Harry was pacing back and forth in the Gryffindor common room, thinking furiously. He hadn't really stopped since last night, and had barely slept. The reason for this, and the reason for his frantic brainstorming, was that his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire the previous evening.
He'd been hoping for a normal year, just once, but apparently that was too much to ask. Instead, he was forced to compete in a tournament designed and intended for students at least three years older than him.
So far, the only person who had believed him when he vehemently denied putting his name in to compete was Hermione Granger, his best female friend, and the smartest witch in their year. In fact, privately Harry thought she was the smartest witch in the school, but he knew saying so would probably only embarrass her.
It had been clear from the look on her face as he had come out of the antechamber the champions had gathered in after the Halloween feast that she didn't believe he'd been responsible for it, or wanted to compete. It hadn't been necessary, but when she said it aloud and gave his hand a supportive squeeze as they'd walked back to the common room, it had reassured him. At least one person believed him, and was on his side.
She was therefore the reason he was now pacing in the common room at half past six in the morning instead of his dorm; he figured it was late enough in the morning already and she was always early to rise. He was waiting for her to come down for breakfast so he could talk to her, and ask for her help. She'd know what to do. She always did.
He needed a way out of this competition or, failing that, a way to survive it. How could he be expected to compete with sixth and seventh years? Sure, he'd done some incredible things in the last three years, but mostly they were by accident, or by luck. The only thing he could point to as having been achieved through his own effort and talent was being the youngest seeker Hogwarts had seen in a century, and he really didn't think that would help him now.
The ruddy tournament, Harry thought dejectedly as he ran his hands through his hair for about the millionth time, was the whole reason he'd barely slept last night. He'd been caught between being worried almost sick about it and desperately trying to think of some way he could possibly live through it. Some idea that could save him.
But nothing came to him. No inspiration struck. Dumbledore had been next to useless last night and Harry, wallowing in the depths of paranoia in the early hours as sleep eluded him had suspected the headmaster of not helping him out of the tournament for the express purpose of smoking out whoever had put his name in the goblet in the first place.
Finally tiring of his frenetic pacing, Harry slumped into a chair with a view of the stairs down from the girls' dormitories. He ran his hands through his hair again, wondering rather detachedly just how much of a mess it must look now, and blew out a long breath.
He was dead tired. Not just from all the pacing he'd been doing since he got up, but also from the fact that he'd barely been able to sleep last night. In fact, he wasn't even sure he had. He'd just rolled around wretchedly, his mind moving a mile a minute in the darkness.
He must have fallen asleep in his chair because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Hermione. She had found him there at half past seven, and had discreetly dispelled some of the spells other early risers had evidently left on her best friend before leaning down and taking his shoulder.
Harry snorked and jerked upright, a picture of elegance. Hermione stifled a smile at his appearance, minus the rather unflattering spellwork of her housemates of course, and sighed. He didn't look like he'd slept a wink last night, and had obviously fallen asleep waiting for her. She couldn't keep the smile contained, however, when she realised how obviously he had wanted to see her.
"Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get down to breakfast, and you can tell me why you wanted to see me," she said, taking his hand and pulling.
"How did you know I wanted to see you?" Harry asked stupidly, not really awake yet, and getting himself upright with Hermione's help.
"Well, you don't sit around in the common room watching the stairs very regularly, do you? And your name came out of the Goblet last night. So, I deduce that you want to speak to me," she gave him a cheeky grin. "Am I right?"
Harry sighed and smiled ruefully, running a hand over his head again. Now he was waking up it was fairly obvious.
"Yeah. Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night. I wanted to ask if you'd help me find a way out of the tournament."
"Oh Harry, of course I'll help! And I'll let you off not sleeping properly," she said, giving him a playful nudge in the side as they began making their way down the many stairs towards the entrance hall. "You had a very stressful evening last night."
"Thanks, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably go mad if I hadn't died already."
Hermione just took his arm. Ordinarily she'd reprimand him for being so morose, but she decided to let him off until after breakfast.
"So… how does heading to the library after we've eaten to look up the tournament rules and magical contracts sound?" She prompted him.
"Uh… good. Yeah, let's do that. Thanks," he said, and gave her a weak little smile.
When they arrived in the library they immediately sought out Madam Pince to ask her where they could find any books on magical contracts.
Approaching the severe woman, Harry maneuvered himself so that Hermione was between him and the librarian. Hermione shot him a deprecating look, as if to say 'what, scared of the big, bad librarian?' Harry had the good grace to look a little bashful.
"Madam Pince? We were wondering if the library has any books on magical contracts, and if so where we could find them."
Harry leant in to whisper something to her, but he murmured too low for her to make out what he was saying.
"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, Harry. You need to speak up."
Now Harry was sure she was needling him. Huffing slightly and gathering his courage, he squared his shoulders and addressed the severe woman.
"Are also there any books on the history of the Triwizard Tournament? And do you happen to have any copies of the rules?" He asked, awkwardly.
Madam Pince gave them both a sharp look, as if they were taking up her very valuable time with frivolities, but lead them to two different sections and pointed out the books they were looking for.
At the first she pointed out a slim volume entitled 'Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years' which Harry picked up.
"Oh, I read that one at the beginning of the year, when the headmaster announced the tournament. It'll be really … important for you to read too, Harry."
Harry just nodded.
Pausing before leading them on, Madam Pince turned and spoke a little snappishly.
"We don't keep a copy of the rules any more, as the last tournament was held just over two hundred years ago. Since the headmaster also said during his announcement at the beginning of the year that some changes had been made to increase safety, I wouldn't imagine any copy we might have had would be up-to-date. You'll need to owl the Ministry if you want one."
She led them to the final section they had asked about and left them to it. Harry helped Hermione look through the meagre collection of books on magical contracts, barely a shelf-full, and most concerning magical law, not the kind of contract they were dealing with.
After checking them all, Hermione pressganged Harry into helping carry the larger share of the majority of the musty tomes she wanted to check over to the table she had long ago claimed as her own.
Depositing the books he was carrying, Harry slumped down and began to read the Triwizard book he had picked up.
As he read he became more and more horrified, and his worry about competing intensified. Apparently the tournament had suffered an almost thirty percent mortality rate before being cancelled in 1792 after all three competitors had died during the first task.
The tasks themselves always involved something incredibly dangerous, whether it be creatures, situations, or traps and enchantments set up by the organisers. He also noticed a pattern; the first task usually involved dangerous creatures. The second; a trial against great odds. The third and final task, unsurprisingly, was always the most difficult, always had the highest mortality rate, and usually featured the highest concentration of wizard-created obstacles.
Occasionally he would mutter 'bloody hell', and Hermione would quietly reprimand him, but not too vehemently. Harry assumed it was because secretly she agreed with him.
He put the book aside, feeling a little queasy. He really needed something to help him survive. He wouldn't even consider trying to win at this point, even if he would have previously.
He picked up the largest, mustiest tome on magical contracts they'd picked out and began to read it in the hopes that it would help to soothe his nerves.
After half an hour of trying to read the same paragraph and feeling his head droop to his chest before jerking it back upright, he turned to Hermione.
"Hermione," he hissed, mindful of the almost supernaturally sharp hearing of the strict librarian "could you check if this book is enchanted?"
Hermione looked up at him and frowned, wondering what he was getting at. But she shrugged and waved her wand over it, incanting a spell Harry didn't recognise. The book didn't react.
"There. It's not magical. Why were you asking?"
"I just figured there had to be an enchantment on it to put readers to sleep," he answered, giving her a silly grin.
She rolled her eyes at him. "No Harry, that's just a book on magical law for you."
"Oh well. Hey, what was that spell you used? I didn't recognise it, and it seems like if I have to compete I'd better get to learning as many new spells as I can."
"It was a very simple diagnostic charm, revelio magicae. There are loads of them, and that's more or less the simplest. All it does is show whether there's a permanent magical presence on an item."
"Thanks, I can see that'd already be useful. Do you think you could help me learn more? Not right now, just in general."
"Of course, Harry. We can figure out a time when neither of us are busy, and try and find somewhere where we won't be disturbed to practice," she said with a small smile.
"Great. I don't have my timetable with me, but we can compare ours later."
With that, they returned to their books. He slid the offending somnulobiblios aside and chose another book that hopefully would be more interesting.
He tried to focus on the book, he really did, but he had ended up doodling on a spare scrap of parchment, idly wondering about his predicament.
As his mind wandered back over his experiences with the dangerous creatures he'd encountered while at school, he recalled the end of his second year. That basilisk had been the deadliest creature he had ever faced, more dangerous even than the Dementors he'd fought the previous year. At least they could be driven off with a Patronus. If he'd been without the help of Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, he'd have been well and truly stuffed.
He had to hope they wouldn't match the champions against one this year, if they could find one. An account in the Triwizard book described one tournament when the winner had been declared after only the first task because two of the competitors had been killed by Cockatrice that they'd had to face. That the winner had later died of the injuries they had sustained was not counted as a 100% mortality rate for that tournament, the book said, had more to do with a technicality claimed by the ministry of the host country – France - than anything else.
He couldn't count on the help of a phoenix this time, he knew. Fawkes coming to is aid in the nick of time, toting with him the instrument of his salvation, was too much to ask for a second time.
He idly reviewed the year. He remembered brewing the polyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, scant feet away from the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. He shook his head at how close they'd been for so long. He grinned. Hermione had looked so cute with whiskers, and cat ears and tail.
They had been warned that the potion was not for use outside of the human species, but it had clearly had some effect, as Hermione had been wont to track and jump on fast-moving objects, and had loved having her ears scratched.
Thinking about Hermione being transformed into a part-cat, the entrance to the Chamber so close, what had transpired there, and the help Fawkes had been, several completely disparate pieces fell together for Harry so suddenly he could have sworn the thought coalesced with a physical rush.
He could make more polyjuice potion, and transform himself into a part-phoenix! It was the first of November, the first task took place on the twenty-fourth. The lacewings took twenty-one days to stew. If everything went right, he'd have time! There was even a phoenix in the castle, one which had proven willing to help him in the past.
He turned to Hermione and grabbed her hand.
"Hermione!" He all but gasped out, forgetting in his excitement to keep his voice down "I know what I can do! But you have to help me!"
"Shh Harry," she hissed "or we'll be thrown out. Now, what is your idea? Have you found a way out of the contract?" She asked excitedly.
"What? Oh, no. Dumbledore said last night I had to compete, so checking was a long-shot anyway. No, I just had an idea. A way to survive the tasks. We brew some more polyjuice potion, and I ask Fawkes for a feather, and I become a part-phoenix. Madam Pomfrey will be able to reverse it afterwards, like she did when you – during second year."
Hermione looked at him doubtfully, but chewed her lip and duly considered it. It was hare-brained and brash, not to mention dangerous. But then, given the accounts in Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years, helping Harry survive might just take something drastic.
"I don't know, Harry… what if we can't get Fawkes to give you a feather? How will we get the ingredients? Will there be enough time? There isn't a Hogsmede Weekend for two weeks, and we'd need to start brewing today just to have it done in time."
"Don't worry about that. I'll just sneak out of the castle with my cloak and go to the apothecary in Hogsmede. I'll tell them something like it's for an emergency. Dumbledore said we have today off normal lessons to 'celebrate the beginning of the tournament' or something, so we won't be missed. Worst comes to worst, we can just steal the ingredients from Snape again. And I'll go call for Fawkes now. I don't think having him flame into the library would be a good idea, after all."
"I don't know, Harry. Partial transformations into magical creatures with the potion have never been studied or documented. It's a very dangerous potion anyway. So many things could go wrong! Fawkes may not even let you have a feather. What if Madam Pomfrey can't turn you back?"
Harry just waived his hand impatiently.
"I'm sure it'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? I'll be stuck as a part-phoenix forever? That doesn't sound so bad. Maybe I'll get fire powers, or the ability to fly. And if Fawkes doesn't let me have a feather I could maybe try and get a bit out of the one in my wand. And if that doesn't work… I promise, I'll give up."
With that, Harry got up and almost rocketed out of the library in his nervous enthusiasm, in the process forgetting the books he'd taken from the shelves, his bag, and Hermione.
She huffed and began collecting their things together.
Harry had been gone for a couple of minutes when he returned, looking rather sheepish.
"Sorry," he whispered, "I got a bit carried away."
Hermione just poked him in the side, eliciting a small yelp from him.
"Since you ran off on me, here. You can put these contract and law books back."
Harry just sighed in defeat and nodded. It was fair.
As they walked in search of an empty, unused classroom, Harry had a thought.
"Hermione, what's the policy on lending library books to other students?"
"As long as the book is returned and in good condition, Madam Pince only frowns on it. It's not against the rules. Why, Harry?"
"Oh, I just figured it'd be a good idea to show Cedric Diggory, and maybe the other champions. I wonder, if they'd read it before, whether they'd still have put their names into the Goblet."
"That would be a very noble thing to do, Harry, and I think you can definitely trust Cedric to bring the book back in good order. Perhaps just show it to the other champions, and tell them where to find it?"
"Hmm, yeah. I think I'll do that. Oh, here's an empty one. Come on."
Harry tried the door of what turned out to be an unlocked, dusty classroom. It didn't appear to have been used in years, judging by the amount of dust on the floor and furniture.
They each gave the room a cursory clean over with their wands before Harry stood in the centre of the room, raised one arm as if ready for Fawkes to perch on it, and lifted his voice.
"Fawkes, I need your help."
Harry stood there for a moment, very quickly starting to feel foolish. Then, just as he was about to lower his arm and admit defeat, a ball of flame burst into being just above his head.
Fawkes, trilling a beautiful song that uplifted both Harry and Hermione, swooped around the room and alighted on his outstretched arm. For such a big bird – for Fawkes was the size of a large swan – he was deceptively light.
Harry glanced at Hermione, and would have smiled at the astonished look on her face if not for the fact that she looked exactly how he felt.
Returning his attention to the beautiful phoenix, Harry wondered what to say. He hadn't really expected this to work.
"Hi Fawkes," he began rather awkwardly. "I need a favour. Would you be willing to let me have a feather? It doesn't have to be big, like a tail feather. It could just be a little one from your chest or something."
Fawkes tilted his head to one side and gave him an astonishingly calculating look for a bird. He stayed like that, motionless, for several seconds before Harry had the feeling he should try to explain.
"I want to add it to some polyjuice potion. To help with the tournament. It's going to be really dangerous, and I don't know if I'd be able to survive without your help. You saved me from that basilisk, but I know you can't be around to help me all the time. The tournament has had a thirty percent mortality rate in the past."
Fawkes tilted his head to the other side, and then looked over at Hermione.
Hermione looked a little startled, but nodded. "Please," she murmured.
Fawkes turned back to Harry and gazed at him for a little while longer, as if evaluating him. Finally, he gave a little trill, then reached down to the plumage on his chest and gave a deft little flick. His beak came up with a small feather in it, which he held out for Harry to take.
Quivering slightly, Harry reached out with his other hand. The instant he touched the feather, he felt a warmth wash over him.
"Thank you, Fawkes. Thank you so much." Harry gave the bird a warm smile.
Fawkes just bobbed his head as though bowing, took off, and disappeared in a scintillating ball of fire.
Harry looked at Hermione for a few moments, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Surprise, gratification, hope, and more than a little dizzy. Hermione looked as if she were experiencing exactly the same thing.
"Well… stage one complete," he said.