AN: There should be a disclaimer, but I think it's rather obvious that I own neither Harry Potter, nor Fate/stay night.
On a more pleasant and productive note, this is technically a crossover, but it will not go very far beyond the HP universe, so knowldge of Fate/stay night is actually not needed. Everything relevant will be mentioned in the fanfic itself.
Chapter 1. Throne of Heroes
Harry wanted to shout in frustration as he slammed another book shut and sent it to its shelf. Alas, making loud sounds in the middle of the night in the Restricted Section was ill-advised. Instead, he just pinched his nose bridge and shook his head. It was pointless. Three sleepless nights and he had no results to show for all his utterly wasted efforts.
He understood very well that he was at a serious disadvantage. After all, how could a barely average fourth-year hope to compare to the best seventh-years Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had to offer? The answer was morbidly short and simple, one that Harry would rather not speak outloud. Unfortunately, problems had a tendency of not going away when not being thought of, Harry's especially. The deadly Triwizard tournament was nothing to scoff at, and if the likes of Moody were to be believed then this situation was a particularly nasty one.
"So maybe someone is hoping that Potter would die in it?"
And loath as Harry was to admit it, the man had a point, and thus his single quiet year at Hogwarts did not happen — again. Instead, someone, probably Voldemort, was after his life once more. With the entire school, Gryffindor house included, having turned away from him, there were scarce few people Harry could go to for help. Unfortunately, most of them were far away, and going to Mad-Eye Moody to share his anxieties — well, that was a funny joke. One that the old auror would surely not appreciate.
Therefore the only answer remained — the library. This is where he had been spending time since the selection ceremony and where he was now, browsing and looking for anything that might help. Not even the Restricted Section was spared his ruthless search for magical power and knowledge. It was rather fascinating really, all those books held so much valuable information, most of which was inaccessible to Harry because he was frankly too incompetent as a wizard. Four years of substandard effort let themselves be known at the most inopportune moment. As always.
A long-suffering sigh later Harry took another random book from the shelf.
With a start, he realised that it did not belong here. Where other tomes were battered and old, this one looked positively ancient, held together by some miracle. Harry tentatively opened it, careful not to destroy such a priceless artefact. "The Throne of Heroes" it read on the first page. There was nothing else.
"Huh," Harry said, looking over the name again. The tome itself looked like it was older than Hogwarts, yet the language of its title was modern English. That piqued his interest, even if judging by the name, this was probably a history book or something of the sort. Still, the language was simple, lacking any of the complicated terminology that plagued all the previous texts. Besides, it was quite an interesting read, so interesting in fact, that Harry didn't notice as hours passed until the first ray of sunlight fell on the weathered page.
His head snapped to look at the window. The sun was rising. It was probably around six in the morning.
"Crap," he swore and closed the book. The legends described there were interesting, he became too engrossed in them for his own good and failed to notice how he had spent the entire night in the library. "Hermione would be proud if she knew," he said with a wry smile.
In the end, Harry decided to take the book with him, no harm in reading about legends after all. Besides, the nameless author had a unique perspective on what happened to those who lived great lives. It was a stress relief if nothing else… More useful than any other book Harry was able to find. He stashed it in his bag and after hastily putting on the invisibility cloak sprinted to the Gryffindor tower. Sleep was out of the question, but perhaps he could catch a cold shower and a cup of coffee to keep him awake through the lessons. Especially since he had bloody Snape this day.
It was somewhat helpful in the end, but Harry was still feeling sleepy when he entered the potions classroom a couple hours later. Fortunately, he wasn't either the first or the last one to come so his appearance didn't draw too much attention. He was almost hoping for a decent lesson, when Snape entered, cloak billowing and all, and turned his glare on Harry.
"Potter," his smooth voice was filled with enough malice that Harry was surprised it hadn't yet taken a physical form. "What, pray tell, have you come here for?"
"I'm sorry, sir?" Harry looked at the man in confusion, which only served to annoy the professor more.
"Where are your supplies, Potter?" Snape drawled. "Have you come here expecting some idle chatter?"
Harry glanced at the table in front of him and with dawning horror realized that due to his sleepiness he forgot to set up his station. Fortunately, all the supplies were in his bag. Accompanied by the snickers from slytherins and glares from his own housemates, Harry took out his cauldron, vials, tools and ingredients.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape raised an eyebrow at the display, "for your tardiness. Ten more for being a heedless dunderhead. Set up your station quietly so that the rest of the class doesn't have to be distracted due to your ineptness."
Harry really wanted to glare at the man but found it difficult to focus on just not dropping all the tools and ingredients he was handling. He hastily put everything in order and started taking notes after the greasy git of a professor. Wit-sharpening potion. He sure could use some right now. Harry listened to the lecture, even wrote it down after Snape, but found that his comprehension was near to non-existent. It was no surprise that the next period his potion was dirty-brown instead of dark-orange.
Snape, the ever watchful git, stopped right next to his cauldron and sneered. "I wonder if my efforts in putting something into that hollow brain of yours will ever pay off, Mr Potter," the man drawled. Sometimes Harry wondered if Snape was drawing satisfaction from his misery. "The potion was supposed to simmer for 10 minutes, not all of eternity. Moreover, too much ginger root. Do spare us your incompetence," Snape vanished Harry's potion with a flick of his wand, "and go amuse yourself without subjecting everyone around you to your foolishness, if it is even possible."
With that Snape turned around and resumed his stalking around the classroom, occasionally snapping at gryffindors, much to the amusement of slytherins. Whoever decided that pairing up the two houses was a good idea clearly needed a reality check. No matter, Harry quickly gathered his supplies and left the classroom.
On his way to the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but complain internally. His potion was certainly better than that of Crabbe and Goyle. Hell, he just forgot to take it off the fire in time and added a little bit too much ginger root. Damn his lack of sleep. Well, no time for self-pity, which Harry despised anyway, there were more pressing matters. He was still an inept fourth-year. There was his skill in DADA and some above-average power, but other than that he had no advantages over the other champions… Come to think of it, above average power for a fourth-year couldn't really be considered an advantage over seventh-years.
Dinner proved to be an uncomfortable affair. His housemates still glared at him whenever he was in the same room as them, and the Great Hall was no exception. Therefore, Harry just took out the book about heroes and resumed reading where he left off.
"How are you doing, Harry?" Hermione's voice asked behind him. Harry hastily snapped the book close and turned to look at the girl.
"Um... I'm ok, Hermione," he replied. "Is there something I can help you with?"
While Hermione didn't actively ostracise him, this was the first time she had spoken to him since the selection ceremony. And that was four days ago. To be honest, Harry was somewhat surprised she was even talking to him. He half-expected Hermione to side with Ron, who was ignoring him at the best of times and then smearing him behind his back.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione sat beside him. There was enough space after all, considering that no one from Gryffindor wanted to sit near the "traitor". "I was just trying to persuade Ron to give up his grudge. I know you didn't put your name into the Goblet. It's ridiculous how no one else can see it," she huffed.
"See what?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. He wasn't sure if it was an excuse or not, but Hermione was his best friend, at least he hoped she was, so the benefit of the doubt was only fair.
"Honestly, Harry," Hermione rolled her eyes, "you're not the type of person to do this. They think you're some kind of glory hound. Unlike everyone else though, I know you, Harry. Just as Ron should. I know you don't 'bask in glory' and 'desperately seek attention' as some put it."
Harry stared at the girl for several seconds. Relief and suspicion wrestled in his mind. In the end, he decided to trust her. Hermione was always there for him in the past. What kind of friend would he be if he turned her down now, especially when she was the only one on his side.
"Thanks, Hermione," he replied sincerely. "It means a lot, really."
"Harry, I'm your friend," Hermione said as if it explained everything. "We'll need to get you ready for the first task and since we know nothing about it, I think you should concentrate on the DADA, it is your best subject after all. I'll try to find something useful in other schools of magic, but let's do what we can right now."
"Alright," Harry allowed himself a small smile. Scheming with friends was something he sorely missed during these four days of isolation.
"Let's go to the library then?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"I think we should finish our meal first," Harry smirked. "Especially since you've only just started."
Hermione turned to look at her empty plate in confusion until a rumble in her stomach proved Harry right. She blushed and nodded.
"By the way, what's that book you were reading just now?" she asked, piling food on her plate.
"Just some light reading for stress relief," Harry shrugged and returned to his own meal.
-xxx-
All in all, the day had been rather productive, Harry thought as he lay in his bed that night. Hermione managed to find some useful hexes, as well as surprisingly easy transfiguration spells that Harry could utilize in a fight. He wanted to smack himself when he saw just where she got them. Your usual open-to-everyone sections of the library. Yep. Not even the Restricted Section. So much wasted time…
Still, those spells were a start, but they didn't change the fundamental problem. The other students knew so much more and were more powerful. The tasks would be tailored to them, and whoever put his name into the Goblet would make sure his trials were especially deadly. Harry needed a trump card. Some kind of ace up his sleeve to help him should he be backed into a corner. He turned the page of his book about heroes with a sigh. The legend of Sun Tzu was interesting, but it also came to an end...
The contents of the following page surprised him. It contained a diagram or rather an image of a circle with some unknown symbols. Below it was a weird chant. The title though was what shocked Harry. "Summoning a Heroic Spirit". Harry stared at the text dumbly for a whole minute before his mind kicked in and started thinking over all the possibilities this piece of knowledge opened. That night Harry went to bed with some hope for the first time this week.
The next day was a Saturday and so Harry had no lessons. Thus he excused himself after breakfast, not that anyone cared aside from Hermione, who was pacified by the excuse of him needing some time to fly to relax. In truth, Harry went to the only place in the castle where he was sure no one would be able to disturb him or spy on him. Yes, he was turning rather paranoid, but being entered into a deadly tournament tended to have such effects.
The Chamber of Secrets met him in all its morbid decadent glory. The dead body of a thousand-year-old basilisk was still there, just as he left it two years ago. Looking back at it, well, Harry understood why some people found it hard to believe he could have slain the beast. The body was huge. Even now the snake could have swallowed him whole, had it been alive of course.
Well, no time to dawdle.
The circle was not perfect even after three attempts at drawing it. Maybe it was because of the chalk or uneven floor, but Harry suspected that his ineptitude was at least partially to blame. He had never been good at painting. Finally, he finished with the last symbol and took a step back to admire the results of his labour. It took more than an hour to set everything up but he was finally ready. Harry took the book and started the chant.
"I hereby declare.
Your body shall serve under me,
My fate shall be your sword,
Submit to the beckoning of my magic
If you submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!"
There was a visible change in the air from the magic that suddenly poured from the circle. It was oppressive and pure, unyielding and demanding. The shadows grew as light — wherever it was coming from in the first place — dimmed. Harry felt his wand heat up in his pocket. He wanted to hiss in pain but knew better. It would interrupt the chant. After all, he knew pain and could handle some heat.
"An oath shall be sworn here!
I shall attain all virtues of Heaven,
I shall have dominion over all evils of all the Hell!"
The summoning circle lit up and illuminated the Chamber with its pale unholy green light. Harry felt something pulling at his heart and wand burning through the fabric of his pocket, but even this was not enough to stop him.
"From the Seventh Heaven, attained to by three great words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!"
The Chamber shook from the primordial force that made reality itself tremble at the mere idea of it. The same force threw Harry violently away from the circle. It was a painful landing that greeted him in the middle of a pool of frosty water. He was quick to get to the dry portion of the Chamber though and eagerly looked toward the circle.
"I have been summoned by a foolish clueless brat," the person inside the circle spoke with a quiet sigh. It was a male figure that managed to look imposing even if its height was nothing above average. Harry saw a man, dressed like he was from 1920's, look at him with burning green eyes. Not even round glasses could temper their intensity.
"No way…" Harry breathed. It was an older version of himself standing there, scowling.
"I'd ask if you were my master," the clone said, "but we both know the answer. Only one idiot is foolish enough to summon the Master of Death, even unintentionally."
"How is that possible?" Harry asked in absolute bewilderment as he walked toward the doppelganger. "You're — me."
"How astute," the elder Harry drawled in a Snape-like manner. "Do you not remember summoning me?"
"I was summoning a Heroic Spirit from the Throne of Heroes!" Harry argued. All he got was a raised eyebrow.
"And you succeeded."
"But then," Harry looked over his elder copy again, "how did you become a Heroic Spirit?"
"An irrelevant question at the moment," the elder Harry cut him off. "I'd rather know why you needed to summon a Heroic Spirit in the first place."
"The Triwizard tournament," Harry groused, looking down. "Are you really me? Why don't you remember it then?"
"I am not entirely you," the doppelgänger shook his head as he took out a wand and conjured two chairs for them to seat in. "I for one did not summon a Heroic Spirit for the tournament."
"How did you survive then?" Harry asked, leaning forward in curiosity.
"I believe," the doppelgänger replied with a wry smile, "you are familiar with the phrase 'sheer dumb luck'," he said.
"No way," Harry laughed. He grew serious. "Will you help me?"
"I would be remiss in my duty as a Heroic Spirit if I didn't," the spirit sighed. "I can't really tell you the future, but I can prepare you for it, so we'll start your training today."
"Training?" Harry asked in honest surprise.
"Yes, training, I won't solve all your problems for you," the elder man rolled his eyes. "I forgot how much of a lazy brat I used to be in my youth," he muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Hey!" Harry cried with indignation. "By the way," he said, attempting to steer the conversation away from evaluation of working ethic, "how do I call you?"
"You know my name," the spirit raised an eyebrow.
"I know," Harry sighed. "But it's just weird, you know…"
The spirit stared at Harry, it's gaze letting him know everything the doppelgänger thought of his intelligence.
"Fine," the spirit sighed. "Call me Henry, it's close enough."
AN2: This is a response to The Modern Sorcerer's "A Helping Hand" challenge:
"When his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire and he is forced to compete, Harry Potter doesn't mess around. He knows he isn't qualified or powerful enough to survive this Tournament on his own, so using a handy little book found in the library, Harry performs an ancient ritual to call for a helping hand. He really should have read the fine print first."