CHAPTER 2

There was uproar around the hall. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Vanished, was alive and kicking, and in the Great Hall at that very moment. Rita Skeeter, sitting in one corner of the room was itching to get her hands on the handsome young hero, to try and dish out a story about his unknown, and undoubtedly dark past.

After all, he was a Slytherin, wasn't he?

And that was a fact that the people in the hall seemed to be registering just then. Their saviour, as famous as Merlin himself, was a Snake. The uproar died down as people hit on this rather unfortunate fact, and whispers, whispers of shock, outrage and even disgust broke out in the Hall.

Harry smirked as he picked up even some fearful whispers of another Dark Lord in the making.

Good, he thought. Fear is good.

The Potters, on the other hand, still seemed to be frozen in shock, as they beheld their son, standing coolly at one end of the hall, absolutely unfazed by the madness around him.

And then it hit Lily that this was her son, her long lost son, whom she had spent so many nights crying over, wondering if she'd ever see him again.

She took off running at him so fast that it seemed like she'd left an image of herself where she stood, and then James followed at a more sedate pace...well, in comparison, anyway.

Harry clenched his teeth as he braced himself for impact, and then, he was hit by a blurred, redheaded missile.

Gritting his teeth, he tried hard not to throw his own mother out of his arms and pull his wand on her in anger.

Instead, he thought back to his conversation with his Sensei, Strongarm (an apt name, indeed), the summer before his first year, in an attempt to calm himself.

"Harry," said the ancient goblin, as he looked down at the wizard fondly (if goblins could show any fondness for anything other than gold, "it pains me to say goodbye, but I must, for it is time that you go to Hogwarts and begin your magical education with other children your age."

To his credit, Harry showed little emotion as well, for that was the way of the Goblins. Instead, his eyes showed the turmoil he was undergoing. At long last, he voiced a concern that he had been harbouring for a long time...

"What if I meet...?" he seemed unable to complete the sentence. Every time he did so, he would feel anger rise up within him, ugly and boiling, at what they had done to him. And, in his defense, what word would he use? Parents? They had not acted like parents. Family? He had no family. Relatives? No relatives could treat him as they had done.

Instead, he calmed himself using the meditation technique Strongarm had taught him. He thought back to his masters words, "An angry goblin is of no use to the mines. He takes out his anger on the rocks, and may miss the diamonds in his blind rage. It is the calm one who finds the treasure in the end."

Strongarm noticed his efforts, and was suitably pleased. "Your parents?" he asked softly. Harry's true heritage was known to all the Goblins at the mine, but they were extremely tight-lipped about it.

Harry nodded, distaste evident on his young face.

"Harry, I hate to tell you this, but the chance that you will meet your parents, or even reveal your true identity to them, is very, very real indeed."

Harry's face darkened even further, his green eyes flashing. "No, Harry," said Strongarm, "you must listen to me. Whatever anger you feel, whatever pain, you must not let it show. People will no doubt be around you, and you must not let your facade slip even once. People are always on the lookout for weaknesses, something that will help them drag you down, and to show emotion show easily before them would be to throw yourselves to the wolves!"

"But..."

"No, Harry, I must impress upon you the seriousness of this advice. You are a hero to the World, and they will look at you as one! You cannot show weakness, or anger, because then you will be stripped of all your adoration and be hated immediately by those who loved you minutes back. To the world, you must be Harry Potter, the saviour of Britain! To show anger at your parents would be to reveal the cracks in the Potter family as well, which would bring dishonour to your Family as well, which is Noble and Ancient in its origins, as it can be traced back to the time of the original Wizengamot!"

"What if I don't care?" asked Harry, his voice hard. "They left me, deserted me – while they were being loved and worshipped as heroes, I was locked in a cupboard, getting by on one paltry meal a day, simply because my own parents couldn't love and protect me! I should expose them before the world, show everyone what hypocrites they are!"

"You will not!" said Strongarm sternly, before his features softened. "I understand you are angry, young Harry, but you must not let the anger control you, because it will ultimately lead to your fall! When the time comes, or perhaps, when you are older, you will understand..."

Harry bent his head to show his acceptance of his Master's words, even if he didn't like them. Strongarm frowned. He could feel his student's dissatisfaction, but there was nothing more he could do. Instead, he stretched his arms out, and then curled his palms inwards, inviting Harry to attack him.

"Come," he said, "let me see if you can defeat me yet and earn a title, like I earned mine!"

Harry grinned, eager for a way to vent his feelings, and immediately settled into a crouch, balancing his weight equally on both feet. He curled his hands into fist, bringing them up to protect his face.

"Look!" he shouted suddenly, and Strongarm was momentarily distracted as he turned his head, before he lifted his arm to parry the oncoming roundhouse kick and retaliate with a punch to his student's head.

Yes, he thought, this one was definitely a Slytherin.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Despite Strongarm's words of advice, all Harry could feel at that moment was extreme repulsion and anger towards the woman sobbing in his arms. How could she be shedding tears, he thought, when she condemned me to a life of horror with her wizard-hating sister and her Xenophobic husband? Even so, he kept his mask on, his face absolutely expressionless. He brought his arms up, and kept them lightly around her, touching her as little as possible, his body stiff as a board.

She must have sensed something was wrong, because she looked at him as she let go, and he looked back at teary green eyes that were so like his own. She must have seen the complete apathy, or rather, hate in his eyes, because she let out a tiny gasp of horror before stumbling back into her husband's arms, who had caught up with them and was looking at his son with an expression of wonder.

"Lily?" he asked, as if almost afraid, but he was brushed aside by Dumbledore, who strode forward purposefully, his wand outstretched.

"I am sorry, ," he said, "but I must check if you are an impostor – we cannot let the Wizarding World have false hopes of the return of the Boy-Who-Lived..."

Rita Skeeter's toes almost curled with delight. Albus Dumbledore, the Hero of the 40's War, openly challenging this generations hero! Perhaps an endeavour to protect his own power and influence...? She waited eagerly for Harry's answer to the challenge, because she was absolutely sure that this was indeed the Boy-Who-Vanished – call it her predatory investigative senses.

She, along with the rest of the Hall, was surprised, when Harry only laughed in return.

"Me, an impostor?" he smirked, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "I think you're looking in the wrong place, Headmaster."

Bingo! Thought Harry, his eyes shifting to Moody, who had stiffened imperceptibly, before relaxing and mirroring Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on Harry, both Magical and Normal.

Harry sized him up mentally. It seemed like he was still uncomfortable in Moody's form, putting his weight more on his right foot. Since he was right handed, he would most probably fire a spell to his left, Harry's right on instinct, before shifting the spells to the right.

Burst casting, thought Harry.

He tensed slightly, when he looked back at Dumbledore, and felt a brush against his mind. The old man's eyes widened slightly when he encountered resistance, and Harry fought the urge to grin. The first step to master the Goblin way of fighting was to be completely detached with one's emotions.

Deciding not to call him out just yet (it wouldn't do to eliminate the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot so early), he projected an image of Moody instead, letting his suspicions wash over Dumbledore. And then, without waiting to ask, he struck.

In a flash, his wand was in his hand, and Ron Weasley was forced to swear and duck immediately when a plate flew off the Gryffindor table towards Potter. Without turning his head to see if his spell had worked, Harry tensed his legs and crouched down. Leaping to his left, his foot hit the bench as he sprung into action. Using the reactionary force to propel himself off the edge, he spun himself in midair, his leg meeting Moody's forehead with a resounding crack. Moody had just managed to get of a group of spells, which left his wand and banked sharply right, before he fell to the ground. Harry landing on his knees on Moody's chest, driving the breath out of his chest. Moody's spells hit the summoned plate with a resounding sound, before Harry caught it deftly out of midair with his left hand, and transfigured it into a sword with his wand. Before Moody could so much as breathe or clutch his head in pain, the sword was at his throat, it's sharp point tickling his Adam's Apple. Deciding to forgo the old intimidation routine, Harry chose to knock Moody out with a Stunner instead.

There was utter silence in the Hall once again, broken only by Lily Potter's sniffles.

"Mr. Potter, may I ask why you just attacked a member of staff and one of my oldest friends?" asked Dumbledore, his face a mask.

Harry gave the tiniest of grins, which was still enough to send a shiver down the spines of several people. James Potter looked on disbelievingly, unable to come to terms with the fact that his son had just attacked his mentor and ex-boss.

"'E is insane, Dumbly-dorr!" shrieked Madam Maxime. "First he cheats 'is way into ze Tournament, and now he attacks one of Britain's most respected Aurors!"

"With all due respect, Madam Maxime," said Harry, "if you would look more closely, you would find that all is not as it seems. I believe I have been framed to bring me out of hiding, by none other than the man who is currently impersonating Mad-Eye Moody!"

There were gasps and shouts of outrage around the hall, but Dumbledore silenced them with a chain of fireworks from his wand. Silence fell again, but Madam Maxime had one more question for the strange boy in front of her.

"But then, Mr. Potter, where were you all these years? And why did you go into hiding in the first place?"

She appeared affronted as Harry ignored her question completely, and her champion, Fleur Delacour, lifted her wand in outrage to punish the boy for his transgression, Boy-Who-Lived or not.

Harry was unfazed, as he methodically searched Moody, until he found what he was looking for.

"Freeze!" came a voice behind him. "Throw your wand on the ground, and raise your hands in the air! Do not attempt to apparate, or I will fire! You're under arrest for attacking an innocent civilian!" Gasps echoed around the Great Hall.

Harry rolled his eyes, but threw his wand on the floor anyway. He turned to find a tall, blonde man pointing his wand at him, along with several Aurors, even though some of them looked hesitant.

James Potter shifted guiltily, before starting to speak. "Now look he-", before he was cut off by his son.

'Actually," he said conversationally, "You can't actually apparate in and out of Hogwarts. But, since you insist..." he raised his hands, and at the same time, he inverted the hip flask in his hand, the one he had taken from Moody's pocket.

A thick, muddy concoction spattered out of the flask, soiling the floor before Harry's feet.

"C'est impossible!" exclaimed Fleur, lowering her wand, recognizing the Polyjuice Potion.

The potion in question wore of at that precise moment, and in a few seconds, shouts of outrage and shock filled the Hall as they saw a dead man appear before them. Barty Crouch Sr.'s face paled drastically, before he suddenly got up and pulled his wand. Before he could so much as blink, Dumbledore's wand was out, and Crouch was blown back to the ground, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Ouch," said Harry, cringing theatrically. "That had to hurt."

As one, all the Heads and the Champions turned their heads towards him, eyebrows raised.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Just making an observation. Oh, and in answer to your question, Madam," said Harry, looking up to Madam Maxime, "I believe you will have to wait for the Press Conference that is sure to come..."

Rita grinned. Today was going to be a good day, indeed.