmaster, I actually dabble a little in wards myself, and I told myself when I first thought about entering the Tournament, 'This is Albus Dumbledore, the guy who got the first Arch-Mastery? in Wards for nearly four hundred years! He's a bloody Arch-Wizard?, you can't expect him to trip up on a Age Line for a bunch of kids!'"

Harry could almost applaud; Matt was laying it on pretty thick. Small flatteries smattered in-between, along with a bit of a idiot routine. Very nice.

"So then I think, 'Well, if I can't beat it, then I have to obey it. I gotta find a loophole.'"

"I assume you found it, from your current situation." Dumbledore inferred, his eyes twinkling. Matt smiled cheerily.

"Yep. I got two words for you, dude. Paper airplane." Harry struggled to keep his face steady at the gobsmacked expression on Dumbledore's face.

"Mr. Cooke, if you expect us to believe you fooled the Headmaster with such a common Muggle trick, you are sorely mistaken!" McGonnagall? admonished firmly. Matt shook his head to the left and right a little bit.

"Well...kinda, yeah, I do. Because that's how I did it. The Headmaster must have been so BUSY setting up wards against magical means of getting the paper in that he forgot to put in regular means."

"I am rather sure that I put wards against banishing papers in, Mr. Cooke. Perhaps you'd like-"

"Oh no, you did, you did. Nasty retaliation ward by the way, the wrinkled skin was a pretty artistic touch. No, I actually took a piece of paper, made it into a airplane, wrote my name on it, and chucked it in. It was a bit more difficult to crack than that, don't worry. I actually had to find a piece of paper that was seventeen years old, from a couple of old textbooks in storerooms, because all my new sheaf's kept getting crisped as soon as they went across the line."

"And then," Dumbledore frowned. "The Goblet simply picked you, a fourth year, out of a great deal of seventh and sixth years." He didn't seem to like the possibility.

Matt shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I'm just that good, I suppose."

"And you did not put either Henry or Harry's name in the Goblet in addition."

"No, once again, why the heck would I do that? I didn't need more competition for the spot. I'll go three drops of Veritaserum if you want me to, but I'm telling the truth." Matt looked up at the Headmaster innocently, a earnest expression on his face.

Dumbledore nodded, his concerns seemingly assuaged. "Very well, Mr. Cooke, you may leave. I suggest you get some studying DONE, this Tournament is not merciful on the weak of heart. There is a very real possibility that you will die." His tone was very serious.

"Whatever." Matt remarked flippantly. "I'm off to bed, I'm tired as crap." He got up, pushed aside the curtains, and stepped out.

Dumbledore turned to them. "I would like to tell you that I do not believe either of you submitted your names into the Goblet. This was likely a ploy to get you, Henry, into the Tournament, where the danger is real and very much perilous. I do not know why they would enter you, as well, Harry."

Harry very nearly groaned at the calculating look he was receiving. He was under scrutiny from now on, that was certain.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Harry asked. "I've got to compete. Not too happy about it, but there it is. Good night, I'm going to get some sleep."

As Harry pushed his way out of the room and past all the students with questions and pissed off faces, he left the Great Hall just in time to hear Dumbledore start announcing Henry as the Hogwarts Champion.

Matt, as expected, was waiting out in the corridor for him.

He jerked a thumb towards the sound of Dumbledore's voice, a smile quirking at the edges of his lips.

"Can you believe he bought that ham?" He asked. Harry grinned.

"I'm still in shock, a wizard that old and powerful doesn't at least have a bullshit filter? That's ridiculous!" Harry chortled. "So how'd you make the Goblet pick you?"

Matt smiled grimly. "He put up wards against charmed papers, but never enchanted ones." Harry nodded.

"Thought so."

A hesitant look flashed across Matt's face. "Harry, you didn't...you didn't really put your name in, did you?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not." The look didn't disappear. Harry sighed. "Matt, you know me, I don't like being in the public eye. Is this the kind of thing I'd pull?"

Matt nodded, his face firming. "No. No, it's not. Right. Sorry about that. Well, if it means anything, I believe you, though I can't say anything about the rest of Hogwarts."

"Fuck the rest of Hogwarts, they're still caught up on those House Points, and all that bullshit. I cannot believe I once threw a fit over the House Cup. I am still feeling the shame." Matt laughed with him, this time. Harry quieted. "Matt, why didn't you tell me about you leaving?"

Matt winced, a apologetic look flashing onto his face. "Sorry about that. But don't worry about it. We'll still be able to talk, and shit. It's not like we're that far away...and between you and me, Dad's been thinking about taking a tour of the castles available in England, next year. He want's to build a CIU branch in Britain, it's just been to costly before." Matt smiled. "So stop whining like a pussy, man, geez. You sound like a woman."

A smile curled the edges of Harry's lips. "Would you like for Luna to hear that?"

Matt turned a little pale. "You're a unspeakable bastard, you know that?"

"Stop it, you're making me blush."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur growled to herself, tramping through the wet grass, furious.

How dare he? First he had poked at an open wound, and then he insults her? Who the fuck did he think he was? Back and forth she paced, fuming. The sun was slowly setting in the west, setting a red glow over the Lake, where the Durmstrang ship was alight with lanterns, no doubt a celebration of some sort.

And him!? A little boy, probably three years younger than her, since she was seventeen herself, enchanting? Utter nonsense! Enchanters trained for decades in their art. He must have rich parents to buy him such things as a fancy Dueler's Shield. There was no other reasonable explanation, for that utterly shitty pickup line, as well. Honestly, I am a enchanter and need one of your hairs for a experiment? He either was totally oblivious to Veela customs or a complete and utter bastard, the latter which she found much more sensible.

Of course, she was pacing inside the so-called Forbidden Forest, so she could hardly be in the position to be deciding what was and was not sensible. but she refused to be cowed by such a place. There couldn't be anything that dangerous, could there?

Suddenly, a screech was heard overhead, and her gaze whipped upwards, as a enormous black eagle skimmed over the Forest, letting out another sharp cry.

Fleur gaped. That was...Aigle de Crepuscule! A Twilight Eagle, better known as a Skumring! They weren't supposed to be anywhere near such a warm place, even though it was so close to winter, it was nowhere near cold enough for a Skumring to frequent!

Given Veela's status as part avian, they all had natural empathetic links with birds. They could exchange thoughts as easily as if it were a chat room on the Internet. All birds naturally felt at ease and rather subservient in the presence of a Veela.

Fleur, being only a quarter-Veela, only could read surface emotions off of birds, but still felt a natural liking towards all avian things. One of her favorite places to be alone was in the large owl quarters back at Beauxbatons, since she had none of the command over the birds that a full blooded Veela did, and only found them to be nice companions.

The poor thing had to be lost! Even from that distance, she could sense anxiety and over-excitement from the giant bird of prey. It had obviously lost it's way from whatever arctic mountain it roosted in, likely by hunters, who craved their feathers as vanity and their eyes as fortunes and trophies. The thought curdled her blood. She despised bird hunters.

The midnight black eagle landed, and she gained a little hope. Forgetting all thoughts of the rude American boy, she dashed in the direction of where the Skumring had landed. It wasn't that far, she could make it before it took off again...

All she came upon, however, was a empty clearing, with large clawed rents in the ground where it had landed. Fleur looked around, confused. She would have heard it take off, where had it gone?

"Fleur? What the hell are you doing here?"

Grimly, she turned around and faced the voice she had most not wanted to hear.

It was the American boy-Matt-or whatever his name was.

He was carrying a large brown sack in one hand, the other hand was outfitted with a brown leather gauntlet, with a falcon perched on it. For some reason, his cheeks here red and sweaty, as if he had been running or performing some strenuous exercise. She took a moment to appreciate the rare breed, Falconis peregrinus, before answering.

"That is none of your concern." Reconsidering, she added on, "I am looking for the Skumring that landed here, see the tracks? Did you see where it went?"

Something flashed in his eyes, and a slight smile quirked at the edge of his lips, and she nearly exploded at him. He was laughing at her! Impudent boy!

"No, but more importantly, you need to get out of here. This place is dangerous." Brat! Who was he to decide what was right for her?

"Why me, and not you? I am no fragile china doll! I can take care of myself!" She proclaimed defensively. Wait, why did she feel the need to defend herself against this boy?

"I know this place, because I come here often for Potions ingredients. You do not. Now leave." The boy raised his falcon to eye level, and gave Fleur another shock. He was a Langue Blesse', A bird talker. They were held in very high regard in France, because of the abundance of Veela and bird-lovers.

A flash of shame burned through her, that she, with Veela blood in her veins, could never have as intimate a relationship with any winged creature as he could, a full human, and worse, a American.

He turned to her. "Onis will lead you out."

Fleur's chin rose sharply. "and if I refuse?" Who was this boy to give orders to her?

He grinned. "I will tell him to tell one of the half-veela with your...caravan, to notify your Madame that you are wandering around in a dangerous off-limits area right before the First Task. I doubt she would find it very pleasing to her ears."

Fleur winced, and his grin grew only wider as he was visibly given a point. Madame would flay her hide if she knew she was putting herself at conscious risk before such a prestigious event, and she knew it.

"Fine." She snapped, her face burning at the indignity of following the orders of such a rude lout. His falcon took off from his wrist and flapped a bit ahead of her, landing on one of the trees in the direction of the castle. It twisted it's head, obviously waiting. "But your French is terrible! A donkey could culture a better accent!"

He laughed, and spoke in his native tongue. "And your English sucks balls, much like you do." He countered.

She flushed and turned on her heel, refusing to start a childish insulting contest, since she would obviously win, of course. The peregrine gave a sharp keening cry and flapped to the next branch.

About a half hour later, she gracefully picked herself out of the last root and stepped onto the smooth, even ground of the Hogwarts grass. She turned to the peregrine, who took a final perch on her shoulder, gripping strongly, but not painfully.

"You are a magnificent bird, it is a shame you have such a terrible master." She informed it in French. The falcon let out a pulse of discontentment and indignation, before sharply reaching out and biting her perfect nose, before flying off, to the sound of her French curses fouling the air.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry rubbed his temples, waiting by Honeydukes, in a button up shirt and dark blue jeans, waiting for Luna to show up.

He, of course, with the Tournament upcoming and this date on the horizon, had not gotten a ounce of sleep. He had stayed up all night, stressing, what to wear and such. He was supposed to have better composure than this, damnit!

Luna trotted up, in absolutely tight jeans, and a light blue sweat jacket, and a white blouse underneath, looking good enough to...well...let's not get into that. She smiled.

"Ready to show me a good time, Mr. Potter?" She asked, mirth bubbling in her tone. He could not help but smile slightly.

"Sure. Where to?"

Luna tapped her bottom lip with one neatly manicured and glossed fingernail. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Three Broomsticks?" Harry nodded.

"Sounds good to me."

Luna smiled, and latched onto one of his arms, consciously or unconsciously pressing his elbow slightly into her impressive bust. Harry tried to ignore the sudden thought that the temperature had undergone a freak increase and started his path towards the bustling sound that was the most popular hangout in Hogsmeade.

The smell of wood and cinnamon was rich in the air, along with a deep scent of pipesmoke rising from the floorboards. It was a very relaxing and homely atmosphere, one easy to just enjoy yourself in. There was already a bustling crowd here, locals, students, and people just passing through.

Harry spotted Henry and his cronies over at one of the tables, and steered his date covertly around them and to one of the back tables, where hopefully they wouldn't be noticed, and the noise would be lesser.

Madam Rosmerta, the curvy barmaid that manned the pub on most school days was there almost immediately.

"What'll you be having?" She asked, probably completely conscious of the way her blouse loosened up with the way she was bending over slightly like that.

Harry kept his eyes strictly on her face. "Butterbeer." He ordered coolly.

Luna smiled warmly. "Same."

Madam Rosmerta nodded, and in a few seconds, was back with the two cold sweet drinks. "Anything else?"

Harry shook his head, averting his gaze. "That'll be it, for now."

The barmaid nodded, and winked. "Have fun, you two." Harry turned his head and sipped his drink to avoid the slight spots of color in his cheeks.

Luna waited until she left, before admonishing Harry.

"Honestly, Harry, you could at least be polite, I'm not going to get jealous just because you look at her."

Harry sighed slightly. "Was I that obvious?" He pulled his mug to his lips.

"Yep. She's very attractive, it's not a crime to look, you know."

Harry chose not to reply to that, instead wisely prolonging his chug a little more. Luna seemed to have a epiphany, then shook her finger at Harry.

"I'm not a lezzie, either." Harry just managed not to choke on his drink. "Just because I notice a woman's good looking doesn't mean I am sexually interested in her."

Luna rubbed her chin, a pensive look on her face. "I might be bi, though."

That was Harry's limit, he choked and sputtered on his drink, slamming it down on the table. Luna reached over and thumped him rather strongly on the back.

"T-Thanks?." Harry wheezed. That was it, Luna was officially the most crazy and awesome female ever to grace the planet. All innocents, beware.

"Hello there!" Bugger. Harry thought. Henry stood there, flashing his million Galleon smile. "Luna, right? I was wondering if you'd like to come over to my table, so we could...get to know each other better." He followed this up my resting one hand on her arm, a tad close to her breasts. Harry's eyes narrowed into slits, and he muttered a certain phrase so low nobody but himself could hear while his hand made a practiced motion under the table.

Luna, however, could take care of herself.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." She replied, in a dreamy tone. "I happened to see that Ronald over there seemed to be infested with wrackspurts, and if I go over there now, the chances of ever finding the Crumple Horned Snorcack will drop from slim to none, since the Snorcacks are repelled by the scent of wrackspurts, and I can't have that. Besides, you seem to be under the influence of Nargles, and I never go anywhere with a person under Nargle influence."

"Erm..." Henry did not seem to have a comeback for something like that. Harry was too BUSY trying to not crush his intestines into pulp suppressing his laughter.

"Yeah, bugger off, you Nargly arsehole." Harry quipped.

Henry, with a seemingly lost and freaked out expression, made his way back to his table, mumbling about freaks and big breasts.

Harry slammed his fist down on the table, choking with laughter, while Luna seemed to be axyphiliating under the influence of a endless stream of uncontrollable giggling.

"What...what the hell is a Nargle?" Harry choked out. Luna was laughing so hard, she seemed to be holding in her guts.

"T-The? fuck if I know!" Luna snorted explosively. "I just make up that shit to make people leave me alone! I have no idea what I say before I say it, I just make it up as I go along!" Luna then let off another explosive burst of giggles.

"That's...that's the most f-fucking f-funny thing I ever saw in my life!" Harry managed to get out. "Come on, let's get out of here before that delayed slug-puking spell I cast on him starts to take affect."

They both stumbled out into the cold, still letting out the odd repressed giggle.

"So where next?" Luna asked.

"How about the Shrieking Shack? When I get there, I'll show you something awesome." Harry promised.

Luna tossed him a sly look. "Well, well, Harry, aren't you the eager boy? On the first date, no less."

Harry caught the implications of what he said, and winced slightly. "Sorry, didn't think you would take it that way."

She smiled coyly and took a hold of his arm. "Who said anything? I merely made a observation."

Harry decided to leave that be.

Soon, they were standing before the dipilidated old shack that was Hogsmeade's most favorite dare-spot for young and hot-blooded teenagers. Mournful howls and screams shook the frames of it's windows.

Luna shivered and pressed a bit closer to Harry. "I hate creepy houses, and ghost stories, like that. Can we leave?"

Harry chuckled. "Here's the awesome thing. It's all total bullshit."

She looked at him askance. "Pardon?"

"The Shrieking Shack; The whole ghost haunting stories, all those howls that come at night, they're just clever and small charms and wards placed on the place, by my dad and his band of misfits and pranksters, in their age. They used to go there to help Remus Lupin, you know, the Defense teacher from last year? Through his werewolf transformation. They put all those things there to keep people from coming in or getting too close."

Luna looked incredulous. "Harry, you do know you just effectively butchered about all the good campfire stories in Hogsmeade? That's really all it is?"

"Yep. Come on, I'll show you."

Luna choked the life out of his arm as they walked up the slope, seemingly getting antsier and antsier with every moan and howl that emanated from the Shack. As he touched the doorknob, she let out a tiny scream and yanked on his arm.

"Come on Harry, this isn't worth it, let's go, can we please, please go?" She babbled.

Harry snorted. He yanked open the door and pulled them both inside.

The screams and howls all instantly were muted to their ears. Luna opened her tightly shut eyes and looked around. She looked relieved, and very surprised.

"Wow. I guess it really is all tosh." Luna commented. She rapped on one of the worn, rotting desks. "Just a broken down old house."

"Mmhmm." Harry nodded. Luna gave him a deadpanned look.

"Really, Harry? This is the extent of your imagination? How droll." She said, a disappointed note.

Harry donned a evil smirk. "Well, there was one more thing..."'

He leaned down and captured Luna's lips with his own, wrapping one arm around her waist and another around her head. Her hands instantly responded, curling around his neck, her stepping up on her tiptoes for better angle. Harry slowly backed her up until she hit the wall, at which she let out a soft moan. It felt like electricity crackled up his spine at the small sound of pleasure he had stolen from Luna's throat, and he was determined to have more.

He licked her cherry glazed lips slowly and sensually, which opened, allowing him entry. Her small tongue danced a path around his and entered his mouth, while his curved around and explored her orifice. He groaned at the sensation, as Luna ran a hand through his raven black hair and tangled itself in it. She let out another gentle moan, spurring Harry's adrenaline to levels he hadn't thought possible.

He disconnected his lips from hers, and attacked her neck, leaning further down, his hands working themselves down the small of her back, just resting above the curve of her bum. He found a small, pulsing vein and went to work, sucking, nipping, raking his teeth along the flesh.

"H-Harry!" She half gasped, half whimpered. It enraptured him and aroused him to such a crazy extent, that his hands went southward, gripped her soft, firm buttocks, and squeezed. She gasped once more, and her hips bucked unconsciously, into his, grinding against his growing arousal, making him growl in senseless lust.

Which was why he was very disappointed when her soft, steady hands pushed him away, leaving her red faced and puffy lipped, panting for air.

"Well, Harry, you certainly know how to show a girl a good time." Luna rested her head against his chest, hearing the beat of his heart, her silver hair just under his nose, tickling his nose with the lavender scent. "Let's just wait until next time until we move to groping, agreed?"

"Agreed." Harry said immediately. Why?

Because she said there was a next time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry couldn't stop smirking.

Really.

It was simply a biological reaction, it really wasn't his fault that making out with a hot girl made him this way...

It wasn't his fault at all that he felt small, vindictive glee whenever he made out with Luna right in front of Matt, or that he exercise his newly acquired 'Bum Privileges' while doing so.

Honestly, wouldn't any red-blooded male do the same?

"Alright! I fucking get the picture! You're together, and enjoying it! Now stop fucking distracting me and get the fuck out of the Library!" Matt had finally lost it once, when Harry brought Luna all the way down to Slytherin's Library on the excuse to let her look at the selection...

...Before resuming snogging.

Right next to Matt.

While he was working on some weird Japanese symbols on a paper.

Luna had smiled, then walked downstairs to actually do what she had come to do. She was, after all, a Ravenclaw, and knowledge was all Ravenclaw's secret guilty pleasure, even if it was not so secret.

Harry felt immense relief that she wasn't like that Granger chick in Gryffindor, who was practically obsessive. If he showed her this place, she'd probably blow her panties off creaming so hard.

"What're you working on?" Harry asked curiously. "No in depth explanations, though, they might hurt my small, underprivileged brain."

"Ha ha ha, asshole." Matt muttered. He waved a hand over the Japanese symbols. "Kanji. Old Japanese and Chinese wizards used them for magic. Only type of enchanting they really used, but cool as hell. It's a really unknown art, most people forgot that it's practically the most useful shit you could ever learn."

"Why?"

"It's sealing magic." Harry cocked a head.

"Like, sealing demons and curses and such, or inter-dimensional sealing, like the type they use on those magical trunks in Diagon Alley?"

Matt grimaced. "I would say trunks, but that would be a insult to sealing magic." One eyebrow on Harry's face rose.

"Elaborate."

Matt sighed, and ruffled a few pages around, before yanking one out. It was a small tag, about as long and wide as Harry's hand. It was covered in the small Japanese kanji, and surrounded by a red line. There was one large character in the middle.

"The kind of sealing magic they use on trunks is proportional. They make it ten times as big on the inside, or something like that. It's not real sealing magic. It's like a crying baby compared to Chuck Norris in this case." Matt waved the little tag around in the air. "And this sucker kicks the shit out of trunks any day."

The small tag did not look very impressive, but Harry held his disbelief, considering the fact that no one would expect him, a fourth year, to create a spell that could cause a stalactite to impale you from behind. Which he had done.

"Inside this tag-" Matt waved it again. "-is another world."

Harry snorted. "Okay, now I'm calling it. Bullshit!"

"No, no, look." Harry could see Matt concentrating magic into the tag.

Suddenly, a small black hole the size of the tag covered the side with the characters on it, stopping at the black line around it. A apple dropped out of it, which Matt caught with his hand, before letting the flow cease. The black hole winked out, leaving the tag blank paper on both sides.

He hefted the apple and smirked. Harry took one look at it, and Matt yelped and dropped it as it froze over completely, shattering on the floor like fragile glass.

"Explain, Matt." Matt smiled.

"They created actual dimensions, Harry. Small pocket dimensions by creating the parameters, those characters you saw, and a limit, that black line around the edges that controlled the size of the opening. And you can store anything you can fit in there, for as long as you like, without it spoiling, rusting, or becoming damaged in any way, as long as the tag isn't ripped or anything."

"The ink disappeared afterwards, so it's only one usage, right?" Matt nodded.

"Yeah, that's the one downside. You gotta rewrite everything afterwards. It's seal, unseal, then rewrite and repeat-hey!" Matt grunted, as Harry scooted in next to him.

"Move over. I'm learning this too. This does kick the ass out of trunks. More."

"Well, other than that, there's not much else to it. The item returns at the speed it was put in, so, if you threw a baseball in at ninety miles per hour, it would come out at the same speed. There's no friction or air speed inside the space, remember, so there's nothing to slow it down..." Matt trailed off, not really liking the look on Harry's face.

"So all those ancient Chinese tales of a rain of steel and shit aren't total crap! They probably just threw those tags in the air! And think of what kind of shit we can put in there!" Matt was getting pretty excited too, he could see the possibilities too.

"Imagine!, Rain of-!"

"-Bullets coming from every-!"

"-sides of reductos from underneath-!"

"-LAVA balls-!"

"-LEMON DROPS!"

The conversation stopped. Harry looked at Matt, who was grinning sheepishly.

"Lemon drops, Matt?" Harry asked. A embarrassed flush rose up in his cheeks.

"Well...you know, kind of the ultimate humiliater for Dumbledore...a tag that unsealed lemon drops at...supersonic..." He trailed off, not really wanting to finish.

Harry palmed his forehead. "Right...lets...just...start with learning how to seal apples and shit, first, okay? Where can I find a book on Kanji?"

Matt grinned, reached under the table, and rammed a huge book onto the surface. Harry felt his eyes widen.

"Shit. Matt, are there any memory speeder uppers that you can brew...?" Harry knew such a potion existed, but not really the name of it.

Matt nodded. "The Rosetta Draught? Sure, I've got one brewing in the chamber."

One more advantage of having a large, secret hideout, was the room. Matt had probably a dozen potions just simmering in the long Chamber passages, with strict instructions not to touch any of them. They were mostly the kind that look a long time to brew, so Matt had them in large doses, a trick he said he learned from his father.

"Just remember Harry..." His face turned serious. "You only get seven hours of memory clarity. Meaning, for two years. If you try it again before the year is up, you can get serious brain damage. Most people use this, crack open a few foreign language books, and learn a language in seven hours. That's how I learned French and Japanese. That's why it's called the Rosetta Draught."

"Yeah...so anything I read for seven hours will always stick? And only one per two years?" Harry frowned. "No, I think I'll save it. I'll do this the old fashioned way. See you, Matt."

"Right. Oh, and one more thing." Matt waved, and for once, Harry saw he was wearing thin, leather gloves.

"Kanji don't have to go on paper only, you know!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was only a accident.

Really.

Luna, since she had gained her Animagus form of a snow leopard, liked to prowl around the grounds at night, sometimes running, or chasing a mouse for amusement, catching it, and letting it go, since she rather liked mice and found the idea of eating one revolting.

Sometimes she would chase Filch's cat.

She never caught it. It was a rather wily little beast.

So there she was, padding down a beaten deer path in the Forbidden Forest, when she heard a roar.

A big roar.

A very big, very SCARY roar.

All the hairs on her body stood up, and she hissed out of instinct. Her feline silver eyes, narrowed, and tufty white ears twitched as she tried to locate the source of the sound.

She took off, loping gracefully towards a clearing far enough away from the castle that she was fairly sure that no one in Hogwarts would be hearing the roars.

She stopped, dumbstruck by the sight in front of her.

Dragons.

Five of them.

All of them, thrashing around fitfully in heaps, bound by chains, with dragon handlers scurrying around them like ants, trying to Stun them asleep. Seeing one go flying from a flick of one of the dragon's wings, a Chinese Fireball, from her estimation, she surmised it wasn't working well.

They eventually gathered together, and nailed each dragon with a barrage of coordinated Stunners, finally putting each to sleep, before tending to the cries of the wounded.

This HAD to be the next task! She had to tell Harry-and maybe Matt-about this!

She was halfway through the forest, when she heard voices. Familiar ones.

Hagrid was stumping through the forest, talking animatedly with Madame Maxine, who was hanging off of his arm. They were heading straight for the dragon pen.

"Jus' a little farther, Olympe. You'll lik' it, I promise."

Luna both loved and cursed Hagrid for his bumbling but gentle nature. Couldn't he see that the Madame was obviously using him as a tool to find out the next task for her champion?

A idea struck her, and her mandibles were bared in the semblance of a smile.

A few seconds later, she leapt out in front of the faux-couple, swishing her tail lazily. Hagrid, as she expected, stopped dead.

"'Ey, I ain't never seen one of them before!" He exclaimed, transfixed by her leopard form. Madame Maxine tugged on his arm, obviously wanting to skip this attraction and go to the main event.

Hagrid pulled free of the French Headmistress and slowly approached Luna in her leopard form, hands outstretched in a peaceful manner.

"Don' worry...I'm not going ter hurt yeh...I jus' want ter get to kno' yeh..." He cooed softly.

Luna sprang into motion, ducking under Hagrid's hands and shooting forward under his legs, past him. He whipped around, and began the pursuit. Madame Maxine, seeing her ticket out of the Forest thrashing away through the undergrowth, chased Hagrid, shaking her fist and screaming what sounded like French obscenities at him.

"Wait! I jus' want ter say 'ello!"

Luna didn't stop.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And now, let me welcome you to this years, TriWizard? Tournament! Held here, at Hogwarts in magical Britain!" Bagman boomed, his voice enhanced by the Sonorous charm ten times over. He had a good hand in entertainment, Harry supposed, as the crowd nearly deafened him with their thunderous cheers.

The cheers continued for a good few seconds. Harry watched the Omnioculars wink at him, standing on the podium with the four other champions, before he sighed slightly and sat through the Head of Magical Entertainment and Falling in Debt Due To His Addictive Gambling Habit run through the magical sponsors briefly. He caught Cooke It Up being mentioned.

"And now, let me welcome and introduce our champions!" More thunderous applause.

"From France, and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Fleur Delacour! Daughter of Lestat Delacour and Collete Delacour, two famous French nobles, she knows her way around Charms, let me tell you! She-" Harry sighed and tuned him out as he gave a little personal history background about her specialties and a few hobbies.

It had become a media battleground on the pitch, ever since the American embassy had arrived. Until then, it had been only European. Now, it was a matter of pride.

Reporters with Globonoculars, the wizarding version of news cameras, had boxed them in. America may have been lagging in the magical standpoint, but they had integrated their technological with their magical fairly well. Harry saw a few news slogans. What the hell was Channel Thirteen, The Witching Hour News, or Channel Five, the Wand?

Matt, as expected, had been rammed the hardest by the media barrage.

A rather weedy little man who went only by had been assigned as Matt's 'advisor'. Basically, he was the propaganda vender. He was the guy who milked the absolute most publicity out of this little event, and advised Matt on how to best whore himself out to the media. Harry broke down laughing when he heard him trying to wheedle Matt into wearing a big American flag cape out onto the podium.

Then was dumbstruck when Matt did so. He was able to corner Matt for a few seconds, who shrugged when he asked him.

"Dude, Peterson's giving me two hundred Galleons if I wear this piece of shit out there and smile like a good American. I'm only in this for the money, I told you." Then he was dragged off.

The Europeans, not to be outdone by 'Yankee pigs', did the same. Fleur got her grandmother(Who, incidentally, still looked like she was thirty and smoking hot) as a 'advisor', who turned out to be the luckiest. Krum got some extremely obese, Bulgarian 'advisor' who looked like a Nazi version of his muggle Uncle Vernon, who was the fattest human being he had ever seen until that point.

Harry felt extremely relieved that he had chosen to go as independent. Henry seemed to have Minister Fudge hanging off his arm wherever he went. Harry had underestimated the political rebounds of this Tournament. He supposed, since each champion was supposedly the strongest of the generation, this was a representation of each country's strength. He was just glad it had forgotten him.

He had truly been naive when he had that thought.

He had been in second place for the cat fight over who got the most coverage with him, because he had been the unmarked slate.

He didn't get a second to himself with all the various companies throwing themselves at him, begging him to represent their product, or be their poster boy, or whatever. He had business cards stuck up places he didn't think existed.

But unfortunately, unlike Matt, he had a little pride. So he turned them all down, and flatly stated he would be going as himself, only.

He had then stopped reading his mail, because most of them carried death threats and threating letters from assorted magnates and CEOs and various compulsed contracts. He was lucky Luna was there to claw the pen from his hand before he finished signing his name on the first one, particularly because it had been a magical lube making company.

So just when Harry thought he was going to miss out on a 'advisor', a 'advisor' was promptly rammed up his ass. His mother. Who wouldn't stop fucking trying to coddle him, or fix his hair, or tell him to do the Potter name proud, or teach him some useless charm that he probably already knew.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure you'll do just fine, even if you are going up against your brother. Just do your best." She had 'reassured' him.

Of course, he had been all primed to explode when Luna had told him and Matt that they were facing DRAGONS!

But he didn't. Because when Harry got angry, he didn't get loud. He got quiet. And he got scary.

"Next, we haaaave, representing the Bulgarian fatherland, Viiiiktor Krum! Quiddich Star extraordinaire, protégé of Igor Karkaroff, our dark apprentice in this amazing spectacle!"

Ouch. Harry could see Karkaroff glaring at Bagman, and knew the easygoing gambler had just earned himself a enemy.

"Here, we have the young Matthew Cooke! Representing the United States of Wizarding America, the underdog in the upcoming task! Only fourteen, he's the son of the acclaimed potions magnate, David Cooke! Rumors are, he managed to sneak past Headmaster Dumbledore's Age Line and trick the Goblet of Fire into letting him compete! He's a force to reckoned with, folks, make no mistake!"

Harry clapped just as loud as any other spectator, though not for the same reason. Some person was definitely holding the puppet strings with Bagman, probably a few bribes here and there, because that speech had been a neat double whammy, calling Matt a cheater while at the same time calling Dumbledore inept. It sounded like there were a few hurt feelings over a Yankee in the Tournament, with the money and intrigue to do something about it.

He supposed he'd have to warn Matt to be careful...

"Standing here today, we have Harry Potter, first part of the dynamic duo, brother of Henry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived! Who defeated Voldemort when he was merely a infant. No one knows how he managed to get into the Tournament today! He's a wild card, flying no flag for any country but himself, and we expect some great excitement from this corner of the Tournament competition!"

Harry supposed he should have expected that half his commentary would be about Henry instead, fucking typical...

"And now, the final champion! Representing Britain in this momentous event! Defeater of Dark Lords, Gryffindor prince! The one, the only, HENRY! POTTEEEEER!"

As expected, the crowds went nuts. Harry winced as the volume hit his ears like a sledgehammer. Henry bathed in the attention, throwing his hands up, smiling, blowing kisses, the whole she-bang. Harry was sure that if there weren't wards in place preventing it, Henry would have been covered in adoring fans right now. Bagman had rather obviously avoided the fact that he wasn't supposed to be in the Tournament either, but nothing but the best for their precious icon of the light, right?

"Now!" Ludo called out, as the crowd finally quieted down. "For the First Task, we have brought in a rare treat! The champions' task will be to recover this Golden Egg!" A large Golden Egg was portrayed upon the large projector that had been set up. "From the clutches of...DRAGONS!"

Harry let nothing on his face show, making himself merely impassive. Even if he hadn't known about it, it wouldn't be good to let your enemies see you were scared.

Most of the other champions did the same. Sure, Henry looked a bit eager...

...Hey! The French bird, Fleur or whatever, looked like she had had ber brains bashed out with a large gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon. So she hadn't known. Nearby, her grandmother was whispering urgently into her ear.

"Now, the champions will return to their dressing rooms to prepare while we bring in the dragons.!"

That was another new thing; Dressing rooms.

In fact, the whole stadium had been enlarged, to fit the huge amount of fans that had traveled just to see this happening. This was no longer just a school Tournament. There was easily more people here than had been at the Quiddich World Cup. It was ridiculous how much a few words from some high rankers could do to draw in spectators.

The inside had been changed as well; There were concession stands, gift shops, and the plot of the field had been altered additionally; What was once just a elevated platform with a couple of boulders as cover was now a hill covered in various obstacles and things to help against the dragon. There were a great deal of boulders, certainly, but now, there were odd potions embedded in them, weapons stuck around in the ground, swords and such, as if they expected the person to lop off the dragon's head like in some story.

Also, there were fissions, steam vents to scorch champions faces off, odd gouts of lava and such...

Harry could honestly believe that this Tournament was the biggest and would be the most famous in history, if this was anything to go by.

Harry, instead of going to his own dressing room, immediately headed to Matt's where he was stopped by two large, burly men in official looking robes with plastic earphones hanging off of them. Harry supposed it was the wizarding version of the Secret Service.

"Touch me with that hand and you will lose it." Harry informed the man on the right, who was trying to curtail Harry's progress forward by putting a hand on his shoulder.

Both men bristled and their hands inched towards where their wands were stored in shoulder holsters, but were stopped.

"NO! No, don't, it's fine, he's a friend." Matt quickly came forward, inevitably hounded by Peterson, who was nagging him about how speaking with the competition was not very good for the public image, in a not very quiet voice. Matt responded with a glare. "Can I please have a moment? Christ!"

Peterson moved off, rather unwillingly from the expression on his face, while Harry found a arm swung around his shoulder.

"SO! Harry, how's it been, how's your mum..." Matt trailed off as they passed around the corner, before dropping the arm. "Sorry, needed to give Peterson a show. What is it?"

"Just thought I should warn you, there's someone who doesn't like you up high, and they are not shy about getting financial about it." Harry stated. Matt grimaced.

"The announcement? Yeah...I figured as much. But don't worry, I'll be fine."

"WILL HARRY POTTER PLEASE COME TO THE FIELD!" Bagman's voice boomed throughout the stadium. Matt grinned and thumped him on the shoulder.

"Good luck." He chuckled. Harry just left, tossing a comment over his shoulder.

"I don't need luck, Matt. I'm Harry fucking Potter. I'm magic."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxx

"Aaaand now, the Hungarian Horntail!"

Harry whistled appreciatively at the size, especially the dragon armor that had been added on as a little extra challenge. Of course, it wouldn't do much good, against what he had planned.

He spied the Golden Egg, nestled among numerous real ones, probably scented over to prevent the Hungarian from going apeshit on the smell of human among her eggs.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! GO! FIRST TASK, START!" Bagman roared. Harry humored him, easing himself by the fact he was going to give them all a real kick in the nuts with what he was about to do.

The Hungarian snarled at him, it's huge, metal sheathed claws making rents in the stone as easily as butter. It's yellow eyes were narrow and feral.

"Excuse me." Harry intoned in Parceltongue. There was no reaction from the dragon. It must not have heard him. Pointing his wand at his throat, and muttering "Sonorous" he tried again.

"EXCUSE ME!"

This, expectedly, had quite the effect. The whole stadium went dead silent, most eyeing him in fear and trepidation.

The dragon eased up a bit, though it didn't move from the spot it had over it's eggs. Harry approached it easily, before carefully stopping just out of lashing range of it's now viciously metal barbed tail.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked, calmly.

The dragon sounded as though it had a strange accent, all thick, and low. "You dare speak to me in the tongue of a lowly snake?" It also sounded rather pissed, as a minor detail.

"Well, actually, there aren't any humans who know or can speak dragon tongue. Snake tongue is the closest we're going to get to having a civil conversation. That, or bird tongue." Harry replied easily. The crowd was uneasy, restless. Harry readily assumed they were already thinking up ways to implicate him as a Dark Lord at this very moment.

"BIRD TONGUE?! You dare? Even snake tongue is better than bird tongue! Any dragon with a modicum of pride would destroy a human who dared speak to them in the BIRD tongue!" The Hungarian roared.

"Look, I'm sorry if I offended you, but I'm just here, for that egg." Harry pointed the egg in the middle of the pile, the Golden one.

"Worm! You shall never touch my clutch. I will roast your hide over the flames of my rage!" Just as the dragon took a deep breath, Harry quickly interceded.

"No, NO! That egg, it's not real, it's fake!" Harry yelled in Parseltongue. The dragon paused for a brief moment.

"...What?"

"Look at it, smell it, touch it! It's a fake, metal egg put there by the human handlers!" Harry quickly gabbled out. The Hungarian eyed him suspiciously, before stooping slightly.

Reaching it's nostril out, it caressed the edge of it with one deadly talon. It's nostrils flared, before it jerked upright, like a flag post, spewing dragonfire into the air like a fountain.

"THEY DARE! THEY DARE TOUCH MY EGGS!"

Harry smirked quietly. "Yes, and they wanted me to come in here and smash the rest of them to get that one. But I decided a peaceful solution was much smarter. We don't have to resort to violence, do we?"

Slowly, the Horntail lowered it's snout, smoke trailing from it's nostrils. "No, we do not. Thank you, snake-human." Gently, it pushed the Golden Egg out of it's mound and down the tip of the nest, so it gently rolled down to Harry's feet, where he picked it up, cradling it under his armpit. "The snake from yesterday was right, I am glad to have listened."

"Right, no problem. Give the handlers a good thrashing for me. Thanks!" Harry yelled the final part in English, before waving jauntily to the dragon, before departing down the slope, Egg tucked neatly under his arm.

The boos started slowly, but they grew quickly, until Harry's ears were assaulted by the sound of over a thousand magical people's displeasure. He kept his cheery smile in place, knowing it would only serve to piss them all off more.

He entered his own dressing room, setting the Egg gently on one of the benches.

His parents were waiting. Lily was first, hesitant smile in place.

"That was very...resourceful, of you." Lily tried, throwing Harry off guard. Cue exploding Gryffindor dad.

"RESOURCEFUL! Lily, he bloody used Parseltongue! Our son! Dark Magic!" He yelled, waving his arms in the air.

"...It wasn't dark magic." Harry muttered. James turned on him.

"What did you say?" He asked, venom bubbling barely beneath the surface.

"I said, it wasn't fucking dark magic!" Harry yelled back at him.

A sharp crack was heard as Harry received a smarting slap on the cheek. "Don't talk to me like that, boy, I'm your father!"

"James..." Lily murmured, fear shown slightly on her face. She was ignored.

"Why is everything that goes against your cute little beliefs fucking dark magic, dad?" Harry roared. "I was just reasoning with the dragon! What would you have me do, fucking rush it with a sword?"

"I'm not hearing any more of this disrespect!" James yelled. "You are a Potter, and it's time you started acting like one!"

"Is that what being a Potter means? Acting like a fucking idiot all the time? Laying down and worshipping the ground Henry walks on and licking his shoes?" Harry snarled. " Great family legacy, dad, I bet you're really fucking proud of it!"

"Parselmagic, Harry!?" James yelled in rage. "We are Godric Gryffindor's flesh and blood! It is a disgrace to his name and legacy to even think of using such methods! From now on, I don't want to hear a word of Parseltongue pass your lips!"

"Or what, dad? You'll ground me? Send me to my room? Take away my toys?" Harry laughed, half anger, half grim amusement. "You have nothing to hold over my head, James Potter!"

"Or I'll disown you." James ground out.

"James!" Lily gasped. "You can't mean that!"

"I can, and I will." James hissed. Harry kept his lips shut tight, in shock. "Not so smug now, are you, boy?"

"James, you can't be serious, he's our son!" Lily whispered in dead shock. James Potter's face did not change.

"...Is that it?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"What?" James asked, thrown somewhat off guard.

"Is that truly your greatest threat? Taking away from me the Potter name?" Harry asked. Her voice was perfectly serene, no traces of anger.

"Well, yes!" James shouted, regaining his momentum. "You will be stripped of the Potter name, shunned by Potters of all generations, no longer allowed the prestige that comes with the Potter name, no longer draw from the Potter coffers..." James trailed off.

Because Harry was laughing.

"Is that it? Taking away what I already do not have?" Harry asked, chuckling. He really could not stop, now, it was just too humorous. "I haven't been accepted by you since the day I was born. I was always the third wheel in your perfect little family. I never have found there to be any prestige with the Potter name. You're all Dumbledore's little yes-men, doing whatever he says, whenever he says it."

Harry could not stop the words flowing out of his mouth at the moment any more than he could've raised Merlin from the grave. He could not stop laughing, either, at the thunderous look on James Potter's face.

"And the Potter coffers? Please, don't make me laugh. You've barely noticed I've existed until I got in Henry's way. All my clothes, my wand, my owl, they were all Henry's first! Until he cast them aside. So you can take your hypocritical arrogant ass and get it out of my dressing room, and out of my life, until you're willing to realize that I am smarter than Henry, stronger than Henry, and am and always will be the better wizard than Henry!"

The next blow was even harsher. Harry was knocked to the floor by his father's harsh fist, and rubbed his swollen jaw, as James stomped out of the room, pulling a unwilling Lily along with him. He shouted over his shoulder as he left.

"Until you forswear Parselmagic and all forms of dark magic, you'll not be welcome in the Potter Manor!" He yelled.

Harry, his temper already beginning to cool, considering informing him about the copies of all the manuscripts of Gryffindor he had made and sent to Hogwarts, and to Luna, and Matt, just to make sure he'd have them, just to show him how useless that threat was. He decided against it.

He barely noticed Matt coming in until he was up, pulling out his wand to check if his jaw was broken. Matt's face was stony.

"I came to tell you your scores." He said quietly, before pulling out a sheet of parchment. Harry felt gratitude for not confronting him about his fucked up family issues well up in him. Matt peeked at him from under his shaggy brown bangs. "As you might expect, the judges didn't like the way you did it, and the crowd didn't like the lack of action."

"Well they can kiss my ass. I'd love to see any one of them face a fully armored Horntail without shitting themselves." Harry said coolly. "What'd they give me?"

"Lessee...Dumbledore:6."

Harry snorted. "Typical."

"Mmm. Karkaroff:9." Harry brightened a bit. Then again, Karkaroff did lead a school where Dark Magic was coveted, and was a former Death Eater. The only reason he hadn't probably gotten that last point was the fact that he wasn't Krum. "Madame Maxine:10." Finally, a fair score. He hadn't sustained a single injury, fuck, he'd barely been out there thirty seconds! "Crouch:6. "Bagman:6." Ah, the sweet smell of Ministry opinion. "They added two judges, one for America and one for...well, you. Johnson:8, and Potter:10."

"Potter? Who...?" Matt looked up.

"Your mom." Harry was thrown for a loop. His mother had given him a ten? Matt noticed his dumbstruck countenance, and elaborated. "I heard your dad giving her shit for the whole way to the dressing room. So, your overall average score was about 7.8. Not bad."

"But not good, either." Harry grumbled. "Matt, I don't care if I didn't want to be here at first, I want to win it now. Not for the money-" He said quickly, noticing Matt's expressionless face. "-But to smear Henry's face straight into the fucking mud."

Matt's face broke into a smile. "I like it. I hate arrogant mother fuckers like him. The only way you're allowed to be arrogant is if you've fucking earned it, and I think it's time he learned that."

"Agreed. Who's up now?"

"Krum. Then me, then the French bitch, and then Henry. The main spectacle comes last, of course." He murmured, smiling slightly.

"AND KRUM WINS IT! NOW WE GO TO OUR JUDGES ON HIS CLEVER SPELLWORK AND INGENUITY!"

Matt jumped. "Crap, I've got to get out there. See you, Harry. And..." He hesitated. "...my dad would probably let you stay with us, if you don't mind working for him as a 'personal assistant', which is code for paid guest."

Harry grinned. "Looking forward to it. Knock'em dead."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was able to find a seat very easily, since one had already been paid for him, to his surprise. It was a good thing that the front office had two house elves working as it, since he doubted that one of the humans would have told him.

So here he found himself sitting right next to Mr. Cooke.

"So, your match wasn't impressive, but it was smart. Don't worry about the Parselmouth thing-" He said quickly. "-My great grandfather was one."

Harry felt instant relief. "Thanks, Mr. Cooke."

He offered his hand. "David."

"Right." Harry shook it. The older man turned back to where Matt was slowly walking onto the field, flexing his shoulders and clenching his leather clad fists.

"Any idea what Matt's been working on? He's always so secretive in his letters." He asked. Harry hesitated, weighing the ups and downs of telling the senior Cooke.

"Enchanting." David chuckled, sounding a little forced.

"Well, I suppose I've always told him to shoot high, I just never thought it would come back to bite me in the ass. That one is a long and arduous road, yet I'm pretty sure he can manage it."

"Right." Harry nodded.

Matt took out his wand, and conjured several birds, which fluttered around madly, before zooming around the Norwegian Ridgeback's head, which swung it's head angrily, trying vainly to bat the small targets away.

Finally, it sucked in a breath, and let loose a long gout of fire, incinerating several of the birds. A few still lingered, catching it's attention.

Meanwhile, Matt had snuck behind a boulder, and was hurriedly conjuring a flock of birds. Quickly, they zoomed at the agitated Ridgeback, following his chirped instructions, pecking at it's wings, tearing the soft membrane.

Suddenly, Matt stepped out in front of the dragon, while the birds all suddenly zoomed at him.

"What the fuck...he's going to get incinerated!" Harry muttered. Mr. Cooke glanced at him.

"Language." He murmured. But his fists were grabbing the seats of his chair rather tightly.

Matt suddenly reached into his back pocket, and grabbed a small corked blue vial. Harry stared at it, confused.

"From the color, it's either the Troll Muscle Swill, or Antonin Federith's Hermes Elixir." David muttered.

Matt downed the small vial, wiping his lips of the thick blue liquid, before yanking off his thin red gloves. Harry was transfixed by the large Japanese symbols and arrays he saw etched on each palm. The elder Cooke seemed similarly entranced.

"Kanji...what are are you doing, son, what are you...?" David muttered.

Matt pointed his wand, and nailed the Norwegian on the snout with a Stunner, quite possibly the most stupid thing he could have done. It roared in annoyance, and turned it's baleful gaze onto Matt.

The dragon sucked in a breath, and let forth a huge gout of fire, barreling straight at Matt.

Suddenly, wings sprouted out of Matt's ankles, and his hands opened up into small black holes, and he flew straight into the fire. It was hard to watch the fearful look on Mr. Cooke's face, but both of the spectators sighed in relief, as Matt appeared, unscathed, out of the fire, hand seals no longer opened up.

"Alright Matt, now you've got a bunch of dragonfire at the tips of your fingers...what do you do with it?" Harry asked, to no one in particular.

Matt soon showed them, as he leveled with the panting Ridgeback, and blasted him with his own fire, in the face, actually pushing Matt back somewhat from the force of the release of the seals.

The dragon keened and stumbled back, crushing several of it's eggs in the process, blinded by it's own fire, uncovering the nest to the world.

And to the birds that Matt had previously summoned, which zoomed out from the place they had been hiding, grabbing the Golden Egg as a joint effort, and meeting Matt halfway as he snatched it out of their claws and beaks, while he used his ankle wings to fly to safety.

Handlers rushed onto the scene, shooting off Stunners, sending the wounded dragon into unconsciousness. Matt hit the ground, before collapsing to his knees, yelling a bit in pain as the wings retracted into his ankles.

"The downside of Hermes Elixir is most certainly the time limit and pain factor." David informed him sadly. "It's also very tricky to brew, I'm surprised Matt managed it."

"Wait, isn't Matt some sort of Potions genius?" Harry asked. David laughed, a great booming sound.

"Genius? Hardly. I just gave him a little extra tutoring as a kid in my art. All these years in Potions class must seem like review, for him." David got up, collecting his great coat. "Well, I'm off to see if my son hasn't accidentally paralyzed himself with a bad draught; It was nice seeing you again, young Master Potter." He teased.

"You too, Mr. Cooke." Harry shot right back.

The crowd cheered wildly as the scores were announced.

Dumbledore did not hesitate, sending a red and gold eight up into the air, eyes twinkling.

Karkaroff hesitated for a moment, before shooting up a stony blue seven, which was just stressing the bounds of fair.

Madame Maxine sniffed, before sending up a seven in bright baby blue sparks.

Crouch sent up a seven, where Bagman sent up a nine, which was slightly irregular. Must have bet money on him, or something. Harry thought cynically.

Johnson, predictably, sent up a ten, where his mother, who just barely made it to the podium in time, sent up a eight.

Harry, mentally calculating for a moment, put Matt's score up as a 8, slightly better than him, something he'd have to correct shortly.

Matt, supported by a few of those Secret Service wizards, accidentally bumped into Fleur Delacour on the way out, murmuring a apology as he made his was creakily towards his dressing room to wait for whatever Healer the American embassy had procured.

Harry watched in a position of semi-interest, as the French witch rather cleverly used her aura to distract the dragon, a Chinese Fireball. It swayed, drunkenly in place, before slowly moving out of the way of the nest, obviously slightly compulsed.

Then, Harry watched as she turned a boulder into chunks with a quick Blasting curse, before waving her wand and transfiguring a rather large piece into a brown bear, which lumbered up the pitch.

It clopped into the nest, and began rolling the Golden Egg out of the nest, obviously taking a few ideas from Matt's pitch, which was good improvisation in Harry's eyes, considering that Fleur hadn't known about the dragon beforehand.

It seemed that when the bear entered the nest, the Fireball shook itself out of its daze, due to the threat against it's nest, and started on the a warpath, blasting the bear out of existence just as it tipped the Egg over the edge of the nest, sending it rolling down the slope of the hill.

Fleur dove for the Egg, just as the dragon lived up to it's name, unleashing a blast of dragonfire that was three times as big as either the Ridgeback's or the Horntail's had been, a brilliant conflagration that nearly blinded him, engulfing the small lithe form of Fleur as she reached the egg. He heard gasps all around the stadium, as they believed she had perished in the flame.

He did not.

Why was there a shining orb of magic burning brightly inside the fire to his second sight eyes?

Just then, the fire weakened, revealing Fleur, unharmed and surrounded by a invisible barrier, one hand flung up to shield her eyes instinctively, a bracelet lit up on her arm in his aura-seeing sight.

That was one of Matt's enchantments! He himself had tested it, tested the fact that it shielded the wearer from every and all forms of flame, and was utterly sure that it was his, by the stainless steel gray shape! Why the fuck did a chick that Matt despised have one?

Harry had no time to act on his suspicions, as the dragon was stunned by the handlers, leaving Fleur on her knees, obviously worn out from the way the bracelet drew on the users own magic to protect them from flame, with her staring in confusion at the bracelet on her wrist.

He missed the absolutely pissed expression on her face, however, as she stomped out of the arena, without even hearing her score, which turned out to be level with Matt, leaving Krum in first with sixty one points, Fleur and Matt competing for second with 56, him at third with 55, and everyone waiting for Henry.

So Harry was completely oblivious to the Drama taking place below the arena in his friend's dressing room, as he saw his brother suddenly summon a broom...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Getting past his guards had been easy. A quick burst of aura towards two very bored and frustrated men left them like putty in her hands, and very susceptible to the memory charms she quickly put on them.

She tramped into his rooms, furious beyond all belief. How dare this boy?

She hadn't suspected it was him until she saw the bracelet, which he had covertly slipped onto her when he passed and bumped into her. And the inscription written onto the steel.

You're welcome.

These two simple words were enough to send her into a rage she had no words to describe.

He was sitting there, tapping his foot slightly, his back to her, as he waited for a Healer to come back with the Numbing Draught she had promised. The mere sight of his nonchalance was enough to stoke her fury. She grabbed him by the shoulders, and spun him around, before grabbing him and slamming him into the stone wall, relishing in his gasp of pain as confused blue eyes stared into hers.

"Why!?" Fleur snarled. "Why did you help me?! I did not want your help, and did not need it!" She yelled in his face. His face was unnaturally calm.

"...Because you were the only one who didn't know about the dragons, and I don't like seeing girls get hurt." He replied simply.

She screamed with animalistic rage, her Veela blood showing itself in the way her fist covered itself in flame. She shook her flaming fist in his face.

"I do not want your help! You ever try to help me again, and I will kill you, understand? I am my own woman, and do not need anyone's...hel..p.." Fleur trailed off, as Matt's face contorted itself into fury.

Suddenly, she was the one who found herself slammed against the wall, as she came nose to nose with his furious blue eyes.

No, not blue. Even as she watched, two blue contacts popped out of his eyes, propelled by the force of magic behind them. His eyes were yellow. Glowing yellow.

"Who the fuck do you think you are!?" Matt roared into her face. She cringed, her so called strength and anger evaporating like a morning mist, before those eyes, those horrible, haunting amber flecks of fury, which caused her stomach to rise up and strangle her throat as she tried to speak. "I've been nothing but kind to you this entire fucking time, and you've shown me nothing but anger and disrespect! All I wanted to do was help you!"

"You...you wanted nothing more than to curry favor with me! To try to defile my body!" Fleur protested weakly. Her accusation sounded small and feeble in her ears.

"Never! I would never force myself upon any woman! I have faced true Veela, you small insignifant hypocrite of a girl, your aura is but the slightest cobweb to brush from my mind!" Matt spat, his tone venomous and disgusted.

Her own previous implication began to ring false in her own ears. He never had seemed to exhibit any of the normal traits of a man enthralled when he had been around her...

...no! Not again! She would not again allow herself to be tricked! Tricked and defiled, like with Him.

And her eyes began to overlay Matt's angry, offended face with His, his golden hair, his blue eyes...

And her hands and nails slowly morphed, the Veela blood in her making them claws, with long, cruel nails prevailing with a sharp and wet sheen to them, unbeknownst to her.

"So I take it upon myself to simply help you, and this is how you repay me, you shallow, ungrateful-"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed, lashing out, anything to get away from this horrid man who's eyes stripped away all her emotional barriers and saw her bare, naked and fearful soul. She heard him cry out in pain as she fled from his room.

She ran and ran, down the long, winding halls, nearly blind with fear, never stopping until she reached her room.

When she got there, she leaned against the wall and sank to her knees, putting her head into hands.

Then she stopped and pulled away from them, and actually saw them as they were.

And screamed.

Not because they were claws. She had seen her claws before.

But because there was his eye, still staring at her from it's bloodied and impaled position.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry couldn't stop smirking.

Really.

It was simply a biological reaction, it really wasn't his fault that making out with a hot girl made him this way...

It wasn't his fault at all that he felt small, vindictive glee whenever he made out with Luna right in front of Matt, or that he exercise his newly acquired 'Bum Privileges' while doing so.

Honestly, wouldn't any red-blooded male do the same?

"Alright! I fucking get the picture! You're together, and enjoying it! Now stop fucking distracting me and get the fuck out of the Library!" Matt had finally lost it once, when Harry brought Luna all the way down to Slytherin's Library on the excuse to let her look at the selection...

...Before resuming snogging.

Right next to Matt.

While he was working on some weird Japanese symbols on a paper.

Luna had smiled, then walked downstairs to actually do what she had come to do. She was, after all, a Ravenclaw, and knowledge was all Ravenclaw's secret guilty pleasure, even if it was not so secret.

Harry felt immense relief that she wasn't like that Granger chick in Gryffindor, who was practically obsessive. If he showed her this place, she'd probably blow her panties off creaming so hard.

"What're you working on?" Harry asked curiously. "No in depth explanations, though, they might hurt my small, underprivileged brain."

"Ha ha ha, asshole." Matt muttered. He waved a hand over the Japanese symbols. "Kanji. Old Japanese and Chinese wizards used them for magic. Only type of enchanting they really used, but cool as hell. It's a really unknown art, most people forgot that it's practically the most useful shit you could ever learn."

"Why?"

"It's sealing magic." Harry cocked a head.

"Like, sealing demons and curses and such, or inter-dimensional sealing, like the type they use on those magical trunks in Diagon Alley?"

Matt grimaced. "I would say trunks, but that would be a insult to sealing magic." One eyebrow on Harry's face rose.

"Elaborate."

Matt sighed, and ruffled a few pages around, before yanking one out. It was a small tag, about as long and wide as Harry's hand. It was covered in the small Japanese kanji, and surrounded by a red line. There was one large character in the middle.

"The kind of sealing magic they use on trunks is proportional. They make it ten times as big on the inside, or something like that. It's not real sealing magic. It's like a crying baby compared to Chuck Norris in this case." Matt waved the little tag around in the air. "And this sucker kicks the shit out of trunks any day."

The small tag did not look very impressive, but Harry held his disbelief, considering the fact that no one would expect him, a fourth year, to create a spell that could cause a stalactite to impale you from behind. Which he had done.

"Inside this tag-" Matt waved it again. "-is another world."

Harry snorted. "Okay, now I'm calling it. Bullshit!"

"No, no, look." Harry could see Matt concentrating magic into the tag.

Suddenly, a small black hole the size of the tag covered the side with the characters on it, stopping at the black line around it. A apple dropped out of it, which Matt caught with his hand, before letting the flow cease. The black hole winked out, leaving the tag blank paper on both sides.

He hefted the apple and smirked. Harry took one look at it, and Matt yelped and dropped it as it froze over completely, shattering on the floor like fragile glass.

"Explain, Matt." Matt smiled.

"They created actual dimensions, Harry. Small pocket dimensions by creating the parameters, those characters you saw, and a limit, that black line around the edges that controlled the size of the opening. And you can store anything you can fit in there, for as long as you like, without it spoiling, rusting, or becoming damaged in any way, as long as the tag isn't ripped or anything."

"The ink disappeared afterwards, so it's only one usage, right?" Matt nodded.

"Yeah, that's the one downside. You gotta rewrite everything afterwards. It's seal, unseal, then rewrite and repeat-hey!" Matt grunted, as Harry scooted in next to him.

"Move over. I'm learning this too. This does kick the ass out of trunks. More."

"Well, other than that, there's not much else to it. The item returns at the speed it was put in, so, if you threw a baseball in at ninety miles per hour, it would come out at the same speed. There's no friction or air speed inside the space, remember, so there's nothing to slow it down..." Matt trailed off, not really liking the look on Harry's face.

"So all those ancient Chinese tales of a rain of steel and shit aren't total crap! They probably just threw those tags in the air! And think of what kind of shit we can put in there!" Matt was getting pretty excited too, he could see the possibilities too.

"Imagine!, Rain of-!"

"-Bullets coming from every-!"

"-sides of reductos from underneath-!"

"-LAVA balls-!"

"-LEMON DROPS!"

The conversation stopped. Harry looked at Matt, who was grinning sheepishly.

"Lemon drops, Matt?" Harry asked. A embarrassed flush rose up in his cheeks.

"Well...you know, kind of the ultimate humiliater for Dumbledore...a tag that unsealed lemon drops at...supersonic..." He trailed off, not really wanting to finish.

Harry palmed his forehead. "Right...lets...just...start with learning how to seal apples and shit, first, okay? Where can I find a book on Kanji?"

Matt grinned, reached under the table, and rammed a huge book onto the surface. Harry felt his eyes widen.

"Shit. Matt, are there any memory speeder uppers that you can brew...?" Harry knew such a potion existed, but not really the name of it.

Matt nodded. "The Rosetta Draught? Sure, I've got one brewing in the chamber."

One more advantage of having a large, secret hideout, was the room. Matt had probably a dozen potions just simmering in the long Chamber passages, with strict instructions not to touch any of them. They were mostly the kind that look a long time to brew, so Matt had them in large doses, a trick he said he learned from his father.

"Just remember Harry..." His face turned serious. "You only get seven hours of memory clarity. Meaning, for two years. If you try it again before the year is up, you can get serious brain damage. Most people use this, crack open a few foreign language books, and learn a language in seven hours. That's how I learned French and Japanese. That's why it's called the Rosetta Draught."

"Yeah...so anything I read for seven hours will always stick? And only one per two years?" Harry frowned. "No, I think I'll save it. I'll do this the old fashioned way. See you, Matt."

"Right. Oh, and one more thing." Matt waved, and for once, Harry saw he was wearing thin, leather gloves.

"Kanji don't have to go on paper only, you know!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was only a accident.

Really.

Luna, since she had gained her Animagus form of a snow leopard, liked to prowl around the grounds at night, sometimes running, or chasing a mouse for amusement, catching it, and letting it go, since she rather liked mice and found the idea of eating one revolting.

Sometimes she would chase Filch's cat.

She never caught it. It was a rather wily little beast.

So there she was, padding down a beaten deer path in the Forbidden Forest, when she heard a roar.

A big roar.

A very big, very SCARY roar.

All the hairs on her body stood up, and she hissed out of instinct. Her feline silver eyes, narrowed, and tufty white ears twitched as she tried to locate the source of the sound.

She took off, loping gracefully towards a clearing far enough away from the castle that she was fairly sure that no one in Hogwarts would be hearing the roars.

She stopped, dumbstruck by the sight in front of her.

Dragons.

Five of them.

All of them, thrashing around fitfully in heaps, bound by chains, with dragon handlers scurrying around them like ants, trying to Stun them asleep. Seeing one go flying from a flick of one of the dragon's wings, a Chinese Fireball, from her estimation, she surmised it wasn't working well.

They eventually gathered together, and nailed each dragon with a barrage of coordinated Stunners, finally putting each to sleep, before tending to the cries of the wounded.

This HAD to be the next task! She had to tell Harry-and maybe Matt-about this!

She was halfway through the forest, when she heard voices. Familiar ones.

Hagrid was stumping through the forest, talking animately with Madame Maxine, who was hanging off of his arm. They were heading straight for the dragon pen.

"Jus' a little farther, Olympe. You'll lik' it, I promise."

Luna both loved and cursed Hagrid for his bumbling but gentle nature. Couldn't he see that the Madame was obviously using him as a tool to find out the next task for her champion?

A idea struck her, and her mandibles were bared in the semblance of a smile.

A few seconds later, she leapt out in front of the faux-couple, swishing her tail lazily. Hagrid, as she expected, stopped dead.

"'Ey, I ain't never seen one of them before!" He exclaimed, transfixed by her leopard form. Madame Maxine tugged on his arm, obviously wanting to skip this attraction and go to the main event.

Hagrid pulled free of the French Headmistress and slowly approached Luna in her leopard form, hands outstretched in a peaceful manner.

"Don' worry...I'm not going ter hurt yeh...I jus' want ter get to kno' yeh..." He cooed softly.

Luna sprang into motion, ducking under Hagrid's hands and shooting forward under his legs, past him. He whipped around, and began the pursuit. Madame Maxine, seeing her ticket out of the Forest thrashing away through the undergrowth, chased Hagrid, shaking her fist and screaming what sounded like French obscenities at him.

"Wait! I jus' want ter say 'ello!"

Luna didn't stop.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And now, let me welcome you to this years, TriWizard? Tournament! Held here, at Hogwarts in magical Britain!" Bagman boomed, his voice enhanced by the Sonorous charm ten times over. He had a good hand in entertainment, Harry supposed, as the crowd nearly deafened him with their thunderous cheers.

The cheers continued for a good few seconds. Harry watched the Omnioculars wink at him, standing on the podium with the four other champions, before he sighed slightly and sat through the Head of Magical Entertainment and Falling in Debt Due To His Addictive Gambling Habit run through the magical sponsors briefly. He caught Cooke It Up being mentioned.

"And now, let me welcome and introduce our champions!" More thunderous applause.

"From France, and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Fleur Delacour! Daughter of Lestat Delacour and Collete Delacour, two famous French nobles, she knows her way around Charms, let me tell you! She-" Harry sighed and tuned him out as he gave a little personal history background about her specialties and a few hobbies.

It had become a media battleground on the pitch, ever since the American embassy had arrived. Until then, it had been only European. Now, it was a matter of pride.

Reporters with Globonoculars, the wizarding version of news cameras, had boxed them in. America may have been lagging in the magical standpoint, but they had integrated their technological with their magical fairly well. Harry saw a few news slogans. What the hell was Channel Thirteen, The Witching Hour News, or Channel Five, the Wand?

Matt, as expected, had been rammed the hardest by the media barrage.

A rather weedy little man who went only by had been assigned as Matt's 'advisor'. Basically, he was the propaganda vender. He was the guy who milked the absolute most publicity out of this little event, and advised Matt on how to best whore himself out to the media. Harry broke down laughing when he heard him trying to wheedle Matt into wearing a big American flag cape out onto the podium.

Then was dumbstruck when Matt did so. He was able to corner Matt for a few seconds, who shrugged when he asked him.

"Dude, Peterson's giving me two hundred Galleons if I wear this piece of shit out there and smile like a good American. I'm only in this for the money, I told you." Then he was dragged off.

The Europeans, not to be outdone by 'Yankee pigs', did the same. Fleur got her grandmother(Who, incidentally, still looked like she was thirty and smoking hot) as a 'advisor', who turned out to be the luckiest. Krum got some extremely obese, Bulgarian 'advisor' who looked like a Nazi version of his muggle Uncle Vernon, who was the fattest human being he had ever seen until that point.

Harry felt extremely relieved that he had chosen to go as independent. Henry seemed to have Minister Fudge hanging off his arm wherever he went. Harry had underestimated the political rebounds of this Tournament. He supposed, since each champion was supposedly the strongest of the generation, this was a representation of each country's strength. He was just glad it had forgotten him.

He had truly been naive when he had that thought.

He had been in second place for the cat fight over who got the most coverage with him, because he had been the unmarked slate.

He didn't get a second to himself with all the various companies throwing themselves at him, begging him to represent their product, or be their poster boy, or whatever. He had business cards stuck up places he didn't think existed.

But unfortunately, unlike Matt, he had a little pride. So he turned them all down, and flatly stated he would be going as himself, only.

He had then stopped reading his mail, because most of them carried death threats and threating letters from assorted magnates and CEOs and various compulsed contracts. He was lucky Luna was there to claw the pen from his hand before he finished signing his name on the first one, particularly because it had been a magical lube making company.

So just when Harry thought he was going to miss out on a 'advisor', a 'advisor' was promptly rammed up his ass. His mother. Who wouldn't stop fucking trying to coddle him, or fix his hair, or tell him to do the Potter name proud, or teach him some useless charm that he probably already knew.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure you'll do just fine, even if you are going up against your brother. Just do your best." She had 'reassured' him.

Of course, he had been all primed to explode when Luna had told him and Matt that they were facing DRAGONS!

But he didn't. Because when Harry got angry, he didn't get loud. He got quiet. And he got scary.

"Next, we haaaave, representing the Bulgarian fatherland, Viiiiktor Krum! Quiddich Star extraordinaire, protégé of Igor Karkaroff, our dark apprentice in this amazing spectacle!"

Ouch. Harry could see Karkaroff glaring at Bagman, and knew the easygoing gambler had just earned himself a enemy.

"Here, we have the young Matthew Cooke! Representing the United States of Wizarding America, the underdog in the upcoming task! Only fourteen, he's the son of the acclaimed potions magnate, David Cooke! Rumors are, he managed to sneak past Headmaster Dumbledore's Age Line and trick the Goblet of Fire into letting him compete! He's a force to reckoned with, folks, make no mistake!"

Harry clapped just as loud as any other spectator, though not for the same reason. Some person was definitely holding the puppet strings with Bagman, probably a few bribes here and there, because that speech had been a neat double whammy, calling Matt a cheater while at the same time calling Dumbledore inept. It sounded like there were a few hurt feelings over a Yankee in the Tournament, with the money and intrigue to do something about it.

He supposed he'd have to warn Matt to be careful...

"Standing here today, we have Harry Potter, first part of the dynamic duo, brother of Henry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived! Who defeated Voldemort when he was merely a infant. No one knows how he managed to get into the Tournament today! He's a wild card, flying no flag for any country but himself, and we expect some great excitement from this corner of the Tournament competition!"

Harry supposed he should have expected that half his commentary would be about Henry instead, fucking typical...

"And now, the final champion! Representing Britain in this momentous event! Defeater of Dark Lords, Gryffindor prince! The one, the only, HENRY! POTTEEEEER!"

As expected, the crowds went nuts. Harry winced as the volume hit his ears like a sledgehammer. Henry bathed in the attention, throwing his hands up, smiling, blowing kisses, the whole she-bang. Harry was sure that if there weren't wards in place preventing it, Henry would have been covered in adoring fans right now. Bagman had rather obviously avoided the fact that he wasn't supposed to be in the Tournament either, but nothing but the best for their precious icon of the light, right?

"Now!" Ludo called out, as the crowd finally quieted down. "For the First Task, we have brought in a rare treat! The champions' task will be to recover this Golden Egg!" A large Golden Egg was portrayed upon the large projector that had been set up. "From the clutches of...DRAGONS!"

Harry let nothing on his face show, making himself merely impassive. Even if he hadn't known about it, it wouldn't be good to let your enemies see you were scared.

Most of the other champions did the same. Sure, Henry looked a bit eager...

...Hey! The French bird, Fleur or whatever, looked like she had had ber brains bashed out with a large gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon. So she hadn't known. Nearby, her grandmother was whispering urgently into her ear.

"Now, the champions will return to their dressing rooms to prepare while we bring in the dragons.!"

That was another new thing; Dressing rooms.

In fact, the whole stadium had been enlarged, to fit the huge amount of fans that had traveled just to see this happening. This was no longer just a school Tournament. There was easily more people here than had been at the Quiddich World Cup. It was ridiculous how much a few words from some high rankers could do to draw in spectators.

The inside had been changed as well; There were concession stands, gift shops, and the plot of the field had been altered additionally; What was once just a elevated platform with a couple of boulders as cover was now a hill covered in various obstacles and things to help against the dragon. There were a great deal of boulders, certainly, but now, there were odd potions embedded in them, weapons stuck around in the ground, swords and such, as if they expected the person to lop off the dragon's head like in some story.

Also, there were fissions, steam vents to scorch champions faces off, odd gouts of lava and such...

Harry could honestly believe that this Tournament was the biggest and would be the most famous in history, if this was anything to go by.

Harry, instead of going to his own dressing room, immediately headed to Matt's where he was stopped by two large, burly men in official looking robes with plastic earphones hanging off of them. Harry supposed it was the wizarding version of the Secret Service.

"Touch me with that hand and you will lose it." Harry informed the man on the right, who was trying to curtail Harry's progress forward by putting a hand on his shoulder.

Both men bristled and their hands inched towards where their wands were stored in shoulder holsters, but were stopped.

"NO! No, don't, it's fine, he's a friend." Matt quickly came forward, inevitably hounded by Peterson, who was nagging him about how speaking with the competition was not very good for the public image, in a not very quiet voice. Matt responded with a glare. "Can I please have a moment? Christ!"

Peterson moved off, rather unwillingly from the expression on his face, while Harry found a arm swung around his shoulder.

"SO! Harry, how's it been, how's your mum..." Matt trailed off as they passed around the corner, before dropping the arm. "Sorry, needed to give Peterson a show. What is it?"

"Just thought I should warn you, there's someone who doesn't like you up high, and they are not shy about getting financial about it." Harry stated. Matt grimaced.

"The announcement? Yeah...I figured as much. But don't worry, I'll be fine."

"WILL HARRY POTTER PLEASE COME TO THE FIELD!" Bagman's voice boomed throughout the stadium. Matt grinned and thumped him on the shoulder.

"Good luck." He chuckled. Harry just left, tossing a comment over his shoulder.

"I don't need luck, Matt. I'm Harry fucking Potter. I'm magic."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxx

"Aaaand now, the Hungarian Horntail!"

Harry whistled appreciatively at the size, especially the dragon armor that had been added on as a little extra challenge. Of course, it wouldn't do much good, against what he had planned.

He spied the Golden Egg, nestled among numerous real ones, probably scented over to prevent the Hungarian from going apeshit on the smell of human among her eggs.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! GO! FIRST TASK, START!" Bagman roared. Harry humored him, easing himself by the fact he was going to give them all a real kick in the nuts with what he was about to do.

The Hungarian snarled at him, it's huge, metal sheathed claws making rents in the stone as easily as butter. It's yellow eyes were narrow and feral.

"Excuse me." Harry intoned in Parceltongue. There was no reaction from the dragon. It must not have heard him. Pointing his wand at his throat, and muttering "Sonorous" he tried again.

"EXCUSE ME!"

This, expectedly, had quite the effect. The whole stadium went dead silent, most eyeing him in fear and trepidation.

The dragon eased up a bit, though it didn't move from the spot it had over it's eggs. Harry approached it easily, before carefully stopping just out of lashing range of it's now viciously metal barbed tail.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked, calmly.

The dragon sounded as though it had a strange accent, all thick, and low. "You dare speak to me in the tongue of a lowly snake?" It also sounded rather pissed, as a minor detail.

"Well, actually, there aren't any humans who know or can speak dragon tongue. Snake tongue is the closest we're going to get to having a civil conversation. That, or bird tongue." Harry replied easily. The crowd was uneasy, restless. Harry readily assumed they were already thinking up ways to implicate him as a Dark Lord at this very moment.

"BIRD TONGUE?! You dare? Even snake tongue is better than bird tongue! Any dragon with a modicum of pride would destroy a human who dared speak to them in the BIRD tongue!" The Hungarian roared.

"Look, I'm sorry if I offended you, but I'm just here, for that egg." Harry pointed the egg in the middle of the pile, the Golden one.

"Worm! You shall never touch my clutch. I will roast your hide over the flames of my rage!" Just as the dragon took a deep breath, Harry quickly interceded.

"No, NO! That egg, it's not real, it's fake!" Harry yelled in Parseltongue. The dragon paused for a brief moment.

"...What?"

"Look at it, smell it, touch it! It's a fake, metal egg put there by the human handlers!" Harry quickly gabbled out. The Hungarian eyed him suspiciously, before stooping slightly.

Reaching it's nostril out, it caressed the edge of it with one deadly talon. It's nostrils flared, before it jerked upright, like a flagpost, spewing dragonfire into the air like a fountain.

"THEY DARE! THEY DARE TOUCH MY EGGS!"

Harry smirked quietly. "Yes, and they wanted me to come in here and smash the rest of them to get that one. But I decided a peaceful solution was much smarter. We don't have to resort to violence, do we?"

Slowly, the Horntail lowered it's snout, smoke trailing from it's nostrils. "No, we do not. Thank you, snake-human." Gently, it pushed the Golden Egg out of it's mound and down the tip of the nest, so it gently rolled down to Harry's feet, where he picked it up, cradling it under his armpit. "The snake from yesterday was right, I am glad to have listened."

"Right, no problem. Give the handlers a good thrashing for me. Thanks!" Harry yelled the final part in English, before waving jauntily to the dragon, before departing down the slope, Egg tucked neatly under his arm.

The boos started slowly, but they grew quickly, until Harry's ears were assaulted by the sound of over a thousand magical people's displeasure. He kept his cheery smile in place, knowing it would only serve to piss them all off more.

He entered his own dressing room, setting the Egg gently on one of the benches.

His parents were waiting. Lily was first, heisitant smile in place.

"That was very...resourceful, of you." Lily tried, throwing Harry off guard. Cue exploding Gryffindor dad.

"RESOURCEFUL! Lily, he bloody used Parseltongue! Our son! Dark Magic!" He yelled, waving his arms in the air.

"...It wasn't dark magic." Harry muttered. James turned on him.

"What did you say?" He asked, venom bubbling barely beneath the surface.

"I said, it wasn't fucking dark magic!" Harry yelled back at him.

A sharp crack was heard as Harry received a smarting slap on the cheek. "Don't talk to me like that, boy, I'm your father!"

"James..." Lily murmured, fear shown slightly on her face. She was ignored.

"Why is everything that goes against your cute little beliefs fucking dark magic, dad?" Harry roared. "I was just reasoning with the dragon! What would you have me do, fucking rush it with a sword?"

"I'm not hearing any more of this disrespect!" James yelled. "You are a Potter, and it's time you started acting like one!"

"Is that what being a Potter means? Acting like a fucking idiot all the time? Laying down and worshipping the ground Henry walks on and licking his shoes?" Harry snarled. " Great family legacy, dad, I bet you're really fucking proud of it!"

"Parselmagic, Harry!?" James yelled in rage. "We are Godric Gryffindor's flesh and blood! It is a disgrace to his name and legacy to even think of using such methods! From now on, I don't want to hear a word of Parseltongue pass your lips!"

"Or what, dad? You'll ground me? Send me to my room? Take away my toys?" Harry laughed, half anger, half grim amusement. "You have nothing to hold over my head, James Potter!"

"Or I'll disown you." James ground out.

"James!" Lily gasped. "You can't mean that!"

"I can, and I will." James hissed. Harry kept his lips shut tight, in shock. "Not so smug now, are you, boy?"

"James, you can't be serious, he's our son!" Lily whispered in dead shock. James Potter's face did not change.

"...Is that it?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"What?" James asked, thrown somewhat off guard.

"Is that truly your greatest threat? Taking away from me the Potter name?" Harry asked. Her voice was perfectly serene, no traces of anger.

"Well, yes!" James shouted, regaining his momentum. "You will be stripped of the Potter name, shunned by Potters of all generations, no longer allowed the prestige that comes with the Potter name, no longer draw from the Potter coffers..." James trailed off.

Because Harry was laughing.

"Is that it? Taking away what I already do not have?" Harry asked, chuckling. He really could not stop, now, it was just too humorous. "I haven't been accepted by you since the day I was born. I was always the third wheel in your perfect little family. I never have found there to be any prestige with the Potter name. You're all Dumbledore's little yes-men, doing whatever he says, whenever he says it."

Harry could not stop the words flowing out of his mouth at the moment any more than he could've raised Merlin from the grave. He could not stop laughing, either, at the thunderous look on James Potter's face.

"And the Potter coffers? Please, don't make me laugh. You've barely noticed I've existed until I got in Henry's way. All my clothes, my wand, my owl, they were all Henry's first! Until he cast them aside. So you can take your hypocritical arrogant ass and get it out of my dressing room, and out of my life, until you're willing to realize that I am smarter than Henry, stronger than Henry, and am and always will be the better wizard than Henry!"

The next blow was even harsher. Harry was knocked to the floor by his father's harsh fist, and rubbed his swollen jaw, as James stomped out of the room, pulling a unwilling Lily along with him. He shouted over his shoulder as he left.

"Until you forswear Parselmagic and all forms of dark magic, you'll not be welcome in the Potter Manor!" He yelled.

Harry, his temper already beginning to cool, considering informing him about the copies of all the manuscripts of Gryffindor he had made and sent to Hogwarts, and to Luna, and Matt, just to make sure he'd have them, just to show him how useless that threat was. He decided against it.

He barely noticed Matt coming in until he was up, pulling out his wand to check if his jaw was broken. Matt's face was stony.

"I came to tell you your scores." He said quietly, before pulling out a sheet of parchment. Harry felt gratitude for not confronting him about his fucked up family issues well up in him. Matt peeked at him from under his shaggy brown bangs. "As you might expect, the judges didn't like the way you did it, and the crowd didn't like the lack of action."

"Well they can kiss my ass. I'd love to see any one of them face a fully armored Horntail without shitting themselves." Harry said coolly. "What'd they give me?"

"Lessee...Dumbledore:6."

Harry snorted. "Typical."

"Mmm. Karkaroff:9." Harry brightened a bit. Then again, Karkaroff did lead a school where Dark Magic was coveted, and was a former Death Eater. The only reason he hadn't probably gotten that last point was the fact that he wasn't Krum. "Madame Maxine:10." Finally, a fair score. He hadn't sustained a single injury, fuck, he'd barely been out there thirty seconds! "Crouch:6. "Bagman:6." Ah, the sweet smell of Ministry opinion. "They added two judges, one for America and one for...well, you. Johnson:8, and Potter:10."

"Potter? Who...?" Matt looked up.

"Your mom." Harry was thrown for a loop. His mother had given him a ten? Matt noticed his dumbstruck countenance, and elaborated. "I heard your dad giving her shit for the whole way to the dressing room. So, your overall average score was about 7.8. Not bad."

"But not good, either." Harry grumbled. "Matt, I don't care if I didn't want to be here at first, I want to win it now. Not for the money-" He said quickly, noticing Matt's expressionless face. "-But to smear Henry's face straight into the fucking mud."

Matt's face broke into a smile. "I like it. I hate arrogant mother fuckers like him. The only way you're allowed to be arrogant is if you've fucking earned it, and I think it's time he learned that."

"Agreed. Who's up now?"

"Krum. Then me, then the French bitch, and then Henry. The main spectacle comes last, of course." He murmured, smiling slightly.

"AND KRUM WINS IT! NOW WE GO TO OUR JUDGES ON HIS CLEVER SPELLWORK AND INGENUITY!"

Matt jumped. "Crap, I've got to get out there. See you, Harry. And..." He hesitated. "...my dad would probably let you stay with us, if you don't mind working for him as a 'personal assistant', which is code for paid guest."

Harry grinned. "Looking forward to it. Knock'em dead."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was able to find a seat very easily, since one had already been paid for him, to his surprise. It was a good thing that the front office had two house elves working as it, since he doubted that one of the humans would have told him.

So here he found himself sitting right next to Mr. Cooke.

"So, your match wasn't impressive, but it was smart. Don't worry about the Parselmouth thing-" He said quickly. "-My great grandfather was one."

Harry felt instant relief. "Thanks, Mr. Cooke."

He offered his hand. "David."

"Right." Harry shook it. The older man turned back to where Matt was slowly walking onto the field, flexing his shoulders and clenching his leather clad fists.

"Any idea what Matt's been working on? He's always so secretive in his letters." He asked. Harry hesitated, weighing the ups and downs of telling the senior Cooke.

"Enchanting." David chuckled, sounding a little forced.

"Well, I suppose I've always told him to shoot high, I just never thought it would come back to bite me in the ass. That one is a long and arduous road, yet I'm pretty sure he can manage it."

"Right." Harry nodded.

Matt took out his wand, and conjured several birds, which fluttered around madly, before zooming around the Norwegian Ridgeback's head, which swung it's head angrily, trying vainly to bat the small targets away.

Finally, it sucked in a breath, and let loose a long gout of fire, incinerating several of the birds. A few still lingered, catching it's attention.

Meanwhile, Matt had snuck behind a boulder, and was hurriedly conjuring a flock of birds. Quickly, they zoomed at the agitated Ridgeback, following his chirped instructions, pecking at it's wings, tearing the soft membrane.

Suddenly, Matt stepped out in front of the dragon, while the birds all suddenly zoomed at him.

"What the fuck...he's going to get incinerated!" Harry muttered. Mr. Cooke glanced at him.

"Language." He murmured. But his fists were grabbing the seats of his chair rather tightly.

Matt suddenly reached into his back pocket, and grabbed a small corked blue vial. Harry stared at it, confused.

"From the color, it's either the Troll Muscle Swill, or Antonin Federith's Hermes Elixer." David muttered.

Matt downed the small vial, wiping his lips of the thick blue liquid, before yanking off his thin red gloves. Harry was transfixed by the large Japanese symbols and arrays he saw etched on each palm. The elder Cooke seemed similarly entranced.

"Kanji...what are are you doing, son, what are you...?" David muttered.

Matt pointed his wand, and nailed the Norwegian on the snout with a Stunner, quite possibly the most stupid thing he could have done. It roared in annoyance, and turned it's baleful gaze onto Matt.

The dragon sucked in a breath, and let forth a huge gout of fire, barreling straight at Matt.

Suddenly, wings sprouted out of Matt's ankles, and his hands opened up into small black holes, and he flew straight into the fire. It was hard to watch the fearful look on Mr. Cooke's face, but both of the spectators sighed in relief, as Matt appeared, unscathed, out of the fire, hand seals no longer opened up.

"Alright Matt, now you've got a bunch of dragonfire at the tips of your fingers...what do you do with it?" Harry asked, to no one in particular.

Matt soon showed them, as he leveled with the panting Ridgeback, and blasted him with his own fire, in the face, actually pushing Matt back somewhat from the force of the release of the seals.

The dragon keened and stumbled back, crushing several of it's eggs in the process, blinded by it's own fire, uncovering the nest to the world.

And to the birds that Matt had previously summoned, which zoomed out from the place they had been hiding, grabbing the Golden Egg as a joint effort, and meeting Matt halfway as he snatched it out of their claws and beaks, while he used his ankle wings to fly to safety.

Handlers rushed onto the scene, shooting off Stunners, sending the wounded dragon into unconsciousness. Matt hit the ground, before collapsing to his knees, yelling a bit in pain as the wings retracted into his ankles.

"The downside of Hermes Elixir is most certainly the time limit and pain factor." David informed him sadly. "It's also very tricky to brew, I'm surprised Matt managed it."

"Wait, isn't Matt some sort of Potions genius?" Harry asked. David laughed, a great booming sound.

"Genius? Hardly. I just gave him a little extra tutoring as a kid in my art. All these years in Potions class must seem like review, for him." David got up, collecting his great coat. "Well, I'm off to see if my son hasn't accidentally paralyzed himself with a bad draught; It was nice seeing you again, young Master Potter." He teased.

"You too, Mr. Cooke." Harry shot right back.

The crowd cheered wildly as the scores were announced.

Dumbledore did not hesitate, sending a red and gold eight up into the air, eyes twinkling.

Karkaroff hesitated for a moment, before shooting up a stony blue seven, which was just stressing the bounds of fair.

Madame Maxine sniffed, before sending up a seven in bright baby blue sparks.

Crouch sent up a seven, where Bagman sent up a nine, which was slightly irregular. Must have bet money on him, or something. Harry thought cynically.

Johnson, predictably, sent up a ten, where his mother, who just barely made it to the podium in time, sent up a eight.

Harry, mentally calculating for a moment, put Matt's score up as a 8, slightly better than him, something he'd have to correct shortly.

Matt, supported by a few of those Secret Service wizards, accidentally bumped into Fleur Delacour on the way out, murmuring a apology as he made his was creakily towards his dressing room to wait for whatever Healer the American embassy had procured.

Harry watched in a position of semi-interest, as the French witch rather cleverly used her aura to distract the dragon, a Chinese Fireball. It swayed, drunkenly in place, before slowly moving out of the way of the nest, obviously slightly compulsed.

Then, Harry watched as she turned a boulder into chunks with a quick Blasting curse, before waving her wand and transfiguring a rather large piece into a brown bear, which lumbered up the pitch.

It clopped into the nest, and began rolling the Golden Egg out of the nest, obviously taking a few ideas from Matt's pitch, which was good improvisation in Harry's eyes, considering that Fleur hadn't known about the dragon beforehand.

It seemed that when the bear entered the nest, the Fireball shook itself out of its daze, due to the threat against it's nest, and started on the a warpath, blasting the bear out of existence just as it tipped the Egg over the edge of the nest, sending it rolling down the slope of the hill.

Fleur dove for the Egg, just as the dragon lived up to it's name, unleashing a blast of dragonfire that was three times as big as either the Ridgeback's or the Horntail's had been, a brilliant conflagration that nearly blinded him, engulfing the small lithe form of Fleur as she reached the egg. He heard gasps all around the stadium, as they believed she had perished in the flame.

He did not.

Why was there a shining orb of magic burning brightly inside the fire to his second sight eyes?

Just then, the fire weakened, revealing Fleur, unharmed and surrounded by a invisible barrier, one hand flung up to shield her eyes instinctively, a bracelet lit up on her arm in his aura-seeing sight.

That was one of Matt's enchantments! He himself had tested it, tested the fact that it shielded the wearer from every and all forms of flame, and was utterly sure that it was his, by the stainless steel gray shape! Why the fuck did a chick that Matt despised have one?

Harry had no time to act on his suspicions, as the dragon was stunned by the handlers, leaving Fleur on her knees, obviously worn out from the way the bracelet drew on the users own magic to protect them from flame, with her staring in confusion at the bracelet on her wrist.

He missed the absolutely pissed expression on her face, however, as she stomped out of the arena, without even hearing her score, which turned out to be level with Matt, leaving Krum in first with sixty one points, Fleur and Matt competing for second with 56, him at third with 55, and everyone waiting for Henry.

So Harry was completely oblivious to the Drama taking place below the arena in his friend's dressing room, as he saw his brother suddenly summon a broom...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Getting past his guards had been easy. A quick burst of aura towards two very bored and frustrated men left them like putty in her hands, and very susceptible to the memory charms she quickly put on them.

She tramped into his rooms, furious beyond all belief. How dare this boy?

She hadn't suspected it was him until she saw the bracelet, which he had covertly slipped onto her when he passed and bumped into her. And the inscription written onto the steel.

You're welcome.

These two simple words were enough to send her into a rage she had no words to describe.

He was sitting there, tapping his foot slightly, his back to her, as he waited for a Healer to come back with the Numbing Draught she had promised. The mere sight of his nonchalance was enough to stoke her fury. She grabbed him by the shoulders, and spun him around, before grabbing him and slamming him into the stone wall, relishing in his gasp of pain as confused blue eyes stared into hers.

"Why!?" Fleur snarled. "Why did you help me?! I did not want your help, and did not need it!" She yelled in his face. His face was unnaturally calm.

"...Because you were the only one who didn't know about the dragons, and I don't like seeing girls get hurt." He replied simply.

She screamed with animalistic rage, her Veela blood showing itself in the way her fist covered itself in flame. She shook her flaming fist in his face.

"I do not want your help! You ever try to help me again, and I will kill you, understand? I am my own woman, and do not need anyone's...hel..p.." Fleur trailed off, as Matt's face contorted itself into fury.

Suddenly, she was the one who found herself slammed against the wall, as she came nose to nose with his furious blue eyes.

No, not blue. Even as she watched, two blue contacts popped out of his eyes, propelled by the force of magic behind them. His eyes were yellow. Glowing yellow.

"Who the fuck do you think you are!?" Matt roared into her face. She cringed, her so called strength and anger evaporating like a morning mist, before those eyes, those horrible, haunting amber flecks of fury, which caused her stomach to rise up and strangle her throat as she tried to speak. "I've been nothing but kind to you this entire fucking time, and you've shown me nothing but anger and disrespect! All I wanted to do was help you!"

"You...you wanted nothing more than to curry favor with me! To try to defile my body!" Fleur protested weakly. Her accusation sounded small and feeble in her ears.

"Never! I would never force myself upon any woman! I have faced true Veela, you small insignifant hypocrite of a girl, your aura is but the slightest cobweb to brush from my mind!" Matt spat, his tone venemous and disgusted.

Her own previous implication began to ring false in her own ears. He never had seemed to exhibit any of the normal traits of a man enthralled when he had been around her...

...no! Not again! She would not again allow herself to be tricked! Tricked and defiled, like with Him.

And her eyes began to overlay Matt's angry, offended face with His, his golden hair, his blue eyes...

And her hands and nails slowly morphed, the Veela blood in her making them claws, with long, cruel nails prevailing with a sharp and wet sheen to them, unbeknownst to her.

"So I take it upon myself to simply help you, and this is how you repay me, you shallow, ungrateful-"

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed, lashing out, anything to get away from this horrid man who's eyes stripped away all her emotional barriers and saw her bare, naked and fearful soul. She heard him cry out in pain as she fled from his room.

She ran and ran, down the long, winding halls, nearly blind with fear, never stopping until she reached her room.

When she got there, she leaned against the wall and sank to her knees, putting her head into hands.

Then she stopped and pulled away from them, and actually saw them as they were.

And screamed.

Not because they were claws. She had seen her claws before.

But because there was his eye, still staring at her from it's bloodied and impaled position.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Luna?" Harry asked hesitantly. He peered up the passage to the girls dormitory, knowing full well he wasn't allowed up there, and would not be going up there period unless he felt like trudging all the way down to the Quiddich Lockers and hauling his Loki out and drifting up.

There was no answer. Just like yesterday.

Luna had disappeared.

Harry had looked just about damn everywhere! In the Library, Great Hall, Slytherin's Chamber...

He asked Cho, but she hadn't seen Luna either.

And when he asked the teachers, of course, he got positively nothing. A guarded look, and a stern telling that she was BUSY and not to worry.

It practically screamed that the teachers had DONE something. And since all Professors were naturally required to learn Occlumency, or at least pass the slipshod exam they had for it, which was basically, 'Let Dumbledore into your mind willingly.' They would be able to tell if he tested out his budding skills in Legimency on them.

Matt had disappeared like a puff of smoke. The entire US delegate was acting like a mother eagle protecting it's eggs. They had hunched down, and were shielding any attempts to get to their champion. Even Harry was denied, by the same men who had let him in at the Arena. Mr. Peterson himself came out for that one.

"He's recovering from a very...tragic affair. Perhaps...you know of it?" He had glowered, while directing subtle Legimency surface probes at Harry. Not as if they had worked.

So something had happened to Matt. Go figure.

Harry had, of course, asked for details, and Peterson, of course, had clammed up, and retreated.

So Harry was feeling rather...frustrated.

And bored.

A recipe for disaster.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thank you all for coming here." intoned politely. "This is just a small ceremony to make sure your wands are in perfect working order."

Harry rolled his eyes. Then how exactly had no less than half a dozen interviewers snuck in?

Damn dirty money deals.

Harry idly fingered his wand, and glanced around the room.

Matt hadn't shown up, and neither had Luna. There was one Secret Wizard there, holding a case that Harry assumed held Matt's wand.

Okay, he had had fucking enough of this. He was going to get to the bottom of this, if he had to tie Dumbledore up to the Great Hall chandelier to do it!

Henry stepped forward first, handing over his wand. It was polished, and shined with a immaculate sheen of beeswax. Harry remembered it.

Ollivander smiled softly, and held it at the tips of his fingers, as to not damage the coating. "Yes, yes, I remember this one. Nine inches, dragon heartstring. Stiff as a stone. Good for sharp hexes, and some rather nasty jinxes." With a wave of the wand, Ollivander produced a red and gold conflagration in the air, which sputtered out after a few seconds. He handed it back to Henry. "In perfect working order."

Henry nodded importantly, before taking his place back in the line. Ollivander frowned slightly at the approach of Krum's wand.

"I did not make this wand." Ollivander said, as if it were a mortal sin.

"..Gregorovich." Krum grunted, as if it solved everything. Ollivander loosened.

"Ah, yes...my Bulgarian rival." Ollivander mused. He raised the wand, peering at it intently. "Yew, eleven inches, rather sharpish. Core of...?" Ollivander frowned.

"Chimera. Tail of a chimera." Krum grunted. Ollivander 'hmmed', shot a few birds out of the end of the wand, and handed it back. "Perfectly fine."

Ollivander took a delicate grip of Fleur's wand, turning it over slowly in his hands. "Cherry, 8 inches, swishy, and if I'm not mistaken, core of a Veela's hair?"

Fleur nodded. Her grandmother moved up behind her. "My 'air." She intoned, in a very serious manner. Ollivander looked up at her without a hint of fear.

"Yes, well, I've always found them to be a tad temperamental for a core." Ollivander lazily jabbed the wand, ignoring the glowers from the two Delacours, producing a beautiful bouquet of flowers. He handed the bouquet and wand back to Fleur, who snatched them, handing her flowers off to one of the French delegates, who, being a male, seemed to be delighted to have them. "In acceptable working order."

Harry wondered briefly what favors Dumbledore had had to pull to make it so Ollivander was the only wand maker here, and British. It was all a big political event, Harry could tell, but the Weighing of the Wands? It seemed a tad much.

Fleur retreated, and the Secret Wizard stepped forward, and opened the box. Ollivander let out a soft sigh, his eyes almost glittering at the sight of Matt's grandfather's wand laying on a red cushion, shined to perfection.

"Ah, yes. Richard Cooke's famed Sable Crow. I heard of his demise a few years ago, but I was under the impression he would have given his masterpiece to his apprentice, that Jefferies fellow. I never thought to look in the hands of his grandson..."

Ollivander lifted the wand slowly, almost reverently, out of the case. "Richard's wands always did hold more power than mine, even if I could match them to a wizard better. Yes, working with him was a pleasure..." Ollivander murmured, talking to himself. "Black unicorn horn, black dragon hide grip, bound together by dragon heartstrings and unicorn hairs combined. Hilt of elder wood. Core of a phoenix feather. Twelve inches. Long and strong. As if any wand maker worth his wands would not know..." Ollivander murmured, with a slight smile. "I doubt something could go wrong at all with such a wand.

He then looked up. "Why is Mr. Cooke not with us?"

The Secret Wizard was completely stiff, and apathetic, behind his opaque sunglasses and stony expression, probably because of the many flashbulbs going on.

"Matthew Cooke is recovering from a tragic affair. He will be able to compete on the day of the Second Task. That is all we will say at this time." He replied monotonously. He then thrust forward the box, in which Ollivander delicately placed Matt's wand, before he snapped it shut, and strode out of the room, holding the box as if it were his first born son, pushing his way through the gaggle of interviewers.

Harry noticed Fleur Delacour duck her head, and a strange look pass across her face as Matt's condition was announced. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her.

Most of the interviewers had already spread out among the champions, or rather, the more important ones. Harry, the last in line, presented his wand to Ollivander, who seemed almost surprised when it was thrust towards him.

He pushed up his spectacles, and peered at it. "This is...a Cooke wand. I was unaware you were a friend of the family." The sharp look Ollivander gave him boiled Harry's blood, but he let the seething drift inward.

"Yeah, well, now you know." Harry replied tersely, a bit of harshness in his tone.

"Hmm. Basilisk fang casing. Phoenix feather core. Are these...? Phoenix tears, as a hilt. A bit unorthodox." Harry nodded. Ollivander hummed lowly. "These are unicorn hairs binding the grip, but I do not recognize this skin."

"Kraken skin." Harry supplied, and relished the look on Ollivander's face. It looked like he had had his brains bashed out with a gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon...yeah.

"Very, very unorthodox." Ollivander murmured. "Thirteen inches. Straight and true. A fearsome wand, Mr. Potter." Ollivander slowly twisted it. A tiny snake curled out of the tip and made a spiral path down the wand, before vanishing at the end. "A fearsome wand indeed."

"Yeah, thanks." Harry muttered. He could see Headmaster Dumbledore taking Henry by the shoulders, to the Boy-Who-Lived's dismay, since he was in the middle of a interview with a rather attractive witch from Witches Weekly, and leading him away from the crowd. Harry snatched his wand out of the elderly wand makers hand, and followed them.

Well, not really. Harry waited until they turned the corner, then leaned against the corner they had disappeared around.

Muttering a quick 'Serpensortia', A tiny garden snake jumped out of the end of Harry's wand, and curled up around Harry's feet.

"What is your bidding, my master?" It hissed, in a tiny, shrill voice.

Harry glanced around, and seeing that no reporters were around, he whispered back. "Follow the old man and young boy, and tell me what they say. Especially the old man."

"It will be done." The snake hissed, before slithering around the corner-

-just as Harry was cornered by Rita Skeeter.

"What're your thoughts on the Tournament, Harry? How does it feel being the only independent champion?" She asked, a green Quick Quotes Quill floating on the air above her parchment.

Harry was wary. He knew of the reputation of the reporter with the crocodile skin bag. "I believe I'll win. No different from being another champion." He tried to keep his answers short and concise, so as not to give her too much embellishing room.

"So what are your motivations for winning?" She asked, not discouraged in the slightest. He paused, glancing at her magic quill, which already seemed to be writing a page a minute. "Doing it for the family name?"

Harry's eyes flashed with fury. "No. I am going to win this for myself, and only myself." This animosity seemed to delight Rita, who pressed a little closer. Harry glanced at the corner. He had to get out of here before-

"Master!"

Speak of the devil. Harry's gaze flicked furiously at the corner, where a tiny green head was poking around the corner. The snake, sensing his ire, retreated quickly.

Rita seemed not to notice. "Any family troubles, Harry? Anything going on at home you'd like to share?" Her expression seemed almost hungry.

She would leap all over anything he said, and he knew it. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Master! It is of dire importance!" The tiny voice hissed.

Rita seemed to notice that time. She glanced down, distracted. "Hey, what was that?"

Harry quickly glanced down, and seeing the snake down there again, made a split second decision. He quickly froze the snake with a push of magic to his eyes.

"No comment to both questions. Excuse me, I have to go." Harry knelt and swiped the small frozen serpentsicle, with Rita on his heels.

"What kind of trouble are you receiving at home!? The readers deserve to know!" She hissed, shoving her notebook almost up his nose.

Harry, turned to beat a hasty retreat-

-And ran straight into Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, with Henry at his side. Rita, sensing a bigger fish, swooped down on Henry, barraging him with questions.

"Hello, Harry." the Headmaster intoned politely. "How is the Weighing of the Wands treating you?"

"Terrible." Harry snapped. He pushed his way around the older wizard's bulky robes. "Excuse me, I've got more important things to do." Before Harry rushed off, leaving the older wizard standing there bewildered.

Harry waited until he was about a dozen corridors away, before he took the small icy snake and preformed a quick Warming Charm on it. It reawoke rather annoyed.

"I despise the cold!" It hissed.

"Shut up, and tell me what you heard, or I'll conjure a fucking mongoose to play with you." Harry snarled in Parceltongue. This quickly sobered the small serpent up.

"Lakes! There will be lakes! People at the bottom of lakes!" It quickly piped up. Harry sighed in exasperation, knowing full well that smaller snakes like this had a very limited grasp of English when they heard it.

"What. Kind. Of. People?" Harry asked very slowly.

"Fish people! And...and...precious people! And a job!" It quickly jabbered in Parceltongue. Harry tried different versions before he got the message.

"Merpeople? And...!" It all suddenly fit together, like a puzzle falling into place. Harry almost strangled the poor garden snake as he asked his next question.

"THEY'RE PUTTING LUNA AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE FOR THE SECOND TASK!?" He shouted, in fury, his Parceltongue echoing slightly off the empty corridor.

"Yes! Task! That was it! Many merpeople! Guarding the weasel! Bubble Head Charm!" The small snake squeaked in fright.

Harry let out a incoherent shout of rage, and clenched the conjured snake so hard it popped into a small puff of smoke.

There would be vengeance!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx

"Er...are you sure this is going to work, Boss?" Ico asked, lashed to a log as he was.

Ico had grown over the length of Harry's coma. He was now the size of a adult Boa Constrictor. No longer small enough to carry around his midsection, and scary as fuck.

"Of course. It says right here in the book. 'Lash familiar to frontal lobe section'. Very clear." Harry retorted, poking a page in one of Slytherin's rare books, Art of War Magic, by Lao Tzu, who, not surprisingly, had been a wizard in his time. The acclaimed Muggle version was actually a cut down version of the magic one, although not as nearly as hard to come by.

Right now, Harry was reading a section entitled 'War Transfigurations'.

In front of him, a large project had arranged itself. A long, segmented line of tree trunks, bound together by steel chains, and inscribed with Chinese runes every now and then along the length. At the front, there was a single, large tree head. It was around a quarter mile long, and had taken a great deal of cutting curses and levitation to get them in just the right place.

"Are you sure you did everything right?" Ico asked, sounding a bit worried.

"Yes, yes. It's made out of pure willow wood, I've carved all of the runes right, and double-checked everything. Stop being such a worrywart." Harry snapped impatiently. The Second Task was in no less than fifteen minutes, and Harry had to go already!

"Hey, you're not the one lashed to a giant potential war machine, all right? What if you fucked up, and I turn into a pile of sludge, or get blown sky high!" Ico hissed right back.

"I know, because it's me we're talking about. I don't fuck up with this kind of thing. Period. Now get ready." Harry began reciting line after line out of the ancient scripture, ignoring Ico's weak protests.

"Can you please triple check it? Because I really think-"

Whatever Ico thought of Harry's idea was drowned out by a intense hum, like a house sized bumblebee right next to Harry's ear, as the whole line of tree trunks lit up with white light. Harry resisted the urge to shield his eyes, as he finished up the chant.

He grinned when he saw the result.

"Good, now get going. You know what to do." Harry ordered, ignoring the way he was extremely overshadowed.

"YES BOSS." Came the booming reply.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Welcome, One and All, to the Second Task of the TriWizard? Tournament!" Bagman boomed. The enormous crowd cheered wildly.

Harry sighed explosively, as Bagman started elaborating on their task, to retrieve 'something that they'd sorely miss' from the bottom of the Lake. Honestly, who wouldn't have gotten that clue? Mermish was easy out of the magical languages to identify, it sounded screechy, and gurgly. Were they going to go through this theatric bullshit every task?

The Lake had changed drastically since he had last seen it. Evidence of such was shown in what Harry was standing on that very minute.

A large, three story platform, made out of wood lashed together with seaweed and vines. Probably built by the merpeople, there were five of them, one for each champion, and any friends they wished to allow front row seats.

All around the perimeter of the Lake, stands had been erected, through conjuring or actual construction, Harry was not sure. Rafters, filled to the absolute brim with spectators, surrounded the Lake like a human wall.

Harry was not paying much attention to that.

Because Matt had finally shown up.

It was blatantly obvious now what Peterson and the Secret Wizard had meant by 'tragic affair'.

A large, white bandage was wrapped over Matt's head, covering up his right side of his face. It was bound rather tightly, and although Harry couldn't see and signs of blood, he could tell it hurt by the way Matt flinched every few seconds and his hand twitched towards the bandage.

Even though Harry was dying to go over there and beat Matt senseless for not sending a owl or something, one glance from Matt assured him he'd have time after.

Harry wiped a few beads of sweat off of his face. The exertion from his creation was taking it's toll already. His face was red, and his breath came out in short pants.

"As a new twist, we've decided to let the champions go in reverse order!" Bagman announced.

That really set the crowd off. Bagman was damn near booed off of the podium, so obvious was it that they were favoring Henry, who was at the bottom of the point rung. Most of the delegates were yelling and swearing loudly in between the platforms, with the British delegates screaming and cursing right back.

Dumbledore, noticing that several wands were glowing, decided to start it before it escalated into violence.

"Let the Second Task begin!" Dumbledore pointed his wand, and fireworks went off like gunshots around the Lake.

Henry was first. He stripped off his shirt, revealing, to Harry's surprise, actual muscles. Harry made a mental note to find out what exactly had been going on during his wait.

Henry then waved his wand around his head, and a red bubble expanded around his face like a old diver's helmet.

"It seems Henry Potter has DONE some studying, the Bubble Head Charm is not learnt until fifth year, a rather impressive-" Harry's hearing automatically turned itself off, when the announcer began praising his brother, who stood there smiling, and weathering it, like a miniature Gilderoy Lockhart.

Finally, Henry mobilized, and leapt into the Lake, and began swimming towards a certain part of the Lake on the surface. Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. The Headmaster must have told him what section of the Lake his friend was in, so Henry was going to go straight down, for a better time.

"Next, Harry Potter, begin!" The announcer...announced.

Smirking sardonically, he took a small dagger out from a pocket, before quickly slitting his palm. He then held it over the water, watching as the red droplets fell down to cloud the water with red smoke.

He noticed Matt and the other champions looking confused.

"Harry Potter seems to have slit his palm, and let blood drip down into the water! What sort of magic is this? Some strange, dark-SWEET MERLIN!" The announcer screamed, in chorus with all of the audience's gasps.

With a deafening splash, a crimson sea serpent rose from the depths of the Lake, shooting out of the water like a cannon. It swayed slightly before Harry, before gently resting it's head on the deck before Harry.

It then slowly cracked it's mouth open, revealing Luna, very wet, but completely unharmed.

Taking Luna from the serpent's clutches, Harry chuckled. "Have fun, Ico?"

"MOST CERTAINLY. THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME, ALL THOSE LITTLE MERPEOPLE SWIMMING AROUND LIKE DROWNED CHICKENS WITH THEIR HEADS CUT OFF...UNTIL I ACTUALLY BIT THEM OFF." Ico boomed back.

Harry peered over the edge of the platform, seeing several tridents sticking out of the skin of Ico's huge form. "You hurt?"

"NOPE. THOSE ARE JUST LITTLE PINPRICKS." Ico replied nonchalantly, well, as nonchalantly as a quarter mile long sea serpent could, anyway.

Harry spotted Henry, still floating on the surface, looking like someone had bashed his brains out with a gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon, and Harry sent him a winning smile.

Harry released the War Transfiguration finally, taking a big sigh of relief as the large toll on his magic power finally ceased. About sixty more seconds and I would've collapsed. Harry mused.

Ico and a few pieces of bark flopped onto the platform, as the long, segmented line of trunks, now completely charred and useless, fell back into the water.

"It...It seems that Harry Potter has already completed his task! In a record time of thirteen seconds! AMAZING!" The crowd finally worked itself back into the world of the living, and began cheering like there was no tomorrow. "Yes...yes...I'm being informed that he utilized the Jormungandr War Transfiguration, something that is unprecedented, since it is a remarkably taxing and exhausting thing to put together, and even worse on the caster! It is always been preformed by a senior wizard or a linked circle of younger ones! OUTSTANDING! This isn't taught in schools, folks, so you have to wonder exactly what kind of training our young prodigy has put himself through!"

So now I'm a young prodigy? Harry thought, amused. They went from hating him one task to loving him the next. People were so fickle sometimes. Not that he was complaining.

His platform, previously unoccupied except for him, was now on the verge of being swarmed by media. He could see them vainly trying to get through the Aurors guarding each long, rickety path towards the platform he was currently working his way off of.

"Now, we go to our judges for our scores!" The announcer yelled. All the other champions seemed to have been forgotten. Matt was sporting the tiniest of wry grins. They both knew he had to get perfect scores. There hadn't been a scratch on him, he had DONE it in record time, using something that would have had just about any wizard here gasping for breath.

Plus, if they didn't give him perfect scores, the media would positively eviscerate them.

Harry watched in satisfaction, as Dumbledore shot a golden 10 up into the air. His eyes never left Harry's, cold and calculating, not twinkling at all.

Madame Maxine shot her blue 10 up into the air with a casual wave. It seemed she, at least, appreciated a good dupe when she saw one.

Karkaroff looked practically murderous, sending up a silver 10.

Johnson showed no sign of emotion, sending up a 10. Crouch seemed not to even care, and looked a little paler than before. He sent up a purple 10, while Bagman followed up with a 9.

Harry smiled slightly, as boos assaulted the Ex-Quiddich? Star, as he tried to explain how he thought he could get off with giving a sub par score.

Lily was by far the strangest. She sent him a tremulous smile, before a pink 10 took it's place in the sky. Harry coldly turned away, carrying Luna easily in a bridal hold, Ico slithering easily beside him, as he went to do battle with the media.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt kept his gaze strictly in front of him. He refused to even notice the hesitant and slightly pleading looks that Fleur was sending him.

The gash throbbed with another pulse of pain, and Matt flinched. Damn it! He was already on several Numbing Draughts as it was! It was like the damn thing got more painful every second!

Fucking wound. Fucking Fleur. Fucking everything!

"American Champion Matthew Cook, French Champion Fleur Delacour, GO!" The announcer screamed.

Fleur sent one last glance over her shoulder, before she gracefully dived into the water, making hardly a ripple as she slipped in.

Matt reached into his pocket, and shoved one of the two Gillyweeds he had into his mouth, and began chewing furiously, ignoring the ache each time his jaw clicked.

Soon, he felt his body cracking, skin turning a steely gray and gills opening up on the side of his neck. He jumped, and jackknifed into the water with a splash.

It was...comfortable down here. Almost as if he were at home. He kicked off, and was off like a eel in the water, like a whole other world existed and he was just a tiny part of it.

Not that he minded. He knew exactly where he would go. He would just head for where Harry's idiot brother had gone. Honestly, what kind of stupid fool went as broadcasted where the prize was? Every single delegate had to know Dumbledore would tell Henry the fastest route to his 'thing that he'd sorely miss'.

Matt had no idea who his person would be. He rather doubted it'd be his father, since he was a rather strong wizard, and Dumbledore would have a difficult time persuading him to spend several hours at the bottom of a lake. He was curious to who Dumbledore would think would be important to him, other than Harry and Luna...

A swarm of Grindylows suddenly surged upwards, grabbing several limbs. Matt chuckled, which was pretty impressive in his mind, since he was underwater, and glared with his one Skumring eye at them. They instantly let go and scattered like flies. Matt smirked and swam on.

Oh yeah. He ruled.

Matt ran into a few other creatures along the way, most being easily repelled by a blast of primal fear. He even caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle, drifting lazily along. She was even nice enough to point him in the right direction, after he paid her a rather winning compliment on her eyes(which was total and complete lie, of course).

Matt knew he was getting warm when merpeople began drifting around him, sending him intimidating glares. They most certainly did not look happy. Maybe it was how Ico had blasted away with one of their prisoners?

Matt finally pushed aside some weeds, and came upon his prize.

The first thing he noticed were the guards. Plenty of mermen, with tridents, and nets, and other very nasty looking devices of torture.

The second thing he noticed were the many dead mermen, being dragged away, by keening merwomen, probably singing some funeral dirge or another. Damn, Ico really did a number on them. Matt thought, slightly bemused.

There were five stumps, with prisoners tied to them.

Well, four stumps. One of them was ripped off by a very large, blunt force. Luna's probably.

Henry was there, trying vainly to rip the very tough looking silkweed bonds off of his red-head friend, the Weasley, Roy, or whatever. Nearby, that Granger girl they had saved in first year was tied to another stump. Huh. Maybe Viktor's prisoner? Matt HAD seen him giving her the eye in the library every now and then...

Carolyn.

"What the fuck!?" Matt shouted, or rather glurbled.

There she was, all ten years of her, golden hair floating slightly upwards, in her catatonic state. Matt was checking her pulse before he knew he had moved. Good. Strong and steady. Probably a SW Brew, or Snow White Brew.

What the fuck was his little sister doing down here? First of all, she was supposed to be back in America! Second of all, how the hell had Dumbledore gotten a hold of her?

Thirdly, What the fuck?

That last one was rhetorical.

Henry finally seemed to knock a few neurons into place, and grabbed a slightly jagged rock on the bottom of the lakebed, and began sawing at the bonds. He wasn't very efficient, sawing in several different places at once, which would double the time it took to sever the silkweed.

Matt chuckled and patted the Knife of the Living Dead he had strapped to his thigh, under his American flag swim trunks, which he had received a nice hundred Galleons to wear.

A strange, sharklike creature Matt recognized as Krum after a few seconds of close squinting swam shakily into the small underwater clearing, and began knawing at Hermione's bonds.

Matt suddenly noticed the presence of a fourth prisoner, a small, silver haired blonde girl, with such a delicate little face...Matt wrinkled his nose. Veela. Had to be Fleur's then.

Matt sighed, seeing Viktor valiantly but futilely try to get a mouthful of the slippery silkweed once again. Swimming over, he offered his enchanted knife, which Krum accepted with a grateful nod, before quickly and efficiently slicing the bonds, before he laid the Muggleborn girl gently over his shoulder and starting swimming up towards the surface, after handing Matt back his knife.

Henry noticed, and made a 'give it here' gesture with his hand, his face eager.

Matt responded with a cheerful gesture that involved only a single finger.

Henry reddened inside his bubble, and his hand had barely twitched before the Sable Crow was winking him in the face. He looked pretty pissed, but got back to trying with the little rock.

Matt drifted lazily over to his sister, and cut her bonds with a single slice. As he threw her over his shoulder and turned to leave, he stopped.

Why weren't the mermen doing anything?

Matt glanced back, and saw them all watching. Well not all. Some were waiting, ignoring Henry working doggedly at the Weasley's bond, instead watching the small silver haired girl with angry, hungry eyes...

Matt narrowed his eyes, and floated straight back down, settling in a Indian position.

Oh, hell no. No way was he leaving a little girl to the mercy of a bunch of vengeful mermen. Even if she was Fleur's prisoner, not gonna happen. It went against his manly code.

So, ignoring the impatient glares he was receiving, he settled back against a post, his wand tapping against his thigh to the beat of 'Dance Dance', by Fallout Boy.

So he would just have to wait until Fleur got here.

And he definitely wouldn't let her use his knife. Take that, bitch!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stared at the inscrutable waters of the Lake. Right under his arm, a shivering Luna found comfort in his warmth. Nearby, Fleur Delacour was doing much the same thing, except alone, shaking off any attempts to emulate Harry's role by male members of the French embassy in a rather brusque and angry manner. He noticed a few sneaky flashbulbs going off, capturing this moment, but he didn't honestly give a shit.

Because something wasn't right.

"Matt should be up by now." Luna offered, her eyes dead set on the lake. Harry nodded silently.

"Maybe he got caught up." Harry suggested, before he received a elbow in the ribs, and a disbelieving look.

"Harry, you know Matt as well as I do. Merlin, look!" Luna pointed, where Harry's wayward brother was straggling towards shore, Ron Weasley feebly kicking along side him. "Even that git's gotten back. Something must have happened to him!"

Harry glanced over to the judges position, where a haggard looking Mr. Peterson was angrily engaged in a argument with Ludo Bagman. Even from here, he could hear the words 'retrieval', and 'gone too long'.

"Don't worry." Harry squeezed Luna's shoulder comfortingly, and planted a kiss on her cold forehead, rubbing her arm. "It's Matt. He'll make it up, and with a joke or two to tell."

Luna's worried eyes didn't change. "I hope you're right."

XXXXXXXXXXXx

Matt winced, as another wave of pain washed through his head wound. Those Numbing Draughts had to be wearing off by now. He was already on his second and last Gillyweed. Christ, that had been scary when the first wore off...

Nearby, mermen were watching with narrowed eyes as he tried yet another drum beat to calm himself down, this one 'Face Down', by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

He was suddenly jabbed fiercely in the side by a trident. Matt looked, and saw a merman pointing to his sister and then upwards with a frustrated look on his face.

Matt shook his head, then had a attempt at speech. "Hey, asshole, can you understand me? I leave when I fucking feel like it. So fuck off." It all came out at bubbles and gurgly noises.

The face of the merman didn't change a whit. He repeated the gesture. Matt donned a fake surprised look.

"Oh, we're playing Charades now, huh?" Matt pointed upwards, then at his sister. The merman got excited, and repeated the gesture several more times. Matt grinned sardonically. "How about this one?"

And then he served up a magnificent bird. "Do you get this one, fishface? It means Fuck. You." Matt said it slowly. Apparently he did get it, as his face tightened with anger. Matt smirked wider. "Aww, did I hurt your feelings?"

He raised the trident to poke him again, and Matt had his wand up in a instant. The merman backed off, a fearful look on his face. "Yeah, that's right, touch me with that fucking thing again, and I will ram it up your ass, triple pointy side up." Matt growled. "Do you even have an ass, you fucking fishface?"

Matt rubbed his eyes wearily, his wand no longer beating to a rhythm, just randomly tapping.

Where the fuck was Fleur?

Matt stayed in that position for a single more minute, before rising to his feet. The mermen tracked the movement, and some of them stirred, sending hungry glances at the French midget again.

Seriously, eew. Matt didn't even want to know what they wanted her for, and wasn't about to try and find out. He was leaving now, and he was taking both of them with him.

He grabbed Carolyn under one arm, relieved at how light she felt. He then picked up his knife, and headed towards the Frenchie's post.

They apparently didn't like that, as they all started making alarmed and rather pissed noises, before picking up their tridents, and jabbing Matt away from the post.

"Hey, quit it! HEY!" Matt pointed his wand, and they all instantly shrank back, tridents twirling. Matt shot them a dose of Skumring blend fear, and they all moved a little farther back, but did not flee. Damn. They were sentient, so it didn't work as well.

Matt inched closer to the silver haired girl, and saw the frustration and desperation grow on some of their faces.

As he cut the bond, one of them finally attacked, lunging with the trident.

"Morsus!" Matt bubbled. The Stinging Hex sent the merman into twitching convulsions. This set the rest of them off, bellowing war aquatic war cries.

But Matt was already ready. Snatching the French girl under his other arm, he kicked as hard as he could towards the surface.

He looked down, and cursed. They were hot on his trail.

Twisting to get a better shot, he concentrated on the two enchanted rings he had brought with him.

"Right...water to oil converter ring in one hand, combustion ring in the other..." Matt muttered, smiling as the mermen drew closer. "What do you get when you add them together?"

He jammed the rings together, and grinned right in the face of death.

"Underwater cannon!" He bellowed, before concentrating magic to both rings.

The effect was instantaneous. Matt was blasted backwards, just as the mermen pursuit force were sent spinning. Matt righted himself, and began kicking towards the surface again, his head spinning.

"Oooh...don't try that at home, kids, it tires the shit out of you..." Matt muttered. "I can't do that again..."

The surface was so close; Matt could practically taste the daylight.

But the mermen were faster. So as they cocked back their arms to launch their underwater javelins, Matt used his final option.

He transformed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Every single spectator in the stands screamed, as something highly improbably occurred.

A Skumring flew out of a lake, with a echoing screech.

But Fleur only had eyes for one thing, and that was Gabby clutched in one of it's talons.

She rushed forward, before she stopped in fear.

The Skumring was morphing.

Smaller and smaller it grew, until it was just a person, wobbling on their feet, clutching their head.

The American Boy.

Fleur overcame her fear, ignoring him, as she tended to her little sister, who was very slowly waking up. She barely noticed the boy stumbling off, as Gabrielle coughed up a little water.

"Shh, shh, Gabby. You're safe now." Fleur murmured, in whispery French. Gabby's blue eyes eventually focused, before a flash of recognition lit her face at the sight of her older sister, and she threw her arms around her neck.

"Fleur! I was terrified! There were mermen everywhere! And you always said to stay away from mermen, because they hate us! And vampires too! There weren't vampires down there! I-I-I'm sorry, I couldn't mooove!" The small girl bawled in her sister's arms, as she made soothing noises and patted the small quarter-Veela's back.

"They are stuck at the bottom of the Lake, and if they come here, I will scorch the flesh from their bones and use them as logs for our fire." Fleur responded grimly.

"I am so lucky that the brown haired boy with the bandage showed up! He wouldn't stop, even when they attacked!" Gabby sniffled.

"Yes, yes-wait, what?" Fleur caught on for a second. Gabrielle peered anxiously up at her.

"The American boy, that you said you dislike. He wouldn't stop waiting." Her little sister repeated. Fleur felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Waiting for what?" She asked, with a bit of dread.

Innocent cerulean eyes stared up at her. "Waiting for you, Fleur!"

And wordlessly, Fleur turned to the left, where Matt had stumbled off to the Healer's tent, a trail of dripping blood behind him intermingled with mud.. A bandage lay discarded in the muck. Three red streaks ran across it. In the shape of a claw.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt hissed with pain as he wound a new bandage around his head. Oh yes, the Numbing Draughts were already through his system. Something about the way his head felt like it was going to fucking split open and melt into a pile of goo told him that he was currently appreciating the full effects of his wound.

His hands were already slippery with his own blood, because it had burst open somewhere around the time he transformed. Damn, what was he thinking? Trying to transform when he was exhausted as hell. A stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Damn it! The fucking bandage kept slipping on his hands! And...eew, some of the blood went in his mouth, gross.

Finally, he managed to get the bandage wound tight around his head, after he was rather dizzy with blood loss, of course. He felt like he was going to throw up. Lovely. Hopefully, the medic Peterson had flown in would be able to at the very least stop the bleeding, like last time.

Now, he was alone in his tent, since he had asked the two Secret Wizards on guard to give him a little privacy. One of the perks of being champion, he supposed.

So, he was rather ticked when he heard the tent flaps rustle.

"Hey, are you fuckers deaf or something, I said I wanted to be-!" Matt cut off sharply as he saw Fleur Delacour hesitantly stepping into his tent, as if she were walking on glass. He turned back around. Damn bitch must have enamored the guards. Again.

"...What the fuck do you want?" He asked, after not hearing her speak for a period of fifteen seconds. His voice was low and hoarse.

Fleur seemed to be lost for words. Her mouth opened several times, and shut, as if she was dismissing what she wished to say. Finally she managed to start.

"I..-I wanted-" Matt scoffed, cutting her off before she even began.

"Are you back for my other eye now? Is your little sister getting all prissy about me saving her from a bunch of mermen?" Matt sneered. "I'm so terribly sorry, I should have clearly left her there, since she obviously could have taken care of herself." The sarcasm was biting, so much that it had fangs.

Fleur flinched. This was not the haughty seventeen year old that had started out.

"No!" She protested, finally working her voice up. "I...I wanted to say..." She cut off, biting her lip. In her defense, not many people had to go to a person to apologize for maiming them.

"Say what?" Matt demanded, clearly not feeling any remorse whatsoever for her position, and with rather good reason, considering he had been the one who had been maimed.

Fleur's position was very pitiful, her shoulders hunched in on herself, a expression of shame and mortification on her face. Everything she had thought she would say when she apologized seemed very small and inconsequential, now, right in front of him.

"Were you planning on saying 'I'm zorry?'" Matt's voice was high and cruel, a mocking imitation of her French lilt. "I really didn't mean to gouge your eye out, it just sort of happened?" Matt's laugh was mirthless, a dark, half snarl, half choked sob that rolled off of his lips as if it had been waiting there all along.

"I-yez...I wanted to apologize for..." Fleur inwardly panicked, trying to find better words than 'clawed your eyes out'. "...what I...did to you."

Apparently, those didn't work much better, provoking another bitter chuckle, before another, until Matt was just laughing, dry, raspy, cold titters that shook his frame.

"What...you did...to me?" He asked, between odd little cough/laughs. "You don't get it, do you? You just don't get it." Matt repeated mirthlessly. "Whatever you had on those claws of yours, they certainly were thorough."

This was not something Fleur had expected. "Huh?"

Matt glanced behind him. "You mean you didn't know about the poison on your nails?" He asked, in a low hiss.

Once again, Fleur had no idea what he was talking about. "Poison?" She did feel a rather sinking sense of dread, though.

Matt threw up a hand, a half hearted sigh escaping his lips. "It is a rather rare time when a quarter Veela is confronted with feelings of intense betrayal, I suppose, because of the aura and all." He intertwined his fingers in front of him.

"There's only one documented case on record. A quarter-Veela came home to find her husband cheating on her with a half Veela. She killed the half Veela, and badly slashed her husband before the Auror's restrained her." Matt was simply reciting now, telling a story. "The husband experienced a gradual decline in his entire body. First, he became lame, before he was paralyzed from the waist down. Then, his hands started to go, shaking and not obeying his commands, before he was paralyzed all the way to the neck. Oh, but wait, there's more." Matt raised one finger, in a disgustingly cheery tone. "Then, his genetalia rotted and fell off. The doctor named the venom 'Vengeance de Femenin,' or-"

"Revenge of Women." Fleur whispered. The Horror was already starting to set in, along with the biting, churning, burning guilt.

"My hands have already grown unsteady." Matt held up one, subtly trembling hand. "I have trouble getting up every morning, because my legs don't want to move, and when they do, they move like a drunk's. I have to take a cabinet full of different potions to keep myself conscious from the pain from" Matt tapped his bandage. "This."

Fleur managed to get a single word out. "N...no."

"Yes. So if you're here to try to apologize for taking my eye, don't. You've taken much more than that." Matt's whole body was shaking. "You've stolen my life, my ambition, and basically eradicated the entire Cooke family. So get out. There is nothing that you can say that can make up for what you have DONE to me, what you have stolen from me!" He hissed.

Fleur felt like her legs were rooted to the spot. Whatever hope she had that he might forgive her, tiny and miniscule as it was, had been swallowed up by the beastly self loathing that had sprung up inside of her.

"Get OUT!" Matt screamed, his head twisting so his one remaining eye met hers.

Fleur opened her mouth to scream-

-And found herself back in her room in the castle, shivering under her bed, not having a inkling of how she got here.

She removed her hands from her face, and crawled out, from the fetal position, and took up a place along the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, like she was hugging herself for warmth.

What was she going to do? What could she do?

Because for herself, she deserved nothing but Hell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry resisted the urge to fidget. Or curse. It was quite hard.

He was sitting in Dumbledore's office.

He was very unhappy. To put it mildly, having his intestines rearranged with a rusty egg beater would be far more pleasant than sitting here this very moment.

Dumbledore was sitting across from him, looking very grave.

"Lemon drop, Mr. Potter?" He inquired politely.

No, you fucking fossil, I don't want your fucking lemon drops! I want to be out of here, as soon and as far away as possible! Harry wished he could answer.

"No thank you." He responded coolly. "May I enquire as to why I have been called here? I have plenty of things more important to be doing at the moment, like preparing for the Third Task, which, as I remember, is in just two weeks. I have no time for tea and candies."

Being a independent champion meant he was his own man. So he wasn't under Hogwart's jurisdiction for as long as he was champion. So he could and would mouth off as much as he felt like it, since he legally could not be issued any demerits for it.

In all truth, he shouldn't even be here, but Harry had willingly come, since he had a feeling that if he hadn't, Dumbledore would have found him. And he would much rather meet the old fox on his own terms than his.

Dumbledore peered at him through his half-moon spectacles. Harry quelled the urge to tell him exactly how ridiculous he looked in his bright orange and blue robes.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"That was not the Jormungandr War Transfiguration." He said. It was not a question, but Dumbledore fully expected a answer.

"...No, it wasn't." Harry agreed, after a moments hesitation. Dumbledore was a Legimens and Transfigurations Arch-Master?. Lying to him would be pointless and futile. "It was a Umidokuja War Transfiguration, from Sun Tzu's Art of War Magic. It originated from Japan, and was learned by Sun Tzu. He named it in Japanese to give credit to Inoue Koumaru, the Japanese sorceror who invented it. In Japanese, it means-"

"Poisonous sea snake. Yes, I am quite aware of the Umidokuja's origins." Dumbledore told him. Harry wondered at the minute irritation in Dumbledore's voice. I must have really rattled his cage, for even that much emotion to show. Harry mused. "What I am more curious about is how and where you even managed to procure a copy of The Art of War Magic, since they are extremely scarce, and I confess that even I lack one."

"I myself am curious to why I should answer that question, Headmaster." Harry replied smoothly. "It is a potential advantage for me over my competition. I am a independent party, and therefore the underdog, and I'll take all the advantages I can get, and with all due respect, you currently have no authority over me. I feel no reason to give this information up."

"That would be a perfectly plausible explanation, Mr. Potter, did we not both know that all War Transfigurations require a magical familiar to be implemented, and I imagine yours must still be quite exhausted, and will stay so for several months." Dumbledore countered. Harry's jaw muscles twitched almost imperceptibly, a sign of his annoyance. "I would much prefer that these falsities be cast aside, young Mr. Potter, for I am rather disturbed by such a rare and dangerous text falling into such unprepared hands."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Who was he to talk about falsities? And for that matter, unprepared?

"I believe my demonstration before shows that my hands are quite prepared, Headmaster." Harry replied, in a frigid tone. Then, a slight smirk crossed his mouth. "If you wish to take the text off of my hands, I have no problem with selling it, for a reasonable price, of course." Harry finished. And he was. He already three copies stored away in separate locations, one of them actually handwritten by a house elf, in case the others were magically dispelled.

Dumbledore's one hand dropped from the steepled position, to rest on his desk. Harry watched with interest as his fingers clenched ever so slightly, dragging over the wooden surface.

Then, Dumbledore hit him with a curveball. "Have you ever thought about your future, Harry?"

Harry was thrown off guard, but he masked his shock well. "What part?"

"I refer to what you wish to do when you graduate from Hogwarts." Dumbledore stated evenly, his blue eyes fixed on Harry's icy blue.

Harry ran a hand through the pale blue locks on top of his head. "I'm not sure. Something with a good pay and decent hours, I suppose." He offered, rather weakly, which made him curse inside.

Dumbledore smiled, ever so slightly, his eyes twinkling. "I find myself harboring doubts as to that, Mr. Potter. I took the liberty of pulling up your grades. You've been receiving Outstanding Marks in nearly all of your classes, save Potions, and your second year DADA class."

"Lockhart was a incompetent, and Snape discriminates against me because of my family name." Harry protested. Dumbledore inclined his head briefly.

"Be that true or not, I feel it is difficult to believe that you would settle for such humble aspirations. You're a very talented student, Mr. Potter. A quintessential Ravenclaw." Harry sighed.

"So what? Are you offering me a job, or something?" Harry asked, disbelief lacing his voice. Disbelief and scorn.

The blue eyes twinkled. "A spot in a society I happen to head, yes. It serves one purpose, and that is to stop Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You're inviting me to join the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked. This time, he was well and truly shocked.

"I suppose you must have heard of it from your parents." Dumbledore mused. "It is a rather ambitious offer, Harry. We offer training that no other organization or occupation can provide, along with protection, which, in these dark times, can be quite helpful. You would be serving your country in defending against a force that threatens us all."

Harry's pulse slowly returned to normal levels, and his face turned slightly guarded. "I...will consider it. May I leave?" Gone was the Harry Potter that had screamed and demanded a school prize in this legendry wizard's presence. He was fully aware Dumbledore wanted an answer, and if he refused to give one, he would be hounded until he did. This way, at least, it was made believe that Harry might accept.

"Of course." Harry quickly scooted out of his seat, and headed towards the door. "Mr. Potter?" He called, right as Harry's hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob.

"...Yes?" He asked.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled no more. "Your status as independent champion only lasts as long as the Tri-Wizard? Tournament is run. After it is over, you shall once more be a student of Hogwarts."

And completely under your power. At which time, you will get the answers about my hidden knowledge source whether I like it or not. Harry mentally finished. "Whatever." He retorted coldly, before stepping out and shutting the door a tad too hard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt zoned out as Peterson screamed up a storm at him, about hiding his Animagus ability, about saving another's champion's victim, about letting Fleur into his tent, even though it had been his shitty guards that let her in in the first place.

He didn't give a damn about Peterson. The jaded, bored look on his face probably infuriated him, which was why Matt cheekily held it in place.

Fleur had seemed truly apologetic when she tried to make up for her attack. Matt, looking back, could feel a little pity for her, and a little guilt, seeing as he had systematically shut her down. It wasn't right to hurt women. Part of his own little creed, and he had broken that, verbally at least.

What he still didn't get, was why she had attacked him?

He had seen her eyes right before she had slashed him, and they had been panicked. Almost hysterical, like a cornered animal, one that had been beaten before. Matt's eyes made up for some of that, but not all of that. He had learned during the summer that they intimidated, paralyzed. Not made panic. If it had been only his eyes that had DONE all that to her, she wouldn't have been able to move, much less rip out his eye. She must have been afraid of him, but for what?

He wasn't that scary in appearance, and he was only barely taller than her! He wasn't going to rape her, he had made that clear, which would have quashed any chance of miscommunication, since a aura-enthralled man would have barely been able to form coherent speech if he was up to the point where he was trying to force himself upon the Veela.

Then...what? What sort of trauma had Fleur experienced that made her push away just about any man that got near her?

Matt vowed to get to the bottom of this. He glanced at his forearm, where barely visible tremors were shaking it like a leaf in the wind. He would get to the bottom of this, or die trying.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Damn, damn, damn, damn it!" Harry growled, pacing up and down the length of the Chamber. Nearby, Luna was watching, a but bored.

"What's wrong, someone beat you at chess?" She asked, clearly unimpressed with this slight temper tantrum.

"Dumbledore's going to find out about this place." Harry replied, without preamble. "He's going to put me in his office as soon as the tournament lets out, and not let me out until I tell him. That, or have Snape give me Veritaserum. It's perfectly within his rights as Headmaster." Luna sat up, now totally alert.

"What are we going to do? You do know he won't let us back in here, right?" She asked, her nature as a Ravenclaw and seeker of knowledge shining through somewhat.

"Yeah, and that's why this sucks!" Harry growled. "We won't have enough time to manually copy all these books, we'd have to put the whole Hogwart's house elf force on the job 24-7, which he would notice, and even then we'd probably lose some! Magically copies are out, because the very first thing he'll do is magically recall them! He's going to take away and hoard all this knowledge, just because Moldy Voldy took a peek at it!"

"Then bring some books with you. Claim that Voldemort took them along, or something." She supplied promptly.

Harry stopped pacing.

"Wait...Sweet Merlin, that would work!" Harry shouted. He ran over, and planted a searing kiss on Luna's lips, which she responded eagerly to. It lasted a few more delicious seconds, before Harry parted, leaving her lips with a slight growl of disappointment on her part.

"Luna, you're a angel. We can clean out the entire top floor! It's not that far-fetched that Riddle would take all of Slytherin's most valuable tomes and artifacts! And then we can cherry pick what we want out of the bottom two floors! Course, we'll have to leave some...but still!" Harry kissed her again. "I've got to start sending these away!" Harry practically shouted, before scurrying into the library like a rat on speed.

"It's always nice be appreciated." Luna replied, slightly husky voiced.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry shifted his feet slightly on the wet grass, staring at the large hedge rows. Eyeing them with his second sight, he detected several strengthening charms, and hardening charms. Trying to just move through them would be like hitting a brick wall.

Nearby, the other champions stood, shifting their feet in the cold of the morning. It was the day before the Third Task, and Ludo Bagman was standing in front of them, grinning like a loon.

"As I'm sure many of you have guessed, this will be the site of your Third and final Task." Bagman began, smiling slightly. "Would any of you like to take a guess as to what it will entail?"

Harry already knew, having made the deduction as soon as he saw it, but he let the others grimace and think. Matt was not present once again, something which peeved Harry. He had finally managed to get a moment alone with him, and all Matt would say about the bloody huge gash and missing eye was that a 'scared bird' attacked him.

What the fuck kind of explanation was that supposed to be? A scared bird?

"Yeah." He had answered. His face had been thoughtful. "And I'm going to ask it why it was so scared the next time we meet."

Well, that had certainly clinched it. Matt was clinically insane. Next thing Harry knew, Matt would be staring off into space and reciting The Great Gatsby, or composing poems about nature.

"A...arena?" Henry tried. Harry rolled his eyes. They had already DONE an arena for the First Task, what the fuck kind of idiot would put the same thing two times in a tournament?

"No, but a good try, Henry." Bagman assured him gently. "Anyone else?"

Finally, one of the group managed to string some neurons together, if not a full sentence.

"Maze." Krum grunted. Harry smirked, ever so slightly. Finally!

The last time Harry had seen Krum was at the Yule Ball. He had been dancing with Hermione Granger, who had managed to tame her hair through what looked like a gratuitous amount of magical conditioner, looking rather nice. The Yule Ball in whole, had been-for lack of a better word-sucktastic.

The music was horrid and old fashioned. Harry as whole despised wizard music, since the magical community as a whole had been stuck in Renaissance period for quite some time, and the music had more or less stayed the same due to lack of stimulation and cultural diffusion. It sounded like opera mixed with a orchestra, which, if you had ever heard it, sounded positively sucktastic.

Then, the dress robes. Harry could have written a whole book on how absolutely sucktastic the dress robes were. They were bulky, garish, and he tripped over them on many a occasion. Harry was almost tempted to wear a tux to the Ball, just to see all the Professors and media keel over with shock, before Flitiwick caught him sizing it up and forced him into the dress robes with a combination of Charms and threats.

Luna had been the only high point of the totally sucktastic Yule Ball. Even though the music was sucktastic and the robes were sucktactular and they were being followed by Globonoculars every step of the opening dance, she had looked radiant, in pale blue robes that he believed went well with his midnight black. The dancing was slow, and Harry could well remember slowing swinging her around in circles, and the feel of her hand slowly toying with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck.

Oh, and he supposed the part where Henry got insanely jealous had been a high point too, his jaw dropping as soon as Luna stepped onto the dance floor, completely ignoring the rising ire of Alicia Spinnet, whom he had somehow wrangled a date with. Harry took a sadistic pleasure in the way Alicia seemed to have stomped on Henry's feet many times during the dance with her stilettos.

But really, other than that, sucktastic, definately.

"Correct, !" Bagman enthused brightly. "These hedges will serve to box you all in, nice and snug. Of course, there will be additional...obstacles, to overcome, inside the maze, devised by all of the collective embassies gathered here today. In the center of the maze stands the Tri-Wizard? Cup. As soon as a champion touches it, it will zip you out of the maze, and you shall receive your prize of 1000 Galleons and bring honor to your country and make your irrefutable place in history." Bagman finished, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Any questions?"

Henry's hand immediately shot up. "What sort of obstacles?" He asked, in a slightly suspicious tone. Ludo chuckled, sounding slightly forced.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait like all the others, Mr. Potter." He responded. Henry scowled and let his hand drop. "Anyone else? Anyone?" Bagman asked, peering among them. Krum seemed stoic as usual, and Fleur seemed lost in her own world, biting her lip and staring at her toes. Harry was merely bored. Bagman fixed them each with a steely look. "Now, I must warn you, it is your choice whether to enter this Task. There is a very good chance you may perish, and there is no shame in a good, healthy survival instinct. If not, I suggest you prepare yourself for tomorrow, for the maze will be, by far, the most difficult and dangerous Task ever concocted in the history of the history of the Tri-Wizard? Tournament. I bid you all good night, and good luck." Bagman nodded firmly, and strode off into the night, towards his quarters.

Harry stood there one more moment, looking over the fifty foot hedges carefully. There was a translucent barrier barely discernable at the top, shimmering over the tops of the hedges. Probably a anti-summoning ward, or just a plain barrier ward. Harry smirked slightly. Henry was going to be in a little bit of a pickle if he thought he could hop on his broom like before. Unfortunately, that also killed Matt's animagus form's usefulness, since if they definitely wouldn't let that one slip by them.

Harry noticed several patches glowing red, and surmised that there'd be plenty of traps, too, just to spice things up a bit.

To top it off, Harry had noticed Hagrid coming back with large welts/scratches/bites/other wounds during their weekly teatime, which he firmly avoided the subject of when brought up. So there'd most certainly be a few nasties running around the maze. And by Hagrid's taste, Harry wouldn't be half surprised if the crazy bastard had let some manticores and chimaeras in there, just for fun. Hagrid was a rather gullible, nice bloke, but had positively NO common sense when it came to dangerous creatures.

Harry let his gaze linger a moment longer on the impassable greenery and five entrances, before turning sharply and heading towards the castle. He had some preparing to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The hedges looked a great deal different in the morning. They seemed even taller now, that he was standing in front of them. The buzz of the crowd was loud and encompassing.

For one thing, there definitely wasn't a gothic roof on the maze yesterday! It looked like someone had taken a cathedral's upper half and planted it on the hedges. That must have been what that see through ward was. Invisibility. Harry reckoned that there would be some house elves, disillusioned, running around the maze, hooked up to Globonocular monitors for the entertainment.

The maze was now surrounded by spectators on large risers that had been dragged in. Large Globonocular monitors were on each side of the maze, seven on each side, one for each champion, and another for the entire maze, a sky view that Harry knew had to , and one for the commenter's booth, so Ludo Bagman could look nice and pretend like he knew shit while Dumbledore acted as a reference source, with a couple of actual trained professionals to provide insight.

These factors weren't quite as important. He concentrated on his competition.

Henry was wearing a ridiculous leather getup, with the sword of Gryffindor at his side. Harry eyed it with only slight wistfulness. It would have been a good tool, but James Potter would cut off his own testicles first before letting his traitor Dark son use what he considered his family legacy. Unfortunately, Henry knew very well how to use said sword. Harry would grudgingly admit that it was one of the few things Henry actually excelled at, probably because he wanted to do it, since it likely made him seem more 'heroic'.

Harry made a mental note to avoid Henry in the Task. Henry was currently lagging at the end of the competition, and Harry didn't know what his brother was capable of when cornered and jealous. Even if it would be near impossible for Henry to get the jump on him when he could pick up his magical signature with his second sight, Harry knew that he was only human and could make mistakes like any other person. Plus, Harry knew Henry had been alone with more of Dumbledore's tutelage, and even if he was the worst student in the world, he would have to have some dangerous shit tucked up his sleeve.

Matt was dressed in sensible sweatpants. He had several pouches on his pants, and sturdy looking shirt, with his dragonskin leather gloves. He had something good cooked up, Harry was sure. He looked paler than when Harry last saw him, and that bandage was still present. He gave Harry one wan grin, before turning to study the maze. He didn't look that surprised by the roof, which left Harry reasonably assured he had a plan.

Fleur Delacour was dressed in all light, sky blue sweat clothes. Good for agility, and speed. She was going for a quick victory, if anything. But, she did not seem so. She seemed more like a lost child, sending hopelessly pleading and slightly tortured looks at Matt every couple of seconds. Harry was maddeningly curious as to what the hell had transpired between them, but he knew how to school his own questions.

Krum was dressed like an athlete. No extra equipment, no fancy clothes, just a sleeveless shirt and pair of durable looking pants along with good, sturdy boots. He obviously had confidence, or really had some good Dark Arts tucked up his sleeve.

Harry was dressed rather regularly. If anyone looked, they would assume he had just woken up and dressed for a regular day at school. At least, that was what was visible. Under his robes, Luna had been kind enough sew a ton of pockets on the inside of his robes. He smirked and patted the various toys he had concocted and prepared meticulously the past week and a half.

Each of the champions was being attended by various members of their embassy, making sure everything was tip top. Well, almost everyone.

"Be safe." Luna whispered, reaching up on tiptoe to steal a peck on his lips, flashbulbs and cameras be damned. Nearby, Ico was curled up, and looking rather pissed about it too. He was heavier than Harry now, and they could look eye to eye if Ico curled himself high enough.

"I still think you should take me with you." Grumbled the familiar. Harry shook his head.

"You're about as useful as a sack of rocks right now, Ico, and you know it. You are magically exhausted from the Umidokuja, and besides, I'll need to be faster than usual. You would only slow me down." Harry explained patiently to the disgruntled snake. "Dumbledore's bound to told Henry about some of the things in there, and even if the entrance Henry's starting at isn't the one Dumbledore's drilled into him, he'll still have a advantage. I won't lose to Henry, it would be unacceptable." Harry finished firmly.

"Eh, whatever. Just don't die or anything. You're pretty decent, for a human." Ico replied gruffly. Harry smiled ever so slightly.

"I'll be fine." Harry replied, smiling softly. "There isn't a thing in this world that can stop me, now."

"CHAMPIONS! TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!" Harry looked up. He administered one last, long kiss on Luna's sweet lips, before taking a stand in front of his designated entrance.

The ref took a stand in front of the five champions. He was a serious looking man, with a moustache and a slight French accent.

"This Task is no holds barred. Anything you must use, use it. The only rule is that you may not attack other champions. Think smart, and try to come out alive. Good luck." He fixed them all with a stern glare. Harry shifted his feet. Could they get on with it already?

The referee quickly got out of their way, while the champions tensed. Dumbledore stood up in his chair, his wand rising in the air, crackling with sparks.

"Begin!" He roared, just as a bang like a cannon blasted out of his wand. Harry shot into the maze, wand in his hand, the roars of the crowd dogging his steps.

Lets just hope I'm right. Harry mentally wished.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as Harry jumped in, he had to jump rather quickly, to avoid the large swinging log that threatened to slam into his midsection come from out of nowhere.

He landed on his feet, staring back. That trap couldn't be it. It was WAY too tame-

So Harry was perfectly prepared when he threw himself around the corner when it exploded into splinters.

He held his wand close to his chest, breathing a bit hard. Christ, he was hardly five steps into the damn maze!

He stood up quickly, and held his wand out in front of himself.

"Point Me." He ordered. The wand spun in midair for a second or two like a airborne compass, before stiffly jutting towards his front left. He smiled slightly, and started jogging.

He had already formed a plan, from when he had last seen the maze.

Henry was going to get help. Harry knew this. He knew it, and knew there was nothing he would be able to do about it. So Harry was going to have to blast through this maze faster than Henry would.

Also, he would have to cheat. But wasn't that part of the tournament tradition anyway?

Harry conjured several snakes, most of them of the small but quick variety. He smirked slightly. They would be his gatherers. For what?

"Go forth, and tell each creature you meet to attack the one who looks like me but carry's a sword and a S-shaped scar if they want some easy meat." Harry ordered softly in Parseltongue. The roughly half dozen small snakes gave various answers of acceptance, and began slithering off in each different directions, through the hedges as well, being small enough to squeeze through the hardened branches.

He stood up, looking carefully at his surroundings. His second sight showed many distant aura's like tiny lights dancing in front of him. Many far, many fairly close.

(If you have played TES4:Oblivion, it's like the life-sensing spell, except with lots of different colors.)

Concentrating briefly, he willed the lights to dim down, until it simply seemed as though the world were slightly brighter than usual. There were pros and cons to the second sight. One pro was that it would be very, very hard to sneak up on him when he was in 'aura mode' as he liked to call it. One con was when he was in 'aura mode', he may be more aware, but there was the possibility of being a bit blinded by all the lights everywhere. So he kept it off most of time.

He jogged quickly through the convoluted paths of the maze, keeping a careful eye out for traps and such.

He didn't have to look far. As soon as he turned a few corners, a jagged purple spell nearly smashed straight into his chest.

Harry cursed, and turned to face his opponent. From the red eyes and pale skin, Harry would say he was a vampire.

The vampire slashed his wand again, and Harry swatted it aside with the Dueler's Shield Matt had gifted him with not so long ago.

"Pluit Telum!" Harry growled, swinging his wand in a short circle and then pointing sharply. A barrage of arrows leapt out of thin air, but the vampire was like a serpent, sliding in-between the spaces and deflecting the arrows he could not twist around.

So Harry went for a different approach. Harry knelt quickly, and jammed his wand tip into the ground. "Silicis Ortus." He muttered.

The vampire hissed in dismay, as it was forced to leap back from it's dash towards Harry, by a series of rock spires leapt out of the ground seeking to impale him. The vampire slashed it's wand in a impatient gesture, slicing off the tops of most of the spikes in a invisible slash.

Now Harry was faced with a dilemma. Vampires were like werewolves, they were perfectly reasonable creatures, as long as they got their fill of blood, or took their Wolvesbane, etc.. Harry didn't want to kill a sentient being.

Unfortunately, from the state of the vampire's eyes, and they way it was almost completely not using it's wand, opting to leap at Harry with his fangs bared, it was so far gone into hunger that Harry was fairly sure he couldn't even form coherent thought.

"Sorry about this." Harry apologized, true regret creeping into his voice, as the vampire, nearly frothing at the mouth, leapt at him. Harry yanked out a single white circular tag, with kanji engraved in simple ink upon it. On the back, a simple scrawl of 'Fire' was writted in Harry's organized hand.

Harry forced a little magic into the tag. The separate dimension opened up, a tiny black hole that released it's contents-

Which happened to be a dozen pre-fired Incendios stored a week ago directly into the vampire's face. The spells, which had been graciously donated by Luna, nearly took the vampire's head clean off, scorching his skin and blackening it. The vampire collapsed like a sack of potatoes, writhing on the ground until it was no more, simply a pile of ash.

Harry stood, breathing slightly hard from the adrenaline flowing through him for a moment more, before tossing aside the now blank white paper circle and heading farther into the maze, not giving the smoking pile of ash a second glance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lily Potter bit her lip slightly, as she watched both her sons go through an event that could quite possibly kill them both. She was worried, of course. She was their mother, for Morgana's sake! She thought this whole thing was a fool notion, anyway!

Next to her, her husband, James Potter's gaze was rooted to the screen following Henry, her son, the Boy-Who-Lived?, as he danced around a small group of Acromantula, having put away his wand in favor of his sword for the time being. She frowned slightly. It was certainly brave of him to go face to face with them, but...It would be much safer and smarter if he'd just take out his wand and cast a few Incendios! Merlin, even one would probably scare them off! Acromantula's were deathly afraid of two things; Basilisks and fire, and would literally run like mad spiders from either one. Couldn't he see-?

Lily bit her lip harder. No, he couldn't. She loved Henry to bits, but sometimes he was a tad swollen headed, a trait she also had been finding in James as of late.

Her gaze drifted towards the screen directly to the right of Henry's, that of Harry's, her other son.

He was doing really good! She wouldn't say it, because James was very vexed at him at the moment, but the use of kanji sealing arrays, which were normally only used by magical enterprises or companies to transport large orders of goods, to store spells of all things was genius! She, nor any other person present, had never heard of it before!

She watched with interest, as he lazily dismissed a charging Hippogriff barreling down one of the maze's alleys with a kanji seal full to the brim with Stunning Spells, sending it crashing to the ground, skidding to a halt in front of him. He stepped over it like it had never existed, heading forward.

Lily chanced a glance at the seventh screen, in the middle of the seven, which showed where the champions were in relation to the Cup. Both her boys were close. She hoped they wouldn't fight. It was just a silly cup, after all.

"Cor blimey, Lils, look at Henry!" James shook her shoulder rather roughly and pointed excitedly at the screen. He was yanking the sword of Gryffindor out of the corpse of the last Acromantula, looking somewhat worn out. He began wearily jogging forward.

Her face did not reflect the turmoil that conflict waged inside of her, as she watched her sons, one honored, yet ignorant, against one brilliant, but shunned, fight against each other as if they had DONE it all their lives.

No mercy.

No remorse.

No single ounce of brotherly love.

And James Potter did not notice as a single tear trickled down her cheek, as she wondered where the hell they had gone wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry growled. The memory of Luna, and her sweet smile as he held her in his arms at the Yule Ball, was more than enough to fuel the Patronus, sending a fully corporeal silver snake rocketing out of his wand, the Dementors shrieking as they were driven back. Harry held the spell until he was fairly sure they would not be coming back, before letting it go with a grunt.

The Dementors had damn near got him. He had forgotten that some creatures, like Dementors and Lethifolds exuded no magical signature, and hence, no aura.

And shit, this maze was tough!

There were traps around every corner, monsters prowling around every bend. Harry now truly cursed Hagrid at the moment, for inventing those Blast Ended Screwts. Harry swore there was some firecrab in their genealogy, and intended to confront Hagrid about it as soon as he next saw him.

As for the rest, well, let's just say Harry had had a party.

He checked his pockets. All he had were three seals left. One Stunner seal, one BIG fire one(He liked to call it The Immolator), and of course, his backup, just for emergencies. He was very nearly exhausted, from running, dodging what seemed like every magical thrown substance under the sun, and fighting and winning by the skin of his teeth. He was going to KILL every single fucking embassy guy who had designed this damned maze.

Seriously, who's fucking idea was it to throw in the Darkhounds, huh? Or for that matter, the Brazilian fucking fire lizards?

Harry had a lot of ass to kick when he got out of here, and he was sure as hell making sure he never got caught up in shit like this again.

But now, he knew he had to be close to the Cup by now.

He could almost taste it...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt was...well, if you wanted to sum it up...

FUCKED! With a capital F-U-C-K-E? and D.

"Shit! Shitshitshitshit Godamnit!" He yelled, as he barreled down a corridor.

Why was he doing this, you ask?

Well, he could have felt like he was gaining a little too much weight, and needed a good jog...

No, you morons!

It was probably because of the fucking Nundu chasing him!

A large, nay, gigantic feline, gray in fur, with the tail of a donkey, and the body of a cat, and mane of a lion, they were known mostly for their ferocity and taste for human flesh.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?" Matt screamed, to no one in particular. "A FUCKING NUND-OH SHIT!" He screamed, as he rounded a corner and found only a dead end to greet him.

He backed up VERY slowly, as the Nundu growled menacingly. He knew enough not to meet it in the eyes, and sure as hell not to try his Skumring eye. Last time, that had nearly got him disemboweled. His one hand slowly inched towards one of his back pockets.

"Nice kitty...nice kitty kitty kitty...please don't claw my guts out..." Matt whispered, one hand uncorking the vial behind his back.

The back legs of the Nundu tensed, and Matt threw the vial as hard as he could, praying to God, the Devil, or anyone else that might be listening up there.

The acid connected with the Nundu's snout, and Matt leapt for dear life out of the way. The vial smashed against the hard skin of the Nundu, sending the acid straight into it's eyes, just as one claw raked along Matt's side.

"F-FUUUACK!" Matt screamed, collapsing on the ground. A large, bleeding gash was shining through his clothes, luckily not deep enough to hit anything mortal, but bleeding at a rather alarming rate.

The Nundu was letting out piercing cries and pitiful yowls of pain, shaking it's head from side to side. Matt gritted his teeth, and made himself get up, holding back dizziness and bile at the pain, and pointing his wand shakily at the Nundu.

"You-You? want t-to fucking play, pussy-cat?" Matt snarled. "PYRO DESTRUCTUM!" He screamed, part pain, part adrenaline, and part sheer, raw defiance.

The spell burst out of his wand with a kick like a mule. A pure red angry beam of baleful fire, hot as the fucking sun, took the Nundu at nearly point-blank range, sending it toppling to the ground, it's face melted to utter slag. It hit the ground with a probably echoing crash, just as Matt slumped to the floor. He would have to thank Harry for that spell.

"Damnit. Damniiiiiit!" Matt half snarled, half sobbed. He propped himself up against a rock hard hedge, cradling his side. His head was spinning, his muscles felt like lead, and don't even talk about his head. His head felt like the Devil was hosting his own personal Armageddon, with all of his pain receptors invited to the party.

He panted for a second, applying pressure to the wound. It's not going to stop bleeding. An annoyingly correct voice in his head told him. Matt merely let out another snarl/sob. You know what you're gonna have to do. Send up sparks. Call for the medics. You can't go on.

"Fuck you! Fuck yoooou!" Matt told no one in particular. "I'm..." A wave of nausea and dizziness hit him, slurring his words slightly. "I'ma gonna winnn." He muttered sleepily. He shook his head rapidly as fear hit him. Sleepiness was bad. Sleepiness was VERY bad in a situation like this.

Give up.

"No!" Matt muttered, not even caring what he was denying himself at the moment, just refusing by reflex. The drowsiness closed in on him, and he did the only thing he could do, which was incidentally the thing that saved him.

He poked himself fiercely in his side. Yes, the wounded one. Very, very hard.

A howl of agony escaped his lips, as his body jumped to full alert, and a few neurons connected somewhere, forming a crazy idea.

"Pain...pain is good. Pain means I'm awake. Got to stop the bleeding. Pain." Matt muttered to himself. He held up the Sable Crow, wand of the father of his father, and looked at it. "This is gonna suck." He muttered.

He pointed the wand at his bleeding side, and squeezing his eyes shut, muttered, "Incendio."

About ten minutes later and a couple new universes of pain later, along with two blackouts, Matt dragged himself to his feet, teeth gritted in determination to win and not cry like a little girl, as he leaned up against the wall for support.

"Right...I'm going to feel that one in the morning...Now for-" Matt muttered.

A scream split the twilight. Matt recognized it instantly.

His eyes widened. "Fleur!" He murmured.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur screamed, in a rather high pitch, as one of the undead warriors nearly took off her arm. It missed, and instead, a large wooden club smashed into her hand, knocking the wand far from her grasp.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Necromancers! They had hired a necromancer for the Tournament! That HAD to be against the rules somewhere!

A troupe of skeletal warriors, armed with swords and spears from times long forgotten, approached, their white skulls gaping ominously.

She had tried a blasting spell, only for them to put themselves right back together! Nothing seemed to work! Not even her Veela fire, which should have burned right through them! They had to be magically protected somehow! She didn't know any bonebreaker spells, and even if she did, she sure as hell couldn't do them wandlessly!

And of course, her Veela charm was totally out of the question.

So now she was cornered, without a wand to even call for help, and surrounded by the living dead.

She opened her mouth to let out another piercing scream, before another voice beat her to it.

"Hey, assholes! Reducto!"

A large red blast slammed into the skeleton nearest to her, sending it to pieces. Even as those pieces began to return to each other and reform, she turned to see her savior.

There was Matthew Cooke, leaning against a hedgerow with a weary grin on his face, his wand shaking like a leaf as he pointed it at them. He was holding one hand to his side, and looked like a strong breeze could knock him right out.

The skeletons let out sounds of groans and anger as they all turned to face this new threat. Matt smirked a little wider. "That's right, come right on over, you sons of bitches."

Fleur finally managed to string a sentence together. "Run, you fool! They are fucking indestructible!" She yelled, smoke curling around her fingers as she attempted to summon her Veela fire.

Perhaps she could hold them long enough for him to get away...

He fixed her with a deadpan gaze. "You're really bossy, you know that?" He asked, as the skeletons drew slowly closer in their clumsy stumble. But it was not their speed that was their power, that Fleur knew. It was their numbers and coordination.

With that, a skeleton finally stumbled close enough, just as Matt fumbled on a strange looking glove, with signs and runes all over it. The dead soldier's sword swung downwards, which Matt sidestepped, before his glove grabbed the skeleton's skull in a grip.

And then the glove glowed with a blue light.

The skeleton dropped to the floor, completely motionless. Fleur stared at it in disbelief. Matt cursed, stumbling back from another skeleton's spear's jab.

"Nice, huh? It's called adificio leather. The government uses it on dangerous prisoners. It drains and inhibits magic. I just added a few signs here and there to speed along the process and send the excess magic to me, and poof-!" Matt grabbed another skeleton in a headlock, dragging it away from the group to avoid being dismembered. After a few seconds, it crumbled into regular old bones. "Magic absorber!" He finished, in a slightly cheery tone.

"Look out!" She screamed in French.

Matt looked out, and threw himself out of the way, just as a sword nearly took off his head. It caught on his bandage, however, and ripped it right open, neatly bisecting it. Matt danced backwards a few steps, cursing.

"Okay, bastards, you wanna tango?" He grunted. "Fleur, I need a diversion!"

Fleur snapped to attention at the sound of her name. "R-right!"

Greenish blue flames erupted from her fist. With a slightly warped demonic shriek of fury, she bombarded the skeletons with her rage's flame. It didn't hurt them, but it sure as hell drove them backwards against the wall.

Matt quickly snagged several of the skeletons and drained them.

This strategy worked perfectly. Fleur would keep them from attacking with fire, before letting up for a brief moment, where Matt would grab duos, trios of skeletal minions and hold them hostage until the leather drained them of all they had animating them.

Soon, there was just Matt and Fleur standing in a grassy corridor, the ground scorched and littered with bones.

Matt stood, panting for a moment, before he collapsed to his knees, groaning. Fleur was almost immediately at his side, trying not to touch anything, but fretting nonetheless.

"What!? What is wrong!?" She asked, nearly panicked.

Matt lifted the one hand covering his wound, revealing the horrific burns and puffy skin. She let out a gasp, nearly a scream. Matt nodded and covered it again.

"Nundu got me in the side. Had to burn the wounds close." He grunted. Fleur, recognizing a way finally she could be of some use, crawled over and retrieved her wand, before pointing it over his wound.

He frowned, as she gently pulled his hand away. "What are you-?"

"Torpeo." Fleur whispered softly. A soft blue light shone over the wound, and Matt's eyes widened.

"Hey, it doesn't hurt!" He wondered aloud. Fleur looked up at him.

"Shh." She ordered softly. "I 'ave to make sure thees doesn't break open. Sano Exustio." She announced, curling her wand in a intricate pattern. The blue light turned soft green, and the blackened skin began healing under Matt's very eyes, until it was merely a angry red blotch on his side. Matt wobbled shakily to his feet.

"Stop! Where are you going? Eef you stress ze wound, eet will start bleeding again! Seet down!" She ordered imperiously, one finger pointing at the ground.

Her turned to her, his face dark. "What right do you have to give me any order, woman?" He snarled right back.

This brought memories of what she had DONE come rushing back, especially with the three diagonal black marks running across his eye now wanking her in the face, obviously infected.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had already tackled him onto the ground. He grunted rather loudly as they impacted.

"Fleur, what the-?" He stopped, when he realized that she was not attacking him or any such thing. She was sobbing, rather loudly and wetly, into his chest.

"Why? Why do you do these things for me? Why did you save me from the dragon? Why did you not tell anyone it was me? Why did you save my sister? Why did you save my life!? You owe me nothing! I owe you everything! Why?" She cried brokenly into his chest. "You should have disqualified me! You should have let me die! I am a horrid, disgusting monster! I deserve it!"

Matt awkwardly put a arm around her, which only served to make her wail louder. Matt looked around, actually slightly alarmed that her racket might draw some beast from the maze.

"Quiet down, Fleur, seriously!" He whispered urgently. She obediently choked down her cries somewhat, until it was simply a few dry sniffles.

Her face, cheeks flushed and eyes puffy from tears, stared up at his one. Matt marveled at the way she was still enchantingly beautiful despite this.

"Why?" She asked, her voice begging in both manner and tone.

So he spoke the truth.

"Because pretty girls shouldn't get hurt." He responded.

Fleur did not know why she did what she did next. She never would be able to explain her reasoning in the future, either, calling it a spur of the moment kind of thing. However, she would always, always identify it as one of the smartest decisions she ever made in her entire life.

Because right then, at that moment, she leaned forward and mashed her lips against his with as much force as she could muster. Matt was sent reeling with shock, for several reasons.

1) He was making out with a smoking hot quarter-Veela who had clawed his eye out.

2) Her lips tasted like strawberries and fresh mint, which happened to be, through some freak coincidence, his favorite AKA incredible.

3) Whatever bad shit people might say about the French, they were great kissers, as he was currently experiencing at the moment, even though some of her tears were leaking into his eyes.

4) His eye had stopped aching, and startled bubbling like a ready potion.

Matt remained lip locked with Fleur, not fully comprehending the last one for a course of about ten seconds, before he jerked upwards, with a bellowed, "What the fuck!?"

It was true. The black surface of his scratches were now dripping a black pus, sizzling as the pus made contact with the ground. Matt shivered slightly as he watched the grass it made contact with die instantly.

"What is wrong?" She asked. She recoiled with a slightly disgusted and fearful look when she saw. "What is happening to your eye?"

Matt did not answer, because he was currently hurriedly wiping his face on the grass, and squeezing the skin around the scratches, because he had a pretty good idea of what was happening.

The wound was healing. The poison was leaving his system.

"Fleur! Come here." He ordered. Fleur, curiously enough, obeyed, albeit a little confusedly.

Reaching up with a single finger, he lifted a tear from Fleur's cheek. He then let it drop on his scratch. Bingo. The poison writhed angrily, before a fresh wave dripped out of his wound. He smirked slightly, as Fleur let out a slight exclamation of surprise and her eyes widened in understanding.

"Remorse. That's the cure to the Revenge of Women. Tears of remorse." Matt smiled slightly. "How fitting."

The last of the poison leaked out onto the grass, and Matt stood up, flexing his limbs. He felt better now. Stronger. More confident, like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. The angry black scratches were simply white scars upon his face now.

Matt spotted something in the grass, and let out a slight chuckle. He picked it up.

A eyepatch. Off of one of the skeletons, no doubt. Matt wound it around his head, and onto his eye. He Conjured a mirror and looked at himself, before smirking.

Damn, he looked badass.

Fleur was now standing next to him. She looked uncertain, hesitant even, a expression that looked damn cute, in his opinion, as opposed to the normal haughtiness, especially with that flush left over on her cheeks.

"Come on. Let's go." Matt waved along at her. She looked at him as if he had gone mad. He was still stiff, and the pain in his side was starting to return, giving him a slight limp. Fleur was drop dead tired, and looked ready to collapse.

"Go? Go where?" She asked, confused.

Matt grinned at her. "To win the Tournament, of course!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry panted, and limped around the corner. He was quite annoyed at the moment, but then again, the Doxies had snuck up on him, and he had needed to use his Stunner seal to subdue them, just because of the sheer amount of them.

Now, he had a bite on his leg that he was fairly sure he had managed to cleanse of poison, but still ached. He would have to get it treated when he got out of the damn maze.

He rounded the corner, and sighed softly as he stared upon the Tri-Wizard? Cup.

This was interrupted, however, by swearing, and Henry appearing at the other side of the circular clearing, with the nestled on a side of the greenery that was the same distance from Henry as it was was Harry. Henry was covered in what looked like scorched Devil's Snare, and he was throwing it off as fast as he could. His flashy leather getup was torn in several places, and he looked quite frazzled.

He froze at the same moment that he saw Harry.

They both shot a quick glance at the Cup.

Just as their bodies tensed, to sprint towards the Cup, there was a deafening roar, and down from the ceiling, dropped a fucking Hydra, fully grown, all nine heads spitting and cursing.

Harry knew when he was outmatched, and with a Hydra, this was most certainly the case.

He turned to run-

And found himself impeded, stopped by a invisible barrier of air. Harry cursed and turned around, where Henry had found the same thing, but was still throwing himself against it.

The Hydra spat threateningly. Harry decided to try another tactic.

"Stop! Do not attack us!" Harry ordered, let his magical aura flare a bit.

"Kill...food...prey...KILL!" It's nine heads all hissed. It was quite a intimidating effect.

Well there went that option.

The heads lunged. Harry waved his wand in a frantic upwards spiral, shouting "Vallum Emergo!" While leaping backwards. The stone wall rose from the ground, just as several of the heads smashed through it like sandpaper.

Henry, who had been edging towards the Cup along the other wall, made a break for it. Harry hissed in anger.

"Idiot!" He snarled. "Accio Henry!"

The Golden Boy of Gryffindor flew away from the wall, just as the Hydra's bite from a few other heads nearly took a chunk out of him, and landed next to Harry.

"Don't be stupid!" Harry snapped. "We've got to get all of it's attention on one place, or kill it, if we want to get out of here alive."

"The h-hell with that!" Henry sputtered. He looked terrified. "I'm going for the Cup! I want out of here! AAAIII!" He squealed, as Harry banished him across the field to avoid another snap.

"Neither you nor I can get the Cup if the Hydra chomps us up!" Harry snapped, in annoyance. "We have to make a plan!"

This actually seems to penetrate Henry's thick skull. He stood up, and nodded shakily, before drawing the sword of Gryffindor from his waist. "Right! YAH!" He yelled, charging the Hydra. Harry sighed explosively.

"That's not-ugh." Harry muttered in disgust. "Fine, you distract him, and I'll take him out. Right, break!" He called out sarcastically.

Henry clumsily dodged one of the lunges of the heads of the Hydra. The other eight were waiting for chances to strike, twisting and contorting in every imaginable way, getting every angle of the attacker. Harry waited, wand at the ready.

Henry raised his sword, and nearly fell over as another head lunged at him. Through some sheer feat of dumb luck and stupidity, he let out a battle cry, and lopped off a head.

The stump of a head started to bubble and bulge in the greenish muscles. It writhed, and with a mighty blow, sent Henry flying across the clearing. He landed in a heap, and did not move. Unconscious. What a pansy. Harry thought with disgust.

Harry leapt into action, before another two heads could sprout from the flailing stump. "Inflammatio!" Harry snarled.

The tip of his wand glowed, and a thick stream of fire blasts out of his wand, showering the exposed skin. The Hydra screeches and retreats. Harry let up, and inspected his work. Good. That was one head out of the picture.

Harry scooted in a close circle, a careful distance away from the dangerous monster. Just out of snapping distance, but close enough to act.

The Hydra charged forward on it's stubby legs, one head shooting forward. Harry threw himself out of the way, and rolling out of the way of another frantically biting head, he pointed his wand, and yelled "Lacero!"

A cutting wave of purple connected and sliced straight through two Hydra heads. Two heads fell into the grass, followed quickly by a bellow of "Inflammatio!"

The Hydra screeched and screamed in rage, as it retired once more, guarding the Cup like it was it's nest, now three heads weaker.

Harry's eyes narrowed. This was getting bad. The Hydra was getting cautious, and a animal only got more dangerous once it was cornered. The six heads snapped and snarled angrily. He would have to immobilize it.

Harry waved his wand, and flicked it. "Pluit Cuspis!" Harry growled.

A slight variation of what he had used on the vampire at the beginning flew at the Hydra. Instead now, instead of arrows, there were spears.

Several struck home, embedding their heads in the flesh of the Hydra. At this distance, cutting spells would not be smart, since he'd have to get closer to burn the stumps closer. Spears were good.

He halted the Rain of Spears, and watched, as the Hydra keened in pain, before several of the heads busied themselves with removing the spearheads. One of them still watched him suspiciously.

Perfect. Harry drew a few sharp symbols in the air with Conjured fire, the runes hanging suspended in the air. This was a tricky, finicky spell, and needed a few seconds to set up.

The one head watching screeched, apparently sensing trickery, and the body began to charge forward. Harry quickened his work.

Harry traced a pentagram around the runes, and quickly stabbed the center of it. "Ferrum Expungo!"

A breeze drifted from the pentagram circle, gentle, yet strong. Harry held it trained on the incoming Hydra, focusing it on one head.

Suddenly, without warning, the head flew off, as if a invisible sword chopped it off. Harry smiled grimly.

The Guillotine Wind was a rather advanced sort of spell, and it was considered Dark by plenty of people. It focused blades of wind disguised as a gentle breeze, cutting through just about anything. Shields, like the Protego charm wouldn't do shit, because they wouldn't recognize wind as a attack, and the blades could form anywhere in the breeze.

The downside, was that the user had to keep his wand in the center of the pentagram, which he could use the turn and direct the wind, like a turret. Plus, the actual breeze area was rather small, about the size of a hubcap, so it could be easily dodged by one who knew how. If the caster removed the wand, the pentagram would disappear and you'd have to draw it all over again.

It was perfect for the situation Harry was in. The Hydra wasn't expecting it, and it couldn't summon up any material barrier. In addition, it couldn't dodge very well or dive to the side. It was a strictly close quarters creature.

Needless to say, the Hydra dropped to the ground in front of Harry, it's stubby legs twitching and flailing as it attempted to regrow it's. He quickly acted, knowing that if he didn't, he'd soon have twice the heads to deal with.

He retrieved a rather larger, circular square of paper. It was about as big as Harry's chest, and he had needed to roll it up to fit it inside his robes.

On the back, he had written, Burn, baby, BURN!, A rather witty comment in his opinion.

He opened it up, so that his hands were stretched to their entirety, before channeling magic into it, opening the seal, and shutting his eyes.

The roaring of a myriad of fire spells, ranging from Incendios to Pyro Destructums, exploded from the separate dimension. Harry didn't even remember how many pieces of hell he had stored into this scroll, and held on for dear life, waiting until the roar of flame died out.

Eventually, the blasts and whooshes of flame died out, and Harry hesitantly peeked around the scroll.

The Hydra was a unrecognizable pile of half organic goo, some of it black, some of the body melted straight into tar. There were some bits of bone sticking out like melted slag, and smoke and steam were rising from the rapidly cooling corpse. Harry smirked slightly, wrinkling his nose at the stench.

"Another one bites the dust, I guess." He muttered. He tossed the useless piece of paper aside, and slumped wearily where he stood.

"Good one, Harry!" A familiar voice called. Harry turned behind him.

There was Matt, grinning tiredly, being supported by a equally weary looking Fleur. Harry smiled in spite of himself.

"Nice job showing up exactly after I finished up the Hydra. You're such a lazy ass." Harry retorted, in good Humor despite himself.

Matt chuckled. "Hey, I'll have you know I out-riddled a Sphinx a couple turns back. Plus, there was this Nundu..." He grimaced. Harry suddenly was aware of a gaping red splotch on Matt's side, accentuated by torn clothes, with bloodstains. He turned serious.

"Matt, you've really got to get that treated." Harry pointed at the wound. "That looks pretty nasty." An idea abruptly struck him. Harry retreated a few steps. "Matt, take the Cup."

Matt looked like he had had his brains bashed out with a gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon(lol). He shook his head rapidly.

"No way, Harry. I sure as hell couldn't have taken down a Hydra. You take it." Matt protested, as Harry dragged him forward.

"No excuses. I couldn't have even gotten through the maze if you hadn't shown me kanji." Harry replied firmly. "Plus, I don't want the damn thing. Too much publicity. I got to humiliate Henry on live TV; Have you forgotten there's house elves running around, filming us right now?" Matt cast a quick glance around, as if he could spot the disillusioned house elves. Idiot.

Matt looked hesitant. "Are you absolutely sure?" He asked. He was crumbling, Harry could tell. "I mean, it's a thousand Galleons."

"I know. Matt, I've got a whole library full of a ancient and powerful wizard's artifacts to sell, I'm going to make a hell of a lot more than a thousand Galleons." Harry replied promptly.

He sighed. "Fine. Fleur, will you help me over?"

Harry watched in interest as Fleur helped him hobble over to the Tri-Wizard? Cup, without even hinting at trying to take it. He watched with slight amusement as Matt squabbled with her, trying to get her to take it with him, and her actually refusing!

Matt finally got impatient, before grabbing her hand abruptly, and wrapping it around one of the handles of the cup, much to her indignation. He chuckled slightly at her protests suddenly cutting off, as they both transported out of the maze.

The roof above his head faded into the starry sky, as a dozen cracks echoed around the clearing, house elves popping out of nowhere. One of them grabbed Henry and disappeared with another crack. Another modestly held out his hand to Harry.

"Please be taking my hand, so we can be out of here and to safety, sir." The elf requested humbly, if a bit firmly.

Harry took the hand, and with a final pop, disappeared from the maze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Let us welcome our winners!" Peterson boomed, amplified many times through the Sonorous charm.

Normally, it would have been Bagman who had DONE this, but he was dragged off the stage by goblins. Harry had laughed a great deal about this.

Henry was not looking pleased; Hell, he was looking practically murderous. His whole face was lit up like a lightbulb. Perhaps it was the shame of the fact that he had gotten clocked with one hit before getting knocked out, and every single person assembled had seen this. And that was a hell of a lot of people.

Harry himself was feeling rather good; He had gotten several interesting job offers from some rather prestigious dueling coaches and organizations. Plus, Matt's dad had come up to him, and offered him a place at his personal estate in France. He had secretly confided that he wouldn't really be doing much; Just a little help around the manor, and some fun and games. Harry, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, had readily agreed.

So he was set up rather nicely. Take that, James Potter!

"American Champion Matthew Cooke and French Champion Fleur Delacour, rise to the podium!" Peterson roared, in unison with the crowd. He didn't seem that angry that America was sharing 1rst place with the French, but then again, the Americans didn't have such inbred prejudice that the English did.

Peterson took two gold medals off of a proffered red satin pillow, and hung each on the necks of the champions. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Tri-Wizard? Champions!"

The crowd went nuts. Harry settled for polite clapping. Both Matt and Fleur seemed bathed in light, due to all the flashbulbs going off.

"Potter." A voice murmured. Harry turned around, to find Moody, the DADA professor, standing right there. "Come with me to my office, would you? I'd like to congratulate you personally, since nearly every person here knows you should be the one up there." He spoke gruffly.

Harry was honestly flattered. Mad-Eye? Moody himself, praising him? "I don't see why not. Right now?"

Moody nodded. "Yes."

Harry pushed through the crowd, listening as the cheers grew dimmer and thinner as they approached Hogwarts. He shrugged to himself. He could return later, and besides, it wasn't like the crowd was going anywhere. The after party was scheduled, and Harry intended to hear a few more of those offers before he went to bed.

Well, that and snog with Luna, but that was practically a given.

Moody pushed open the door to his office, and ushered Harry in, closing it behind him.

It was exactly as Harry imagined a legendry Auror's office would look like; A Foe-Glass?, a few Sneakoscopes, and a large, odd trunk sitting in the corner.

What he did not expect, however, was Henry, sitting in the chair, looking right back at him with equal confusion. Harry frowned.

"Hey, what's-?"

"Stupefy." Moody growled behind him, and Harry felt his whole body go numb.

Shortly thereafter, an old boot was pushed into his hands, and he felt the familiar tug of a Portkey, before he was whisked away, betrayal and confusion still ringing in his ears.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry landed with a thump on a hard, cold ground. He landed on his side, so all he could see was cold mist and tombstones stretching as far as the eye could see. The old boot landed and struck his head rather painfully.

He, of course, was panicking.

What the fuck? Moody? A portkey? Okay, okay...Harry began to calm down. First things first. Got hit by a Stunner. Two ways to reverse. 1) Wait until it wears off. Hell no. 2) Summon magical aura, spread to every part of body, in one big flash, to overcome Stunner's effects. Let's try that.

Of course, this sounded much easier than it was. Even elder wizards like Dumbledore had some difficultly summoning it on will, without any emotions fueling it, like desperation or anger.

Harry, to his credit, actually through sheer force of will pushed a little out. Not nearly enough to break the Stunner, but enough to make his eyes glow and a fierce wind blow, along with freezing several objects around him. Quite impressive, if utterly useless.

He slumped mentally, going furiously over his options.

Suddenly, there was a pop, and crunch right on top of him, and Harry wheezed as Henry landed right on top of him, and another boot struck him in the face. Henry, courtesy of gravity, rolled off of him, to somewhere behind him, leaving Harry in silence once more, if not for much longer.

The crunch of boots alerted to him another person's presence, before he was grabbed roughly over his midsection, and hoisted over someone's shoulder. Harry's head bounced limply on the shoulder, and Harry got a glimpse of a white masked figure picking up Henry with a grunt of effort.

Death Eaters! Harry mentally yelled. Moody was a Death Eater! That's insane! One of the most legendry Aurors in the world is a Death Eater!

Harry concentrated furiously on breaking the Stunner's hold. He narrowed his eyes at his fingers. Move your left pinky. Move your left pinky. I will now move my left pinky.

The finger twitched. Harry nodded firmly mentally.

Harry was set down, with his back against a cold tombstone. And he saw the face of his captor. And his rage boiled.

Peter Pettigrew. The man who had betrayed him as a child. Who had inadvertently made Henry the Boy-Who-Lived. Who had indirectly made Harry's life a living hell.

The man didn't stop to look at Harry's face, only fumbling with his wand, and with a muttered "Incarcerous", bound Harry to the rock. Harry felt Henry being placed right next to him, and bound in a similar manner.

In front of them stood a great, bubbling cauldron. The other Death Eater hissed at Peter impatiently.

"Hurry up, you incompetent fool." Harry could almost feel the familiar sneer behind the mask. "There must be no delays."

Harry didn't even have to see the face. With that heavy Bulgarian accent, there was no doubt. Karkaroff. Damn it, how well had he just been shanghied?

Wormtail stumbled forward, holding a bone in his right hand, and a dagger in another. He seemed ready to piss himself. "B-Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

With that, he cast the bone into the cauldron. The cauldron's hissing and bubbling exploded to new heights, before it returned to it's normal stream of vapor. However, now, it was tinged with red.

Wormtail stooped down next to him, and Harry struggled to get free. He managed a slight thrash. Peter flinched slightly, before taking the knife, and making a small incision in his forearm. Harry noticed Karkaroff doing the same to Henry, who gave a slight whimper as his contribution.

Wormtail and Karkaroff wandered back over to the cauldron, and held both knives over the cauldron, before reciting as one. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Both knives dropped in. There was a snarling sound from the coffin, and a high whine, before sickly yellow steam spat upwards into the inscrutable night sky, and Wormtail flinched back, holding his knife in a trembling hand.

"Do it, fool!" Karkaroff hissed.

"F-Flesh of the s-servant, wi-willingly given-" Wormtail held his hand out over the cauldron, and squeezed his eyes shut. Harry could not look away, like a great, gory train wreck, as Wormtail sliced off his own hand at the wrist. "You will revive your master!" He gasped, before dropping with a whimper to the ground, cradling his bloody stump.

"Weakling." Karkaroff muttered, just as the cauldron screamed with power, and bellowed green smog into the air. From the ground, Karkaroff lifted a tiny bundle, which looked sickeningly like a baby, except with slit nostrils, and red eyes pinched shut as it wailed grotesquely.

He dropped it in, and Harry screamed with pain as his scar exploded with agony. He could hear Henry howling beside him too.

Wind rushed past them like a hurricane, all heading towards the cauldron, where a pillar of dust and magic was growing steadily higher. Harry gritted his teeth shut, swallowing his scream with a little effort. It felt like his head was going to split apart.

Finally, the torrent of magic and power ceased, leaving only the sound of Henry's soft sobbing and the whimpering of Wormtail.

Harry heart nearly stopped, as he heard a high pitched, cold voice speak, and a shadowy form emerge from the depths of the cauldron.

"Robe me." It whispered. Karkaroff rushed forward with a simple black robe quickly. It was snatched, and placed upon the figure's shoulders.

And then, stepping forward from the darkness, came Lord Voldemort.

"My wand." He rasped, and Karkaroff gestured with his hand, before a wand came shooting out of Wormtail's robes, which he presented to the newly risen Dark Lord.

Voldemort smiled, and twitched his fingers in Peter's direction. "Rise, Wormtail."

And Pettigrew did, blubbering and crying as he did, offering his stump pleadingly to Voldemort. Voldemort took his arm in a iron grip, before waving his wand at the bleeding stump. A thin silver mist rose out of his bone white wand, and curled around in the air, before forming the shape of a hand, and attaching itself to the stump, becoming pure silver.

Peter flexed his new digits, wordlessly offering the Dark Lord a shining look of relief and groveling thankfulness. Voldemort said nothing, only grabbing Wormtail's other arm, and pressing his wand to the Dark Mark with a sneer. The look petered out, as Wormtail let out a sharp gasp, and whine, of unmistakable pain.

Soon, cracks echoed around the clearing, as more and more Death Eaters appeared, in full regalia of black robes and white metal masks. They silently took a circle around Voldemort, as he turned to them with a sickly smile.

"Well, well, the two brothers Potter. Very famous, nowadays, I've heard. Perhaps even as famous as me...?" He asked. His voice was taunting, jeering. Harry kept his face stony, while Henry whimpered and tried to scrabble as far away as possible.

He turned to his followers. "Look at them, look! Is there anything to be at all afraid of? Look at their precious Boy-Who-Lived!" He cackled, and laughs, uneasy and nervous, started up around the clearing.

Harry watched with no emotion, as Voldemort turned to address his followers, torturing several with Crucio, Harry being particularly pleased when Malfoy got a good dosage. Voldemort seemed a bit disgruntled at the small number, there being only about twenty Death Eaters present.

Then, he turned back to Harry and Henry, and waved his wand. Henry's ropes fell away and disappeared. "Get up. Let us see the great threat of the Boy-Who-Lived." Riddle spat.

Henry stumbled to his feet, grasping his wand, and started to step backwards. Voldemort let out a serpentine sigh, and waved his wand once in the air. Henry bumped into a invisible barrier. Harry felt a cold sweat break out on his temple.

That was instantaneous ward creation. Either he saw far enough ahead to know that Henry would try to run, or he is simply that powerful and skilled. Fuck, Henry is so outclassed it's not even funny.

Henry seemed to accept that he wasn't getting out, so he firmed his upper lip, and slowly circled Voldemort, keeping a good distance in-between them. Harry noted with disgust that his wand hand was shaking.

Voldemort seemed remarkably bored. "Is that it? Crucio." A red beam of light shot from his wand.

Henry yelled with surprise, and threw himself to the ground. The spell skinned the hair's of his head. He quickly got to his feet, and pointed his wand with shaky fingers, before yelling back, "Stupefy!"

The similar red bolt was cast aside with a sneer. "A Stunner? Are you serious?" Voldemort asked, traces of amusement lingering on his drawn, snakelike features.

Then Henry followed up. "Ildhimmel!" He yelled, waving his wand in a quick arc.

Harry was truly surprised, when nearly two dozen small, fist sized fireballs leapt from Henry's wand, all moving in crescent arcs towards Voldemort. A flicker of shock crossed the Dark Lord's face, before waved his wand in a circular motion in front of himself.

A thick curtain of water rose from the ground, and the fireball fizzled out with hiss. Voldemort started a slow clap.

"A rare spell, the Fire Dawn. Very flashy, if extremely wasteful, slow, and draining. It's only real practical use is against a muggle army. You've picked a few things up from Dumbledore, no doubt."

Indeed, Henry seemed somewhat winded from using the spell. He pointed his wand again. "Conjurus Leonis!" He screamed.

A large, red maned lion snarled and bounded from Henry's wand, with a crack, barreling towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort laughed.

"Our noble hero, and his lion, how fitting! Shimiru!" Voldemort laughed, waving his wand in a uppercut.

Bamboo spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the lion and killing it, where it disappeared. Henry seemed quite tired, now. He pointed his wand at Voldemort again, and the Dark Lord sniffed.

"I grow bored of this." He announced, flicking aside Henry's Full Paralyzer with ease. "Usugizi." He dismissed with a lazy wave of his wand, a grayish bolt impacting on Henry's temple, sending him into the world of dreams. "Pick him up. We shall kill him later and display him as a trophy of our triumph."

Then, the Dark Lord turned on Harry, with a leering grin. "Well, Harry? Care to try your luck?"

"Gladly." Harry retorted, before springing up from his bonds, which he had cut himself while nobody was watching, having long ago overcome the Stunner at the sight of Pettigrew's face. "Atonnus!"

The look of surprise on the Dark Lord's face was priceless, as a crackle of white lightning leapt from Harry's wand. With a snarl and a wave of his wand, a tombstone was uprooted, and took the blow of the lightning, shattering it to pieces.

Harry was already moving. "Deux Sol Epeneux!"

Two screaming torpedoes of magic started ripping up the cracked ground, seeking Voldemort's blood. He gained a almost insane look of glee, as he flicked his wand, and two bolts of lightning leapt from his wand and stopped the Earth Fangs cold.

"Oh my, this Potter has some teeth!" He cackled. "Valde Serpensortia!"

A positively enormous snake appeared, easily as long as a bus. "Kill him!" Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue.

"Do not attack!" Harry snapped right back. There were collective gasps among the Death Eaters, at Harry's use of Parseltongue. Voldemort just laughed.

"My my, another speaker." He murmured. "Did you know that I always suspected you might be the true Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry recognized psychological warfare, but returned it regardless. "Did you know I always suspected you were homosexually inclined?" He shot right back.

Voldemort's face didn't even flicker. "It's true! At first, I thought I was deceiving myself, but when I learned that you had, somehow, opened the Chamber of Secrets, that something must have happened to you as well on that fateful night fourteen years past."

"When you snuck into our home, and killed Daniel and Jane Potter in cold blood, my grandparents, who were just babysitting us that night. You weren't expecting my grandmother to keep protecting us, were you?" Harry jeered.

Voldemort's face tightened with a flicker of anger. "No, I was not. The blood protection was a surprise, I would admit. But you, Harry, you!" Voldemort's face relaxed. "When you opened the Chamber, I was sure that this bumbling idiot of a boy-" Voldemort kicked Henry's sleeping form with disgust. "-could not possibly be the one I 'marked as my equal'."

"Marked as your equal?" Harry frowned. Voldemort's face contorted, before his high pitched, shrieking laughter split the night.

"Dumbledore hasn't even told you about the prophecy yet! That's rich! That is the funniest thing I have ever heard." Voldemort chuckled. Harry frowned slightly. A prophecy? Probably just a taunt. "But your opening of the Chamber, and now, your revealing of your snake tongued gift, further convinces me that they were all pampering the wrong prince, the entire time! You, Harry Potter, are the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry was rather thrown, but he didn't let it show. All his life, he'd been mistreated for the wrong reasons? Just because Henry's scar looked more prophetic than his?

Well, whining was for pussys, and Harry was no pussy.

"I also unlocked Slytherin's library. All three floors." Harry retorted. A flicker of surprise crossed Voldemort's face, then anger. "What's wrong, jealous you're not the real Heir of Slytherin?" Harry asked in a innocent tone.

That really did it.

"Lies! IMPUDENCE! ! Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed, switching back to English in his fury.

Harry, his heart in his throat, waved his wand as quickly as he ever had in his life. A giant bear was conjured suddenly, and died just as abruptly, taking the Killing Curse for him.

"Nagini, destroy him!" Voldemort screamed, and with a crack, a large white albino snake appeared.

"Not a fucking chance! Ico, kill the bitch!" Harry roared, and with a crack, Harry's black familiar fell upon Nagini. Ico was slightly smaller and faster, but Nagini was large and muscular. It would be impossible to predict a outcome.

They roiled around in a writhing pile of snake, but Harry had no eyes to spare for their fight.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed in quick succession. There was no mistake. They were fighting for keeps, now.

"Lucidious!" Harry yelled before diving to the side, and squeezing his eyes shut. The Sun Flare flashed, and most of the Death Eaters screamed and cowered back, clutching their burned retinas.

Voldemort growled wordlessly, before cupping his fingers together and blowing. A enormous snake, made entirely of fire, formed, and Harry balked.

Harry waved his wand in a quick semi circle, a trail of conjured flame burning it's path, before Harry scribbled quick runes above the line.

The serpent of fire fell. Harry finished the final rune.

"Quod Signum Maris!" Harry hollered with all his might.

A wave of water surged forward from the dry ground, meeting the enormous flaming snake head for head, battling for supremacy.

Harry yelled and pumped more power in. The wave overcame the snake, and send it crashing to the ground with a echoing scream of defiance. The snake hissed out, leaving trails of steam in the air.

Harry slumped to his knees, panting heavily. The steam parted rather quickly in the cold air, and Harry cursed, when he say the array Voldemort had rapidly traced in the air.

"Oh fuck."

"Aradico Fulgeo!" Voldemort hissed.

A white beam burst forward his circular, star shaped array. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the end.

What he was not expecting was for someone to take the hit for him.

"Protego!" Many voices cried at once, and a blue shield flickered in front of Harry.

The Eradicating Beam hit it full force, and Harry turned around just in time to see several of the Aurors holding it up slump to the ground.

There were nearly fifty Aurors present, with Minerva McGonnagall and Albus Dumbledore heading them. Several other teachers, Harry saw in the background, like Flitwick and Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher.

They traced the portkey! About fucking time! Harry mentally screamed.

Dumbledore reached Harry finally, and held out a very familiar looking worn leather boot.

"Take it, Harry. This fight is not yours." He intoned sternly.

Harry happily complied. Suddenly, there was panicked yells behind him, and a sound of shattering. The last thing he felt was a terrible, searing pain hit his arm, before a familiar tugging at his navel pulled him away from the graveyard.

Then, everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing. With a tearful Luna at his side.

And no right arm, it having been blasted off by Voldemort's Eradicating Beam.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt arrived a mere minute later, through some enchanted mirror he had given Luna. He sat silently by Luna's side, as she recounted the story to her boyfriend.

"The whole place is in a uproar." Luna informed him. "Dumbledore says that Voldemort returned, and has gone through Henry's memories on the subject and seen him himself. Fudge-" She spat the word as if a curse. "-is trying to make the whole thing blow over, but with over fifty of his Aurors as witness, along with Barty Crouch Jr's tesitimony-He's quite insane, he told them willingly that he was a Death Eater-" Luna added in. "Add that to the attacks at the Quiddich World Cup, and the completely unscheduled Hydra in the maze and Necromancer, it's pretty safe to say he's not going to be able to cover this up."

"The most humiliating part is that they didn't even notice you and Henry missing until they tried to call him up for some sort of participation medal." Matt piped up. "'Youngest Champion Ever', or something. He's actually quite the laughingstock among the other European governments, you know, it's really quite sad. A few people in audience said they saw him taking Henry to the castle, and the first place that Dumbledore checked was Moody's office, of course. Long story short, Moody was really Barty Jr, polyjuiced up, with the real Moody in the trunk under a concussive potion, and they found the crazy fucker giggling in the office over his supposed success."

"So then-" Luna cut in. "-They called in Aurors, a Cursebreaking Team, the whole nine yards. They all went in, wands out, and suddenly, you're back, and in your current...situation. That's all we know."

Harry had been silent through their entire interpretation of the tale. He could still feel the phantom presence of his right arm. He was pretty lucky he was left handed, or he'd have to learn dueling all over again.

"Harry, man, I passed Dumbledore on the way up here. Snape's with him, carrying something that looks suspiciously like Veritaserum." Matt muttered nervously. Casting a glance at the door. "We haven't got much time. Is there anything you want to tell us?"

"Voldemort's back." Harry announced, without preamble. Both of his friends watched him with utter seriousness. "And I'm the real Boy-Who-Lived."

That really got them. Matt's jaw dropped open, and Luna's expressive silver eyes widened.

Matt opened his mouth to ask a question, protest, talk.

"Ah, Mr. Cooke, and Ms Lovegood, I see you have come to see your friend." Dumbledore announced, his eyes twinkling cheerfully. "But I'm am afraid I must steal him from you for a short while."

Luna looked ready to fight him, bless her soul. Matt looked at Dumbledore apathetically for a single second, his blue contacted eye flickering to the solemn figure of Severus Snape lurking behind him, a small bottle with clear fluid not quite hidden in his hand. Then he brightened just as quickly.

"No, no, it's absolutely fine." Matt replied, just as brightly. Luna looked at him as if he'd announced he was gay. Matt tugged on her shoulder. "We've got other stuff to do anyway, did you hear about all those people who want to interview me?"

"Indeed I did, Mr. Cooke. I'm sure it would not be polite of you to keep them waiting." Dumbledore replied promptly, in a jovial tone. "Why, once upon a time, I actually had somewhere as many admirers as seem to be gathering for you, instead of the general animosity I seem to be viewed with nowadays." Dumbledore finished, as if he had not just announced that the majority of the wizarding world feared or despised him.

"Right, right. Well, Harry, stay strong, right?" Harry felt his hand strongly clasped by Matt's, and his eyes met the aspiring enchanter's one with seriousness. Then Matt was gone, dragging a protesting Luna along the way. Harry smiled softly, keeping his fingers tightly clasped. Matt would be getting his ass kicked by Luna later.

He'd have to make it up to her. Harry was sure he'd find some sort of way.

Dumbledore turned serious, as he sat down cautiously in the chair Luna had just unwillingly vacated.

"I'm afraid I need to pick your brain, on your fight with Voldemort, Harry." Dumbledore began, without preamble.

"I thought you might say so, Headmaster." Harry replied. "Which is why I took the liberty of replacing my memories with false ones and proxies. A mind is a man's last sanctuary, and I have no intention of letting you, I quote 'pick it'"

To his credit, Dumbledore was a good planner. "Ah, I thought you might do so, Harry, and even as it pains me to admit it, expected you to do so. Which is why I had Professor Snape prepare some Veritaserum. I assure you I do not want to did not want it to come to this, but I must order you to take it."

"I have no objections, Headmaster." Harry replied easily. "Voldemort is as much my enemy as yours, after all."

Dumbledore smiled softly, a smile of trust. "I'm glad you see it so-" He cut off, as Harry began coughing furiously, one hand to his mouth. "Are you well, Mr. Potter?"

"Fine, fine." Harry assured him, discreetly slipping the tiny and now empty vial of Veritaserum antidote Matt had slipped him in the handshake under the covers. "Go ahead."

Harry opened his mouth, and let the three drops fall onto his tongue. He shook his head faintly, as a warm buzz entered his senses. He was compelled to tell the truth, but did not now have to.

"Where did you acquire the Art of War Magic, by Sun Tzu, during the Second Task?" Dumbledore began. Harry's eyebrows rose.

"I-Cham-Sly-Vold-" Harry tried to say. Damn, the antidote wasn't taking effect altogether yet! Dumbledore nodded patiently.

"We shall get to the Dark Lord in a moment, but I would prefer to question you about this particular matter in a situation in which you are unable to lie, Mr. Potter. I hope you understand."

Harry's mind flew for a possible lie, before he mentally dropped, and decided to tell the truth, or risk alerting the old wizard of his taking of the antidote. "I found it in the Chamber of Secrets."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose, and he leaned closer. "Elaborate, please."

"Inside the mouth of Slytherin, is hidden the great secret library of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I think it's where Voldemort got all of his secret knowledge. That's where I got the book."

Snape's eyes widened. Dumbledore stood up.

"I believe I will have to see this for myself." He announced.

"Okay." Harry agreed easily. "Can I have a cane, or something, please?"

Snape complied, waving his wand and Conjuring a cane, with the silver head of a serpent, much like Luicus Malfoy's, much to Harry's disgust.

"Right, follow me." Harry ordered gaily.

Along the way, Dumbledore questioned Harry about his fight with Voldemort, and several ethical matters as well. Who's names did Harry hear while Voldemort addressed his Death Eaters? Did Voldemort say or reveal anything important?

Harry was very sure to keep the whole, I'm-The-Boy-Who-Lived thing out of it. He also downplayed his spells a little bit. He made himself sound a good deal better than Henry, but not as good as he actually was.

Harry learned some quite shocking news, on the way, as well.

"Ah, by the way, Mr. Potter, I'm sorry to inform you that your snake familiar, Ico, was lost in the fight. He made quite the important contribution, I assure you, as he managed to kill Nagini, Voldemort's familiar, before he succumbed to his wounds." Dumbledore announced, traces of sorrow implanted in his voice.

Harry bit back tears for his first friend, and tried not to clench his fist too hard.

Harry reached the girl's bathroom, and spoke the password, watching both Dumbledore and Snape's shocked looks as the stairway was revealed. He waited as they stepped onto the steps, before he started the little escalator feature.

Harry noted with disgust the look of greed Snape got as soon as he saw the basilisk's decaying carcass. He's probably got a hard-on thinking about all the potions he can make out of it. Wait...ergh...Snape's hard-on, must not throw-up...

And as soon as Harry led them into the library, he didn't suppress a chuckle at the gasp of Dumbledore, or at the creepy smile on Snape's face.

"Truly, this must be where Tom learnt all his tricks..." Dumbledore murmured. "He did seem to darken the most right after the first Chamber Incident...wait, Harry, where are you going?"

Harry limped hurriedly up the stairs. He began flicking through books impatiently, almost desperately.

Dumbledore ascended the last stair, and came to the second floor, with Slytherin's diary still sitting pristinely on it's pedestal.

Harry growled, and tossed a book aside. "Where is it? I know it's somewhere around here..."

"What are you looking for, Mr. Potter? I'm afraid you will have to cut this visit short. There must be a great deal of Dark knowledge in here, and I already believe you have been exposed too long to it's seductive influence." Dumbledore stepped forward to put a hand on Harry shoulder, and Harry recoiled.

"You looked at Henry's Pensieve memory, right?" He asked, still flicking through the books.

"Yes, I did, I imagine it was quite the traumatic experience for-"

"You saw Peter Pettigrew, right? Wormtail." Harry asked, still keeping his distance.

"Yes. I assure you, we are putting our best Auror's on the trail of your grandparent's killer." Dumbledore assured him. "Now let us leave."

He took a step forward, and Harry had his wand out in a second, trained directly on the older wizard. Dumbledore seemed stunned.

"Harry, what are you doing?" He asked, with saddened eyes. Snape was not so remorseful, his wand out as well.

"Drop your wand, Potter, or I will drop you." The Potions Master hissed.

"Just a little last minute studying, Headmaster." Harry replied easily. He put his wand away. Snape did not. "Voldemort replaced Wormtail's hand in a matter of seconds. I remember reading the name somewhere. The Argent Projection Ritual. You conjure silver in the form of dust, connect to a person's magical aura, and bam! New limb. Sounds like a pretty good deal." Harry finally found the text. "Here...it...is!" Harry flipped through the book, stopping on a page with the picture of a man made of silver.

"Harry, there is some knowledge not meant to be known." Dumbledore said sternly. He took another step to stop Harry, and Harry whipped out a final scroll from his robe, this one large as Harry's torso.

He, very fittingly, had written, The Shit Has Hit The Fan, on the back of his kanji scroll.

"Not another step, Headmaster, unless you want things to get very, very unpleasant." Harry hissed. "This scroll has enough spells in it to kill a small village. I don't want to use it on you." Snape froze, and Dumbledore stiffened.

To his surprise, then Dumbledore merely nodded, and leaned against the central stone table. Snape looked upon him with disbelief.

"Headmaster, you can't be serious!" Snape exclaimed.

"I trust young Harry here knows what he's doing." He turned to Harry. "You do know, of course, I could deal with that scroll, and you, in a matter of seconds, correct?"

Harry swallowed, and nodded. "Yes, I am quite aware. I am also aware that I could still likely open this scroll before you dealt with me, and destroy half this library in the process, before you could contain it. You and I both know that the knowledge in this library is more precious than gold in regards to defeating Voldemort, and you do not want that to happen."

"Indeed. So, I believe we need to come to a compromise." Dumbledore's 'kindly grandfather' routine faded, and revealed behind it the power of the true wizard lurking within. Harry felt beads of sweat gather on his temple.

"I will allow you to replace your missing arm." Dumbledore announced. "In return, you must join the Order of the Phoenix, until Voldemort and his Death Eater's threat has been annihilated."

"No. Until Voldemort's threat alone has been annihilated. And I get to see the charter and duties for the Order, before I agree." Harry retorted.

If he agreed to join until the Death Eater's threat was annihilated, he would be tied to the Order until he was dead. Grudges could be held for a very, very long time, and finding every Death Eater would be nigh impossible.

"Forget bargaining, Albus, let me just Stun the little cretin!" Snape snarled.

"I'm afraid you're vastly underestimating your skill and speed, Snivellus." Harry retorted. "'You would be a smear on the wall before you drew the breath."

"Enough!" Dumbledore snapped, and both of them instantly fell silent. Harry's arm ached from holding the scroll steady so long, but he knew that the wily Headmaster was not above memory charming him if he dropped his guard. "Is there anything else?"

"No using Veritaserum on me, or Obliviating me, or Imperiousing me, under any circumstances, or ordering anyone to do so." Harry added.

"Do you truly think so little of me?" Dumbledore asked softly. Harry narrowed his eyes, and did not answer. "Very well. I assume you wish a Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yep. Do you, Albus Dumbledore, swear by your magic to not..."

A few minutes later, a acceptable oath was decided between them, and their hands were clasped. Dumbledore's eyes were locked upon Harry's. Harry had read the charter Dumbledore had produced. Basically, he was bound to get rid of Voldemort, and fight whenever Dumbledore called, and never become a Death Eater. Snape would never become a official member because of the mark on his arm, and no traitor would ever penetrate their group.

"Whenever did you become so cold, Harry?" He asked, a bare whisper.

"I am not cold. I am ice." Harry replied tersely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry flexed his new appendage for what seemed like the hundredth time in many hours. It was light, and felt exactly the same as his other arm.

Felt? Let him rephrase.

There was no feeling in his new arm. He had learned from experimentation, that it couldn't conduct magic, either. He would never use it as a wand arm as it was.

The upside was that it was quite strong. Harry had found himself able to bend metal of most kinds. He also learned that his arm could, in fact, be scratched, and such. It was, after all, only silver. But still, very hard, and very durable.

It would be good as a spell blocker or just a brawling tool, if it ever came to that.

Harry had managed to convince Dumbledore to let him copy the pages. He had memorized the few charms inscribed to keep his wand up to tiptop shape, and replace it if it got damaged, and such.

Harry had been very sternly reprimanded by Madam Pomfrey after he got back to the Hospital Wing. And by reprimanded, he meant grabbed, and bound to the bed using Conjured ropes.

The bed, incidentally, had been where he received the letter from his father, informing him in no uncertain terms that he had been disowned.

If Harry had to guess, it was probably because James was mad that Henry didn't win the Cup. He honestly didn't give a damn at the moment. He was free, damnit, fucking FREE!

Or, at least until Harry received the Ministry summons.

So that was why Harry was currently sitting in a Ministry office, with a rather bored looking middle aged man. Dumbledore had given him time off, considering there was only a day left before the end of term anyway.

"Why am I here again?" Harry asked, in a tone of equal doldrum.

"Everyone's got t' have a family name. You're t' get one too." The man informed him. Harry peered over at his shirt. A name card, stenciling out the name 'Jones', was on it.

"Why can't I just pick a name and send you a letter?" Harry asked, drumming his fingers along the man's desk.

"Cuz it's got to be a minor family name, off of one of th' dead Potter branches." Jones replied in a monotone. "Y' see, some of th' sons never marry, right? Their mother's maiden names get tacked onto their last name, instead of their family name, as a sign of shame fr' not makin' any heirs. They get added t' a roster that's connected to the family, so any person who gets disowned r' banished, like you, is still connected t' the family in some way, a sign of their domin'nce over you."

"So basically, I have to degrade myself by making my name subservient to the Potter family." Harry stated flatly.

A growly chuckle rose from Jones's throat, the first sign of real emotion since they started. "Yup! It's shit, shit world out there, and just when you think you seen all of it, you slip in some more and land face first in a fresh new pile! Hahahahaha!" This saying seemed to amuse the man.

Harry sighed. "Right, what do I have to pick from?" Harry asked, in tones of disgust and resignment.

The man pushed away from his desk, and over to a blackboard looking thing in the back of the room. He tapped it twice with his wand.

Instantly, names began appearing. Harry spotted 'Evans' shining as one of them, recognizing it clearly as his own mother's maiden name.

"Right, take yer-" Jones began, only to be cut off, as a soft whine emitted from the machine, and a new name appeared at the top, outlined in golden letters. All the other names disappeared quickly.

"Well, that's curious. Very curious." Jones muttered, before going back to his desk, and pulling out several papers, and a large book.

Harry sat, pierced by the sight of a name both familiar and strange to him. His eyes narrowed.

"What's happening? Why are all the other names gone?" Harry asked. And what the fuck is That name doing on the board? He mentally added.

"Well, it seems you've been asked for by some other family. Rules are, you're basically up for grabs fr' anyone who really wants you. The really curious thing is that there are no listed members of this particular family. Not alive, anyway. So the must have either predicted your birth, name, and disownment, which is slim to none, since they'd 'ave to have one 'ell of a seer in their family. Or, they put preset conditions on for any disowned fellows."

"Preset conditions?" He asked curiously. "Like what?" Jones spread his hands helplessly.

"Oh, anythin' under the sun. Might be yer birthday, might be your hair color, who knows? They're confidential, so only the family head who put the conditions down knows. And from the records, e's been dead a long, long time."

"How long?" Harry asked. The man laughed uproariously.

"Try a thousand years, laddie! Old...lessee...Az chap here ain't gonna have even dust and bones left nowhere! Well, this is all irrelevant." Jones muttered.

He pulled out a sheet, and a quill began working on it of it's own accord. "You've got, let's see, one bank vault in Gringotts, which apparently has no money in it, only a coupla unspecified items. They'll have the family ring waitin' for you next visit."

The quill stopped, and he raised a large stamp, and smashed it down upon the paper. A white swirl of magic floated around in the air, before Harry felt it hit his chest.

Power cascaded through his every pore, before he slumped back in his seat. Jones was grinning, before handing him a copy of the piece of paper.

"Been a while since I've seen a Naming. Well, here you go." Jones let off one last chuckle, and leaned back in his seat. "Congratulations, Lord Harold James Omnisluctus."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt was a bit nervous.

Well, maybe a little more than a bit...

Fleur Delacour had dragged him into the gardens, away from a rather prestigious sounding French Potions teacher, who had been very impressed with his skills, and wanted Matt to be his assistant teacher. It sounded like it had good pay, but most especially, plenty of off time, since all he would be doing would be mostly watching. That meant plenty of time to perfect his enchanting skills.

After all, Harry had just told him that he had gotten a idea from Matt's enchanting, and would be working on something he had dramatically dubbed, 'Project 'ATRONAI''.

Matt, of course, had no idea what this would be, so naturally, he would have to come up with something to top off whatever Harry had cooked up.

Fleur finally stopped, and sat on one of the many stone benches. She had that impossibly cute, hesitant look on her face.

"Pleaze seet." She asked, nodding towards the place right next to her.

"Er, okay." Matt responded, taking a spot a respectful distance from her, far enough not to be intruding, but close enough to tell her he didn't find her disgusting or did not hate her.

She bit her bottom lip nervously. Damn, did she have any idea how sexy that looked, or was it unconscious?

"I...I wanted...weeshed to eenform-" She let out a soft growl of frustration, and switched to French. Matt resisted the urge to chuckle at the way she mangled the English language.

"I wanted to tell you...that I am thankful to you. That, to you, I owe a great debt, one that I can never truly repay. So, if there is anything you need." Sexy bite lip. "Anything you need, be it my money, my resources, my knowledge, my..." Her voice hitched. "My body, then it is yours, without asking."

Matt truly was blown away. This really sexy-

No, scratch that, really, really sexy girl was offering to do anything he wanted.

Immediately, various sexual acts and favors leapt to mind, before being banished just as promptly by his fierce mental scolding. Honestly, did his fucking hormones rule his body? No. Because he wouldn't let them.

Matt sat for one more moment.

"Okay, I know what I want." He announced finally. Fleur looked on with surprise, and from what he saw, a tiny bit of fear.

"...What is it?" She asked.

Matt did not speak for a moment.

"I want to know...What happened to you?" Matt finally asked softly. Fleur hunched down in her seat. She knew what he was asking about, even if he hadn't specified.

Fleur herself was silent for a moment, before she spoke.

"I was twelve. I had just passed puberty, in Veela standards, and could not yet rein in my aura. I fell in love, or at least I thought I did, with a boy. He was a couple of years older than me. I didn't think it strange that he started to find interest in me now, when he had never before, or that he always wanted to go faster, jump ahead, in our relationship. Mama and Papa warned me, but I did not listen. I was...besotted."

Matt listened solemnly, as Fleur continued, stony faced. She was a tough girl, and Matt respected that.

"So when he wanted to make our relationship more...physical, I did not object. After all, I was in love, and he was too, right?" Fleur's voice was indescribably bitter. "We had sex. Mama was furious. I did not like it. He was not gentle. I decided to weather it. He was my love, and he would get better, right? He didn't the second time, either. I did not want to have sex with him the third time. He got...violent. It was rape." She finished dully. "Or it would have been, at least, if I did not access my fire through my fear, and get away."

"The boy was from a influential family. He managed to escape the death penalty. I had a restraining order made, and swore off letting men take advantage of me ever again." Fleur finished, in a flat tone of voice. "Is there anything else you wanted?"

"Two more things." He returned.

"Yes?" She asked, trying to shake off the misery and dejection she felt even now, remembering those dark days. And after all, this man had done for her more than any of the others.

She would not reject him if he asked for the same as Him. She did, after all, owe him her life, and her happiness. Since now, for the first time in many years, she did not flinch or stiffen when he approached, like she did when most men did. And it felt like a great weight was off of her shoulders, after finally telling someone about what had happened other than her parents. He was physically attractive. Those scars across his face only looked rather dashing now, and the eyepatch topping it off made it look dangerous, which was also quite alluring. Fleur was pretty sure he looked like the gentle type.

But then again, so had He...

"Your digits." He replied just as flatly.

Fleur was thrown for a loop. "My what?" She asked in confusion.

"Your number." He repeated, with a trace of amusement and exasperation.

"My number for what?" Fleur asked. "My account at Gringotts?"

Matt sighed with annoyance, and a slight smile. "No. Your telephone number."

Okay, now she was really confused. "That's it? My phone number?"

"Yep." Matt replied nonchalantly.

Fleur was looking at him like he had just sprouted a third arm. "But you could have-"

"Yes, I could." Matt cut her off, not really wanting to hear exactly what she would offer. "But all I want, Fleur, is your phone number. Or Floo Address. Either one works."

"Um..." She started, staring at him with wide eyes, as he rolled up his sleeve.

"I've got a quill here somewhere, I know it...Ah!" Matt exclaimed, presenting her with the quill, and baring his arm. "Here, put it right there." He chirped cheerfully.

Fleur, still somewhat out of it, put both, right in ink, on his forearm. He blew on the ink until it dried, and rolled his sleeve back up.

"Thanks, I'll see you around." He replied, before moving to get up. Fleur frowned suddenly.

"Wait, didn't you say three things?" Fleur asked, in a slightly hesitant voice.

Matt turned back, a slight smile. "That's right, I DID say something about that, didn't I?"

Fleur hardly had time to protest, before he closed the distance and pressed his lips softly against hers. She felt every nerve in her body light up with electricity, and her toes curled up in her shoes. Her eyes lidded, and she reached up to wrap her arms around him and bring him closer-

...Which was when he promptly stopped, letting her drop with a squeak to the bench. She looked at him with shock, as he gave her a little half wave.

"That's the third. Our debt's cleared. See ya!" He smiled, before stuffing his hands in his pockets, and starting down the bend of the shrubbery.

It took Fleur about thirty seconds to recover, regain control of her nerves(and another thirty to make her toes uncurl), and start up her coherent thought again.

How...how dare he?

How dare he leave her like this? Make her all excited and then drop her? And more importantly, how dare he be that good a kisser? It wasn't right! And she was French, for Morgana's sake!

That was it. She would definitely have to make sure to punish him the next time she saw him.

She didn't even notice the smile that had bloomed on her bee-stung lips.

Around the corner, Matt whistled a jaunty tune. He had lost a eye, but gotten a hot girl's digits and made out with her. Yep, sounded like a good trade to him!

Now, he only had one more stop to make.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hagrid, despite being a complete loony, still took good care of Magical Creatures. If a person took away everything else, it would still be impossible to deny this irrefutable fact.

This being said, he didn't have very good locks on his cages.

Matt had found the Sphinx's cage in a matter of seconds. It was near the front of the train, so most nosy students couldn't get to it.

The woman's face of the sphinx curled into a thin smile.

"I remember you. You and the girl, from the maze." The sphinx folded her paws across each other calmly.

Matt felt a cold sweat break out on his temple. "I Issue you the Challenge. Your three hardest riddles. I lose, you can do whatever you want with me."

A throaty laugh came forth from the sphinx's throat, and she looked at him with definite curiosity. "And if I lose? What do you wish of me? My pelt? My claws?"

"Your eye." Matt replied, slightly hoarse. He reached upwards, and flicked off his eyepatch.

The problem with magical medicine, was that it still hadn't learned how to replace limbs. Mad-Eye's peg leg and magical eye were proof of this.

Matt would have loved to get a magical eye like Moody's, if not for the fact that they were simply not available. Part of Alastor Moody's legend, was that he went out, and hunted the Lethifold himself, and plucked the eye out of it's cooling corpse, having killed it single-handedly, something that was completely and utterly unprecedented, considering all other Lethifolds had been killed by groups of at least twenty hunters, just a bare minimum that.

Harry's replacement of his arm had given him this idea. After all, there was no sense in leaving a vacancy that could be filled, right?

So, unless Matt felt like hunting the world's third most dangerous magical creature himself, he was down to one option, and that was in a tiny footnote he found in a book of the rarest magical creatures, Bestialis Arcanum, in Slytherin's library.

Her mouth curled into a feline grin. "I accept."

Matt unlocked the cage, and stepped inside. He tried not to swallow, as the sphinx rose from her seated position with inhuman grace, and began prowling around in a circle around Matt. He kept his gaze firmly forward.

And then it began.

"Mountains will crumble and temples will fall, and no man can survive it's endless call. What is it?" The sphinx asked, cleaning one of her claws idly. Her totally white eyes looked extremely creepy, without any pupil or iris, just plain white, in Matt's opinion.

Matt swallowed, and spoke the answer he knew was right.

"Time." He replied.

There was a feminine sigh from the sphinx. "Correct."

The next one was much quicker. "What grows in only one direction?"

This one was a terrible conundrum. "Err...How much time do I get?" Matt asked nervously. The sphinx said nothing, only letting a little bit of fang slide out of her mouth. Matt's eyes widened. "right."

Matt sat down, deciding that if he was going to die, he might as well do it comfortably.

Just as one, clear razor sharp nail slid slowly out of her paw, he snapped his fingers. "Got it." Matt grinned at her. "Experience. Experience only goes up!"

"Very good." She replied demurely. "Now, for the final one. In the morning, it walks on four legs. In the afternoon, two. At evening, it walks on three legs. What is it?"

"Oh, come on." Matt scoffed. "Humanity. In the start, they're a baby, and crawl on all fours. In the middle of their life, or 'day'" Matt added air quotations. "They're a adult, so they walk, on two legs. At night, they're a old man, so they use their legs and a cane. That one's a classic."

The Sphinx laughed, a throaty purr. "Correct." She stressed the 'r' rather Hispanically, in Matt's opinion.

"I win." Matt replied. "One eye. That's the deal. Right here." Matt pointed to his empty and scarred socket.

"As you wish." The Sphinx replied idly, her woman's face seemingly on the edge of mirth.

Then, without preamble, she prowled over, put one heavy, dangerous claw on his chest, and forced him to the straw of the cage. Matt tried not to let the pounding in his ears or the rapid thudding of his heart show, as she gazed expressionlessly into his face.

Then, suddenly, her right eye, lined up his left, missing one, blasted him in the face, right in his empty, gaping socket.

"OW!" Matt yelled, clapping his hand to his eye. "Ah...ah that FUCKING STINGS!"

"It is to be expected." The Sphinx replied.

Matt let his hand drop to his side, and his new eye, his Sphinx eye, faintly steaming white vapor, stared into the eye of the woman's face, and he saw...

He saw...

He saw everything.

He saw how she would live to be rather old, for a Sphinx, killing many enemies and out riddling many humans. She would never lose her other eye. She would migrate to Egypt, where she would mate with a younger Sphinx and produce a litter to be proud of. Then, after a few years, a coven of hunters would track her into the deep desert, where she would be killed, and stripped of her pelt, claws, and remaining eye.

Matt saw this, as if he were there, standing beside her.

The vision faded as he closed his eyelid, revealing only her face, and background of the cage, and her toothy, vicious smile.

"Heed my words well, enchanter of souls, son of a brewer, amaranthine chronicler, ceaseless paramour!" The Sphinx hissed. "You are the first to be imbued with the gift of a Sphinx eye since the Oracle of Delphi. Whenever your eye is uncovered, it will show the future of wherever you are looking, while steadily sapping your strength. The farther you look, the more it will drain you. And take care, and look not into the eyes of your loved ones. For the gift of prophecy..." She smiled ferally. "Is no gift, but a curse."

Matt gulped faintly and shook his head furiously in what he hoped she interpreted as nodding. She let her paw up, and he scrambled out of the cage, pushing his eyepatch over the new eye as he fleed, her words burned like fire into his memory.

She settled back into her cage, smiling at the boy's naivety and innocence.

And at it's immanent destruction.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry hoisted his trunk out of the trolley, and put Hedwig softly on top of the trunk, unrolling the wheels. She hooted softly, perhaps sensing Harry's dismay at the noticeable loss of Ico's regular banter and weight atop the traveling gear.

"I miss him too, girl." Harry replied quietly, sticking one finger through the cage bars to rub the feathers on the top of her head, just like she liked it. "He'd be calling us both huge pussies right now, and I miss that." Harry stroked the feathers, and Hedwig cooed softly.

"Hey, prick!" Called the one voice Harry really, really didn't feel like dealing with right now. Harry Omnisluctus, formerly Potter, turned around, and met Henry Potter stare for stare.

Henry had grown, bulked up. Harry guessed that Dumbledore had stopped fucking around and started putting Henry through an actual training regiment after Voldemort had damn near flicked him aside like a fly, never mind stealing him right from under his crookedy nose.

The thought of Henry's whines and the screaming hissy he must have thrown when forced into actual exercise brought a sardonic smirk to Harry's lips.

"What do you want, Henry? I have an appointment, I have to get to, and have no time to play with you." Harry stated flatly. It was true. The dueling sponsor said they had sent someone, so Harry was looking for a Monsieur Mailloche, if he remembered correctly.

"Just because Dad kicked you out of the family, doesn't mean we're through. We've got a score to settle, you and me. I should have won that Cup, and you know it, not that American poof." Henry accentuated his point, by poking Harry rather hard in his chest with his meaty finger every time he finished a sentence.

A vein in Harry's eyelid pulsed in annoyance. "Do not touch me, Henry, unless you do not care very much about the appendage you use, and are rather open-minded about losing it." Harry stated frostily.

"Oh really?" Henry sneered. His finger raised again. "And what are you going to-ah, ah-ah-ah!" Henry yelped.

This high pitched yelping was produced by the way Harry's silver arm, now covered by a white glove to avoid attention, had whipped upwards and snatched the hand in a vice grip, and how he had placed one metal thumb on the offending index finger, and was steadily pushing it backwards.

"Do you know how much effort it would cost me to break your finger?" Harry asked innocently. "Really, you want to know? About the same as lifting a fork. Would you also happen to know the precise amount of regret and remorse I would feel after doing so?" Harry smiled wolfishly. "None at all."

"Alright, alright, I get it! Let it go! Let it go!" Henry yelped. Harry let him squirm a minute more, before letting the offending hand drop. Almost immediately, his other hand started shot towards his wand, and drew it with impressive speed. "Bastard, you'll pay for that!" Henry growled.

Does he really think he could get away with cursing me right outside the Hogwarts Express? Harry thoughtfully questioned no one in particular.

Harry was totally and completely unworried by the wand wanking him in the face. "My, my, you are indeed a slow learner."

"Shut up, you-argh!" Henry was cut off, by another wand pushing itself right up his left nostril rather rudely. He moved to get away, but a gnarled hand grabbed his robes and growly voice cut him off.

"Don't even think about it, Potter, unless you like the idea of a hex up your conk." Growled Alastor Moody, who had seemingly appeared out of the crowd. "There's two types of people I can't stand in this world, Death Eaters, and cowards. You're a coward Henry Potter, and very, very lucky that you have Dumbledore's protection, or I'd curse you 'till Lily Potter herself couldn't recognize you!" Moody growled. He seemed to be very seriously considering doing it anyway, and from the terrified look on Henry's face, he could see it.

"I'd prefer you not, Monsieur Moody." A soft, calm voice interrupted them, with a distinct French accent. The trio in conflict turned, to see a aristocratic looking man with salt and pepper hair styled in a neat perm approaching. "Extricating my new student from the Aurors would be quite dreary and troublesome."

"And who might you be?" Moody growled. The man bowed his head slightly.

"Jean-Claude Mailloche, Magister Dueling coach. I've been sent to pick up Harold and escort him to Monsieur Cuisiner's private estate, in France. I am to be his trainer and match organizer."

Moody shot a impressed look at Harry with his one eye, and Henry a jealous one. Magister Dueling was the leading duel organization and sponserer of competitions and young talent in Europe. Their screening and picking was extremely selective, and invitation only. Prodigies like Filius Flitwick and James Potter(loath as Harry was to admit it, his father was rather renowned and skilled), had received training there, along with others, like Minerva McGonnagall, and Kingley Shacklebolt. Albus Dumbledore had supposedly recieved a invitation, but declined. Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Riddle had trained with them, and black stain upon their reputation as it was, it irrefutably proved that they were some of the best trainers in the magical world.

Moody apparently realized he still had his wand up Henry's conk. Giving it a sharp jab, which a elicited a squeal of pain from the Potter heir, he removed it, giving Henry a harsh shove, wiping his wand on his robes with no small amount of disgust.

"Get out of here, you little squeak, or I vow, I'll-" Moody cut off, realizing Henry had already beat a hasty retreat. "Gutless jellyfish, this whole generation..." He muttered in disgust. He offered his wrinkly hand to Harry's duelling coach. "Alastor Moody. I'm here to train the lad too. Personal favor, to Albus Dumbledore." Moody lied smoothly. Harry supposed the Order was a secret society for a reason.

"Of course." Mailloche accepted easily. "It will be a pleasure working with you. Come, Harold. Our portkey awaits us." He waved a beckoning hand at Harry, before setting off at a steady, but fast pace. Moody caught up quickly, his staff stumping on the stone. Harry could hear him faintly bickering with Jean-Claude about some training tip or another.

Harry stood in the crowded train station a moment longer, gazing at the passing magical folk, before grabbing his trunk, and beginning to wheel it out, a new sense of determination and purpose filling him.

This world was stale. The magical world was outdated, and was in desperate need of reform. And Harry was the only one who would be able to do it.

And he would, to. Because his respect for this current state of affair, for it's government, for it's politics, for it's very beliefs-

Had dropped.

To absolute zero.

NOTE: I don't own this story, its creation goes to sin of existence. I would like to note that it had much fewer typos then the first in the series. I'm sure I still missed a couple.