Harry had a week, barely a week, before the First Task of the Triwizard tournament. He had scanned through all of the charms books, ripped through the magical creatures section, pillaged the Restricted section….for nothing.
He had thought maybe Moody would have helped him, when he had gotten called into his office after he had warned Cedric. But no, Moody had started having a spasm attack, and had sent Harry away, after reassuring the Boy-Who-Lived he was fine.
Harry let out a slight groan of panic as he lifted another heavy tome out of the thick, weight of dust that coated its surface, it's leather bound cover varnished with age. Flowering, almost medieval script blossomed on its worn, forest green front, the words inked in gold that glowed, even through the dust.
Hyrule.
Harry frowned down at the unfamiliar word. He had never heard of Hyrule, was it some sort of spell, or a potions ingredient he'd never heard of? It struck a chord with him, like he recognized it, but he was sure he had never heard of the word before, not in History of Magic, or in Hermione's obscenely thorough notes.
And, his curiosity piqued, Harry turned the page… only to see unintelligible runes, not remotely similar to the ones he saw Hermione poring over in the Common room late at night. Confused, Harry flipped through the parchment pages, scanning the runes that were shining in gold ink, and the beautiful illustrations that seemed to be on every page.
In every picture, a young man in green with a glowing sword stood, in the center, often battling a monstrous beast, a black cloaked man, a masked imp, or off to the side, playing a blue ocarina, something Harry recognized from his History of Magic text, one of the first instruments created by ancient wizards.
Harry gently caressed the vibrant inked in ocarina, tracing the lines, the finger holes, the gently flutes mouth piece…
Underneath, a smaller, black and white illustration covered the page. The ocarina was depicted several times, each with different holes inked in. A rune labeled each of the six images.
"It's…its sheet music!" Harry exclaimed, his face lighting up. Uncaring that he was wasting time he could be using for the First Task, Harry quickly copied down the list of notes the page was dotted with, lining them all up in the precise rows they had been written in.
Then it hit him.
Where the bloody hell was he going to get an ocarina?
Exhilaration quickly drained out of him and he sagged, pressing his forehead against the cool paper…only for the paper to give a little.
Harry sat up straight, blinking and adjusting his glasses. What on earth…?
Harry flipped to the very back and lo' and behold, a square section of the book had been cut out and, nestled cozily in its hiding place, the blue ocarina gleamed, somehow looking brand new under what looked like an inch of dust.
"Wicked…" Harry breathed, before gently lifting the pale instrument from its nook. He wasn't sure what it was made of, maybe it was ceramic, or ivory perhaps, but he was careful, very careful not to mishandle the gods know how old relic.
Harry glanced around surreptitiously, looking for any eavesdroppers, arrogant ferrets (Malfoy, of course), or nosy librarians. Harry then quickly slipped the instrument into his pocket, shut the book, and slipped his notes into his bag. Taking the thick book, Harry slipped the tome back into the shelf, sliding it just far back enough to be overlooked, turned on his heel, and strode purposefully out of the library, hoping to find a deserted classroom far away from the combined populations of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts.
Harry gently blew on the instrument, his heart warming at the beautiful croon he had, after five days of constant practice (he had no other idea how to get past the dragon, this was the best bet he had) he was able to easily play the notes required for the first song in the notes he had taken in the library.
Now all he could do was hope this would actually do something, or, in less than two days, a dragon would be picking him from between its massive fangs.
Gathering himself, Harry placed the instrument to his lips, and played the simple melody, carefully placing his fingers on the fragile instrument, inwardly smiling at the glorious sound, a product of his own work, something that was purely his.
The notes cascaded down, flowing into minor and back out again, the pitch rising and falling with the measure puffs of air Harry painstakingly coaxed down the fluted mouthpiece.
Then, his world exploded.
Harry clutched the ocarina as his head exploded in pain, unconsciously letting his knees buckle as his hit the ground, hitting his head rather hard on the stone floor. Harry fought for breath against the tide of pain; it felt like someone was tearing his head apart.
Through the haze of his pain, he felt the top part of his scar burst and bleed, a small trail of blood running down his face into his eyes, then, separately, the middle and bottom followed, his scar nothing more than a waterfall of blood now.
Harry, feeling slightly lightheaded, ripped off his robes and pressed them to his head, hoping to stem the bleeding until he could get to the Infirmary. He staggered to his feet, made it two steps, before pitching down again, his vision going dark.
When Harry woke up, he thought he was dead.
Instead of the starched white sheets he usually found himself in after one of his many brushes with Lord Death, he was, in a word, walking on water. Mist and water stretched off for as far as he could see, each reflecting the other. The only landmark in this serene, but desolate, landscape was a single, small island with a bare elder tree, it's naked branches reminding Harry of thin, bony fingers that would grasp him and keep him here (wherever here was) forever.
He was alone.
No one was taunting him; any dreams that detailed Voldemort's torture, his murders were absent, it merely calm. Harry smiled and walked across the water, his steps sending mile wide ripples across the undisturbed surface of the lake.
"Hello, Harry."
Harry froze, his blood curdling in his veins at the pure malice in the voice, a voice that belonged to him.
Harry turned, away from the elder tree and the island, to see a shadow. Two glowing red eyes peered from out of the shadows that cloaked the form. Harry could see his chin, his nose, his ears, adorning the face of this imposter, his skin as dark as charcoal, his hair a bright white, his robes such a dark black that Harry could not bear to look at them.
"W-who-?"
"You know very well who I am, Harry." The dark lips smirked, relishing in Harry's fear. "I am you, I am evil, I am Dark."
Harry felt his mind go blank, his throat dry, his lips chap. 'No…'
"Yes." Dark hissed, his red eyes glinting in hatred. "I am you."
"No…" Harry whispered, taking a step back.
"I am the small part of you, enhanced by Voldemort's curse, the small part that wants to kill all those who have hurt you, get your revenge on your friends who have turned their backs on you, to hurt those who would paint you as a braggart, an attention seeking brat who doesn't know when to shut up." Dark smiled, and strode towards Harry, that superior, predatory smirk still adorning his features. "You know this to be true."
Harry gathered up the shreds of his Gryffindor courage, felt deep inside himself for that warmth he had found when playing the ocarina, and held onto it, hoping this barrage would end soon.
"You are weak." Dark whispered his face inches from Harry's own, sharp canines bared in a sick parody of a smile. "You cannot protect your friends, you cannot save them from dying like your pathetic parents, you cannot stop fate, Harry."
Harry's shut his eyes and covered his ears as tight as he could. "No….no, no, NO!" Harry screamed, before snapping his eyes open, his face contorted in rage, and slugged Dark in the face, sending him careening back, skidding across the water before coming to a stop.
Dark was still on the ground for a moment, before his shoulder started to shake, and cold, cruel laughter bubbled from his throat. "Well, well," Dark chuckled as his got to his feet, wiping a little trickle of white blood from his lip. "Harry has a backbone."
But Harry wasn't listening, he was concentrating on the warmth that the ocarina had given him, his only hope in getting out of this place and away from Dark.
"What-" Dark snarled, making Harry snap his head up to look at him. "What is this!" His arm was dissolving, whiteness climbing up his arm, his black aura getting weaker. His red eyes narrowed as he saw the dumbstruck face of Harry. "It's that damn Ocarina of Time, give it to me!" Dark charged, before stumbling and falling as his foot began to dissolve, sending him to the ground.
'The ocarina?' Harry thought, as he scrambled to get away from the snarling form of Dark, who was crawling towards him, even as his lower body began to deteriorate. 'Did the ocarina do all this?'
"Damn you Potter," Dark spit as his abdomen and stomach began to disappear. "Being sealed into you is bad enough, now this!"
"W-what?"
Dark's face, if possibly, got even more enraged. "You're purifying me, you rat, ending me, converting me, killing me!"
"B-but I-"
"All because of that stupid Song of Healing!" Dark's voice got higher in pitch, his chest was fading. "Now, I will be used to feed the Transformation Masks, I, reduced to be used as a mere power source!" Half of Dark's face was going now. "I hope you rot, I hope you fail, I hope that Voldemort kills everyone who you hold dear, I damn you to eternity in the Sacred Realm, I damn you to the curse of the Hylians, swallowed beneath the sea, I damn you, with Gannon as my witness, to an eternity of misery!" And with all the strength he could muster, Dark spit at Harry's feet.
Then Dark was gone, and so was Harry.
The day of the First Task dawned bright and clear, the sun sending cool rays of sunshine over the expansive Hogwarts grounds. Tensions ran high, and, with an air of anticipation that rivaled that of the Quidditch World Cup, all four champions sat in the Champions Tent, each fingering their individual dragon figurines.
The Hungarian Horntail.
Harry smiled slightly as the miniature stretched out on his hand, let out a puff of smoke, and settled down to have a nap.
The roar of the crowd outside did nothing to settle any of the other champions, though Krum seemed to be hiding his nervousness behind a mask of stoicism, while Cedric paced, and Fleur fidgeted.
Harry merely sat, and rubbed the small oval mask hidden in his robes, seeking reassurance in its carved solidity, it's own silent reassurance.
Harry smiled a little. This would be cake.
"…and now I am honored to announce, the Hogwarts Champion, CEDRIC DIGGORY!" Cedric threw an uncertain smile at Harry, perhaps thanking Harry one last time for his forewarning, before leaving the tent and braving the sunlight outside.
A few minutes later, stretched long by the unhelpful comments on Ludo Baggmen's part, the task ended.
"…from Beauxbatons, FLEUR DELACOUR!"
Soon enough, she, too, passed with the egg in tow.
"…Durmstrange Representative, VIKTOR KRUM!"
Then Krum was finished an it was his turn.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the fourth Triwizard Champion, HARRY POTTER!"
Harry took a deep breath before stepping into the rocky enclosure, out of the safety of the tent, and possibly, into his grave.
Harry immediately noticed the crouching black dragon that sheltered it's eggs, crouched and teeth bared, ready for a fight. Green eyes met yellow in fierce competition, staring each other down, teeth bared at each other in a challenge. Without breaking eye contact, Harry shrugged off his robes, and, to the surprise of the crowd, setting his wand on the bundle of cloth.
"Well, it seems Harry is not going to use his wand, though how he'd get the egg without it, I don't have a clue! Perhaps someone ought to check him for a confundus!" Ludo Baggmens incredulous voice echoed around the enclosure, but Harry ignored it, instead, pulling his mask from the inside of his shirt.
The wooden mask seemed unassuming at first glance, but a deeper inspection showed the intricate, realistic work that went into it. It seemed to represent come sort of beady eyed, grinning rock creature, its face large and weathered.
Harry smiled as he placed the mask on his face, feeling it sealing on his face, he doubled over as the usual nausea assaulted his mind, his brain going fuzzy for a second as his body forcibly changed.
The dragon blinked. Where a meat creature had once stood, a rock eater instead there was. And the rock creature was currently rolling towards her at the speed of a charging freight train.
Growling, the Horntail whipped itss tail around, smacking the Goron-Harry like a baseball bag, sending him flying into the enclosure wall. Goron-Harry merely grunted before detangling himself from the indent he had created in the stone wall. Roaring, the Horntail reared its head back, gathering the potent mix of chemicals used to breath fire, and lauching the salvo at a still unsteady Harry.
The audience screamed as he was swallowed by the superheated white flames, and when they died down, they expected to see the blackened form of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Died.
Then, with a strange whoop, Harry was up and rolling again, having managed to escape with no more than slight discomfort with the protection of his own diamond hard skin. The dragon was caught off guard, and as a result, didn't see Harry launch himself off an outcropping of rock and drill himself into the Horntails throat.
The dragon gagged, rearing back and fluttering its gigantic winds, it left the gold egg completely open for the taking.
Harry smirked as he rolled back over to his robes, collected his robes and wand, and lumbered over the finish line in his Goron form (one of the only English looking words he had gotten from the mass of jumbled words on the Ocarina page) enjoying the astonished faces of his peers, rubbing it in their faces that he was able to succeed when they though he would fail.
Harry felt at the line right behind his ear and pulled, and the transformation fell away, making him feel light as a feather as all of the dense Goron muscle was stripped away. Harry made his was to the medical tent, ignoring the awe filled stares of the Hogwarts, Beaxbatons, and Durmstrang students, ignoring the shouts and cries, ignoring the praise of Ludo Bagman, ignoring everything.
He had a Tournament to win.
"Harry, you must tell me where you found those masks." The stern voice of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, echoed in his office, commanding the young hardheaded Potter who resolutely refused to tell Dumbledore anything.
Albus nearly growled in frustration as his Legilimency attack was rebuffed yet again by an impenetrable wall of steel that surrounded Harry's mind. Since Harry had not even known about the existence of Occlumency (Dumbledore had been careful to remove all books mentioning the subject when Harry had arrived in his first year), it must be a product of the masks.
Masks that were hiding the thoughts of Harry Potter, the Chosen One, and the boy in the prophecy, someone Albus couldn't afford to turn dark. Checking up on Harry's thoughts was the most surefire way of doing it, and now it was blocked off.
"No." Harry's voice was soft, but it had an undercurrent of hardness in it. "I will not give up the tools that I need to survive this stupid political power play."
Albus blinked. Since when did Harry know the in and outs of international politics? Furthurmore, since when did Harry ever say no to anyone, besides Snape, of course.
"They may well have been planted by Death Eaters, perhaps the person who placed your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry."
Harry snorted. "I made them."
Albus frowned, Harry was a mere fourth year, and even he, with one hundred and fifty years of experience could not have come close to creating such a magically powerful object that could change your physical makeup just by wearing it.
"If that will be all, Professor," and Harry was gone.
Albus sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Something had changed, and Albus wasn't entirely sure if it had been for better or for worse.
The cold, chilly wind off of the Lake cut Harry to the bone, easily getting through the thin T-shirt and swimming trunks he wore to his bare skin. Clutched in his hand, a rough, blue mask made of smoothed coral rested, fin like protrusions jutting off the sides of the mask and a sharp nose that protruded forward being the most distinctive figures.
"LADIES AND GENTLELADS! WELCOME TO THE SECOND TASK OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!" A huge cheer erupted from the students, deafening everyone. "SOMETHING FROM EACH OF OUR FOUR CHAMPIONS HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM THEM AND PLACED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE, EACH OF THEM MUST RETRIEVE THEIR HOSTAGE IN ONE HOUR!"
Harry nodded, his face set and ready.
"READY?"
Harry placed the mask on his face and gagged as he felt scales grown, his spine lengthen, his skull elongate and fins grow from his arms, legs, and back.
"SET?"
Harry walked forward, his flipper-like feet just as nimble on land as he imagined they were in the water, and prepared himself to dive.
"GO!"
Harry was off like a shot, swimming like a torpedo across the water, keeping close to the surface and merely heading toward the deepest part of the Lake, knowing instinctively that the merpeople would be there.
A mere minute later, Harry threw himself in the air and dove down, down, down, into the cold darkness of the Lake. Harry could see the houses below, and the gathering of merpeople in the center 'square' so to speak.
Tied with weed to one of the four posts, little Ginny Weasley's red hair wafted in the water currents. Zora-Harry growled as he effortlessly cut the bindings with his rather sharp arm fins, taking Ginny into his embrace. He had invited Ginny to the Yule Ball barely a month ago (she had seemingly gotten over her crush and was a rather pleasant person to talk to) now look at what had happened.
It made Harry despair of every having a girlfriend who wouldn't be subject to some sort of ordeal upon association of him.
A merman, brandishing a trident, hissed, bubbles issuing from his mouth and dissipating into the lake water. "You isss not a human! Leave the girl!"
Zora-Harry growled and slashed at the trident, chopping it in half with a razor sharp fin. "Stay away." Zora-Harry said, able to speak quite clearly underwater in his current form. "She is my prize." Ther mermen hissed and pressed in from all sides. Zora-Harry slashed at the merpeople, causing the water to billow with purple blood.
Zora-Harry shot up, heading for the surface, and to freedom carrying the unconscious form of Ginny awkwardly in his arms.
Harry Potter landed with a thud in the dark graveyard of Little Hangleton, his nightmares coming to life before his very eyes.
He was glad he had beaten Cedric to the cup, he, at least, would be spared this.
"Stun him."
Harry turned, and his vision was filled with red, and he fell to the ground, darkness claiming him.
Harry came too bound to a gravestone, nose to nose with the pale, red-eyed face of Lord Voldemort. Swearing, Harry lashed out with his foot, catching Voldemort in the thigh.
With a high scream of rage, Voldemort whipped his wand around. "Crucio!"
Harry jerked in the ropes that bound him, a high keening escaping from his throat.
"See how the mighty Potter has fallen." Voldemort spit, caressing his wand. "You have eluded me for fourteen years, Potter, for fourteen years I have been a shadow of a man, a shadow of what was once Lord Voldemort. Now, it is your turn to fall."
Voldemort turned on his heel and barked to the fallen Wormtail, "Release him, give him back his wand, I wish to duel."
The Death Eaters let out a chorus of derisive laughter, cruelly laughing at the fate of the boy who had thwarted their master.
Harry, however, had no intention of letting Voldemort win. As soon as he was free, he yanked out a mask he had been saving especially for an emergency such as this one.
A ceramic mask with red and blue tribal paint, fierce looking and the most magically soaked mask Harry had in his collection (made from elements of his soul).
Harry like to call it Fierce Deity.
Harry double over in fiery pain as gold magic seeped into his bones, his core, his very being. This form was…intense, harsher than any of the other transformation masks he had.
He stood up straight, his broad shoulders carrying a huge double bladed sword, a massive monolith of a skeleton of metal.
"Bring it on Riddle."
Voldemort screamed with rage and began throwing hex after hex, after death curse, after torture curse, only for Fierce Deity Harry to merely side step them before dashing forward and laying into Voldemort, attempting to do as much damage as possible. However, seeing as he had never used a broadsword before, or even used Fierce Deity Harry before, Harry really didn't do much damage, merely breaking a rib, perhaps.
The form was very draining as well, after only a minute into transformation, Harry felt his strength flag.
Harry dove, touched the cup, and was whisked to safety.
As safe as Harry could ever be from himself.