A/N: Totally un-beta'd and not to be taken seriously. PLEASE. I started this on a whim, and I'm telling you right now the Harry-playing-Tennis world is very cheesy. D: DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY OR LOOK TOO FAR INTO THINGS. LIKE WHY I WOULD KILL NANJIROH OR IF I EVEN DID ALJFLAJDALKCN. This is only the first bit. I'll post the rest if anyone wants to read it, but hey. Whatevs. . First PoT post, but not fic. Sorry for OOC.

There was much to be said about first year Harry Potter.

The way he held a tennis racquet for one; his appearance of belonging on the tennis courts for another. His non-descript appearance until you started hitting a ball with him another factor in the chitter chatter around the club and Potter's grudging respect for his upperclassmen. The boy had talent, and someone had even gone so far as to cal him a 'prince of tennis'.

He would definitely earn a place as one of Seigaku's talented Regulars – come summer, of course. Because first years never played in the ranking tournaments.

So they said.

Once the team members had been decided, the new rumour was that Harry Potter had stared down Diggory-buchou in order to get his spot. Others said that buchou simply saw Harry's potential and couldn't just let Potter pass his team by.

Whatever the reason, Harry Potter – freshmen – played second-year regular Draco Malfoy.

And won.

There was much to be said about fourth-year Echizen Ryoma.

Besides, of course, the absurd circumstances of his parents' deaths that had resulted in the gold of his eyes; besides the fact that he had faced the dreaded Voldemort not once but three times; besides his talent on the Quidditch pitch and his knack for trouble, pain and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Things like how he might possibly be jumped by Beauxbaton's headmistress or that (if not for that ruddy age line) he would definitely be the greatest Hogwarts Champion yet. It was also said that first years never made their house teams.

No-one was quite sure how (least of all Ryoma) but Echizen had gotten himself into the Triwizard Tournament. Some said it was fixed from the start, as he was the Headmaster's favourite. Others heard whispers from the ghosts and portraits: that someone wanted Ryoma Echizen dead.

Whatever the reason, his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire (or GOFF, as some of the Gryffindor third-years had started to call it) and no matter how he and Hanamura and Banji protested, he was stuck.

And most likely doomed.

Oliver Wood was tall.

Harry craned his neck upwards, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight. It wasn't a particularly hot day, but his ms were already sweating with usual nervous excitement which allowed him the drive to win and play. He flexed his fingers around the grip of his racquet in anticipation, offering Wood a small smile. Wood's returning expression was barely there. He offered Harry his hand over the net and the boys shared a quick, firm handshake before they were trooping to their respective positions.

Harry took a deep breath and ran the fingers of his left hand down the high-tension strings, fingertips brushing it ever so slightly. Their referee also took a breath, but this was the signal the match to begin.

"One set match! Wood service play."

Wood bounced the ball once, twice and Harry rolled on the balls of his feet determination beginning to manifest behind his glasses. Sunlight flashed on the round lenses and Olive raised his racket and –

Well, nothing else mattered after that.

Cedric let a long breath slide past his lips and held a towel loosely to his moist forehead. He heard some exciting babble nearby from other spectators, but it was merely background noise as he watched the match unfold before him.

He had been a classmate of Oliver Wood for years and had watched him grow and develop a tennis style that was getting more and more frustrating the more he played with him. What he lacked in raw talent Oliver made up for in tenacity, strategy and a frightening view of tennis that drove him to accept only victory. Wood had the drive and intelligence to reach the highest levels of the tennis world and Cedric was more than glad that he had chosen this Tennis club.

Yet here was Harry Potter challenging and older, taller Regular player who had not even a game ago been dominating the court with a talent that went beyond prodigy. Finally watching Potter up close Cedric could see why players within the club and students outside it called him the Prince.

Cedric smiled and draped his towel over his shoulder, watching as Harry delivered a drive that blew past Oliver, leaving the older boy with nothing but an empty side of his court and a shocked impression on his face. All of Oliver's careful planning and strategy was crumbling apart. Apparently, Harry Potter was not someone one could predict so easily.

Fred Weasley stumbled up behind him, panting still and cursing "damn Diggory and his damn balls" under his laboured breath Cedric offered him his water bottle, but Fred waved it off and instead began to glare sourly at the match. Silence fell between the captain and vice-captain as Pottered tied the score – four games al.

"You kind of hope he wins, right?" Fred asked, as they watched Wood prepare to serve.

Cedric contemplated his answer and the jump in Harry's movements for a moment. With a shrug, he turned and began to walk away and towards the slowly updating scoreboard. Malfoy was manning it with a sulky expression, much to Ron's – Fred's younger brother – delight. Fred rolled his eyes and leaned against the fence. "Oh yeah, I forgot. The captain doesn't take sides."

His tone was mocking of course, but Cedric thought that beating Fred – six games to one – was enough of a punishment.

The entire hall seemed to be holding its breath. Even Ryoma had snapped awake to watch the flames of Goblet of Fire dance and change. It was exciting, he supposed, eyes following his tiny headmaster (lovingly called ojii) as he circled the goblet.

Without warning, the Goblet of Fire roared and a hot wind blew around the hall mussing Roma's usually flat hair. Something shot out of the flames with a tearing sound and it seemed like the occupants of the Great Hall gasped as one. Ojii raised a hand and the spat up piece of parchment veered towards him. It unfolded itself in the palm of his hand, but even the first years seated closest to the event couldn't decipher anything

The headmaster cleared his throat – a dry, pathetic sound – and an air of impatience began to buzz about in dry coughs and sparse whispering. The wait was forgotten, however, at Ojii's next words, which were spoken in a surprisingly clear and loud tone.

"The Durmstrang champion: Seiichi Yukimura."

Ryoma winced at the sudden cheering and occasional fangirl scream as the Quidditch star's name was announced. He didn't clap; Momo next to him was acting wild enough for the both of them. Ryoma wondered sarcastically why he didn't just get on the table and jump up and down. He glanced sideways, seeking some form of help from his other friend, but a scowl formed on his lips instead. An was laughing (he just knew it) behind her hand, and almost certainly at his embarrassment and misery. Ryoma frowned and turned away to face the front.

Yukimura disappeared behind a side door behind the staff table after shaking too many hands. The Great Hall fell silent again and all eyes were focused on the Goblet of Fire. Ojii no longer paced around it, but simply held out a hand and waited. The flame's flash lasted a mere instance and then a piece of parchment was unfurling itself in Ojii's hand. He wasted no time now, and read the name clearly.

"For Beauxbatons: Keigo Atone!"

High-pitched shrieks of both delight and woe once again resounded in the hall. The annoying factor was lessened by Momo's polite clapping and An's scowl, but Ryoma had a pulsating headache he was sure was only going to get worse as the evening progressed.

Atobe stood with a quick flick of his hair and sauntered towards the head of the hall with his head held abnormally high. Yet again, Ryoma rolled his eyes. Atobe looked like a demented peacock. The second champions hid himself from view as well. Silence fell just as An whispered, "Good riddance" so that her voice echoed around the hall. Some laughed (Momo more at the colour she had turned) and Beauxbatons gave serious glares to her from the Ravenclaw table.

The Goblet flared a final time just as Momo's last chuckle faded. All at once, eve r Hogwarts student was attentive and excited. No-one dared to say a word as the third parchment exploded out of the Goblet and landed in ojii's waiting hand. The old man's back was to Ryoma, but he imagined he could hear the smile in his voice. Ryoma let out a small sigh of relief. Their champion might not be a total idiot then.

"The Hogwarts champion: Kunimitsu Tezuka."

The uproar that followed this announcement rose like a geyser from the far left table in the hall, echoing and making many students flinch or laugh. Many were cheering as Tezuka stood, but it was the usually quiet Hufflepuff table that drowned everyone else out. Almost the entire table had stood up banging empty plates and just generally making an excited racket.

Momo and An were clapping as well, An looking decidedly more pleased than Momo. Tezuka strode towards the front without the glamour of Yukimura or the drama of Atobe, but with his shoulders straight and step purposeful.

Ryoma thought he looked exactly as a champion should.

Tezuka shut the door behind him and let out a long, slow breath of relief; It was embarrassing, now, as he thought about his past month of worry and contemplation. Champions made themselves, and obviously he had managed to mould himself properly or else the Goblet wouldn't have chosen him.

He wasn't about to call himself 'lucky.'

His palms were sweaty and he wiped them quickly on his trousers before taking his first careful steps down the stairs that would take him to his competition.

Atobe and Yukimura weren't talking. Rather, Atobe was studying a plaque (or his reflection) with a pleased smirk on his lips. Yukimura stood in front of the roaring fireplace, his heavy coat hanging off his shoulders. The portrait over the mantle was watching him, her face hidden behind a violet fan. Tezuka paused at the bottom of the steps and both turned to him. And uncomfortable silence fell as they studied him and he made sure to stare right back as he strode towards the fireplace. As he came to stand next to him, Yukimura's calculating expression became a pleased looking smile. Tezuka nodded in return, just as the door swung open and the buzzing of hundreds of teenagers filled the small space of the stairwell.

The sound was abruptly cut off as someone stormed their way into the main room. Echizen stepped into the firelight and froze, scowl in place. He glared at each of them in turn, and yet again Tezuka found himself marvelling at the absurd shade of his eyes. Atobe seemed to realize who this angry-looking fourth-year was and in his peripheral Tezuka saw his shoulders straighten.

Yukimura was the first to speak, his delicate accent and soft voice somehow filling the room. 'Are you here to call us back?" he asked, voice sweet.

The Gryffindor blinked and then his expression darkened even more. Though he didn't say it out loud they could all hear the teasing demand behind his silky words.

Echizen raised his nose and set his eyes on Yukimura. "No," he replied, the beginning of a smirk quirking at the edge of his lips. "I am the fourth champion."

Harry's breath came steady, deep and peaceful as he ran just behind the quiet Longbottom-senpai – one of his new teammates and frightening in a vague sort of way. He didn't quite remember what they had done to earn the laps they were doing, but it hardly mattered anymore. The run felt good – almost as good as the Regular Jersey on his back.

The blue and white jacket was definitely something for Harry to be proud of – not that had ever admit his trouble with Wood-senpai and the annoying Malfoy, or even with an injured Ron (the third Weasley on the team, who insisted everyone call him by his given name). He had earned his position, and proved his worth in the Prefectural tournament.

His eye ached just thinking about it, and for the umpteenth time Harry thanked the heavens that he hadn't managed to get glass in his eyes – though, if one really considered it, cutting his eyelid hadn't been much better. Still, he had won the match thanks to buchou's understanding nature.

Cedric Diggory was a cheerful, involved captain with a skill level high enough that even a junior champion player (like Harry) and national champions offered him well-earned respect. To Seigaku, Diggory was more than a captain and a friend: he was a patient teacher at times, and something to aim for always. He was the undefeated captain of the Seigaku Tennis Club.

Well, Harry though as he padded to a stop, he was just going to have to change that.

He pulled off his glasses and wiped them carefully on the hem of his t-shirt, half-listening to the Weasley twins (who insisted half of the time not to be called by their given names) as they laughed about something. It was apparently Ron, as his protesting voice soon joined theirs. As Harry slid on his glasses again, Longbottom-senpai smiled at him. Harry offered a quick one in return, finding companionship amongst punishment that was usually reserved to Weasley-senpai and/or Weasley-senpai.

Though, when Harry thought back, they were the ones to set Cho on Neville.

Harry and Longbottom entered the courts again, sweaty already despite not even having warmed up properly. It didn't look like anyone else had either, with both sensei and buchou gone (after assigning Neville and the bystander Harry ten laps and Cho five)/ He adjusted his slipping lenses and looked left and right for where he had left his bag and racquets. Longbottom-senpai had been whisked away by a demanding and impatient Malfoy, but perhaps Ron or one of the Weasleys wanted to play a game.

As Harry knelt next to his dark blue bag (SEIGAKU carefully printed on one side) a flash of blonde caught his eyes and he glanced up, bag half zipped.

Luna Lovegood was another freshman, in one of the other classes who Harry only ever saw at practice – even though Luna was not a member of the tennis club. Her friend Ginny – yet another freshmen and yet another Weasley – was, though, and usually the reason for Lovegood's appearance.

Luna was slightly creepy, Harry thought as he forced his glasses up his nose. They stared at each other for a moment – Luna smiling and Harry confused – until Harry shook his head and returned his attention to his bag and racquets.

"Congratulations," Lovegood said suddenly, her tone airy and voice soft like a sigh. Harry nodded a thanks and slipped out his favourite of his three racquets. "On making the Regulars, I mean."

Harry knew that, but he didn't say it. Instead, he pulled the zipper shut and stood. "Thank you."

Luna smiled a little wider, and Harry resisted walking away right then. He sincerely hoped someone would come with a polite reason for him to return to practice – Lovegood seemed awfully sure they were engaging in a stimulating conversation – and that buchou or sensei wouldn't show up and give him laps for slacking off.

"You're awfully good, aren't you?" Luna continued, and Harry shifted on the spot slightly. She didn't wait for a response. "Yes, you're very good. I think I shall cheer you on."

Harry bowed his head and muttered an embarrassed "please do." Luna looked pleased by this and opened her mouth to say something else, but Ron's voice cut across the courts.

"Potter! Buchou wants to see you!"

Luna sighed and stepped away from the chain-link fence. "Ah, I suppose I will see you later, Harry-san." He nodded and away she went with a twirl.

Tapping his right shoulder with his racquet head, Harry walked towards Ron who waved, as though the first year couldn't spot his mop of bright red hair and tall frame. He didn't mind the youngest of the Weasley-senpais. Certainly, they weren't meant to be a doubles pair, but burgers afterschool (Harry still wasn't quite sure how he always ended up paying, but that was besides the point) and finding ways to vex Draco Malfoy were completely different ideas.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, grinning up at his tall teammate.

Ron shrugged, returning the smile. "No problem, but buchou really is looking for you," Ron replied. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess I'm just not meant to practice today," Harry muttered, glancing towards where Cho was testing one of Oliver's new strategies. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

"He's just outside the clubroom," Ron told him, adopting his 'helpful senpai' look. Harry applauded himself: he hadn't laughed this time.

"Did he say what it was?"

"No."

A scowl came over the first year's features. "If one more person asks me about my eye –" he muttered. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Get used to it. You've got teammates now, Potter." He said, a rare bout of wisdom in his words. Harry didn't bother to point out that tennis wasn't meant to be a team sport.

He had taken it and run with it. Nobody was condescending towards Ryoma Echizen, especially not some Quidditch star in dire need of a haircut (Ryoma had seen Yukimura's trademark green sweatband, but he still wondered how he could see the snitch, let alone catch it) or a still demented peacock. His name on a ratty bit of parchment was his only weapon, and he was obligated to use it.

If he sat back and thought about it, becoming the (illegal) fourth champion was a very bad idea. Ryoma wasn't interested in eternal glory or the money – he had enough notoriety as it was, and certainly enough money to last his remaining school years. He wasn't interested in suicide, either. Which was why Ryoma tried not to think too hard about it.

"The laws say he must compete," said the usually cheerful Ministry representative. He offered a nervous smile to the gathered educators. "His name came out of the Goblet of Fire."

"I don't care if his name came out of Banji's ass," snapped Professor Ryuzaki, her eyes blazing. Said headmaster of Durmstrang nodded with a pleased look on his aging face. Hanamura, on the other hand, looked offended. "He isn't competing."

The four champions had somehow lined themselves against a rare empty wall, with ojii dividing them. The Hogwarts head seemed to have used all his strength for the year and was standing between Tezuka and Ryoma looking ready to fall apart.

This conversation was important, Ryoma knew, as it would decide whether he risked his life with the three original champions or not. However, it was dull and repetitive and it felt mostly like he was watching parliament on the television in his cousin's house. He sighed and glanced to either side of him.

Atobe stood on his right, staring straight ahead. Ryoma didn't doubt that the French champion was spacing out, finding the adult's discussion boring as well. Ryoma didn't feel particularly pleased to share anything with the cocky champion; he had seen Atobe strutting about the grounds, earning as much attention as Yukimura. There was a rumour that he was part Veela – Ryoma doubted it.

Yukimura stood on Tezuka's left, partially hidden from view by Tezuka's tall frame. Yukimura had abandoned his jacket b the fire, baring his shoulders and lean arms to the chilly air of the trophy room. He was smiling, nodding to the things the assorted teachers said.

Tezuka stood on ojii's other side, towering over both Ryoma and the headmaster. His expression was blank and his posture straight as he surveyed the conversation. His interest, as far as Ryoma could tell was not feigned and guilt almost began to turn in the fourth-year's stomach.

It wasn't uncommon to hear other students as how stoic, competitive, intelligent Kunimitsu Tezuka had wound up in Hufflepuff of all places. Even Ryoma had wondered this after his loss to Tezuka the previous year – rain or no, Tezuka had made a remarkable catch which had only been overshadowed by Ryoma's fall. Tezuka had all the makings of a good Ravenclaw or even a Gryffindor, yet he was put in with the duffers Ryoma had no doubt made up a vast majority of Hufflepuff. Obviously the hat had lost its mind.

Tezuka turned his head then, glasses glinting in the firelight as he stared right back at Ryoma. Stubbornly, the fourth-year raised his chin and held Tezuka's gaze. Behind his oval lenses Tezuka's eyes were a shining hazel, and shock suddenly shot through Ryoma.

Very few people had the backbone to look him straight in the eye: most were frightened back simply by the colour of Ryoma's eyes, and so far he had met only Professor Ryuzaki who could scold him without flinching. Yet Tezuka was silently challenging him right back, not at all bothered.

Ryoma scowled and turned away.