Ok, if you read "Cold as Ice" from my profile, then you know by now that this series IS NOT MINE and that statement is goes for all the rest of this series.
However, if you HAVEN'T read "Cold as Ice" then what the hell are you doing on this story, go onto my profile and read that story first.
usual copyright stuff applies: Happy Potter and other characters belong to J.K. Rowling, if it belonged to anyone else it would be rubbish
In a tall, broken down manor far far away, Voldemort sat in a armchair, his form terribly pale and thin, staring into a flickering fire. Nagini was curled up around him, forked tongue flickering, hissing in contentment ever so often as the Dark Lord slowly stroked her head.
He was muttering to himself.
"One...or the other? The more obvious, or the more probable? Hmm...are either more likely than the other, even...?" His thin feature curved into a slight frown. "Why would one hide...or is it in ignorance? Is it even hiding when you do not know...? Both are equally probable...a interesting choice..."
Suddenly, a malicious grin etched itself on his wan face, his serpentine eyes dancing with amusement. His long, slender fingers tapped a drumbeat on the head of Nagini.
"So why not both? Eliminate the choice...yes..."
His voice rose to a high pitched shriek.
"WORMTAIL!"
A short, fat mousy man quickly stumbled into the room, before assuming a prostrate position before the armchair. He looked up only to the hem of the robe of the Dark Lord, terrified, even of the shadow that Voldemort was at that moment.
"Y-Yes?, Milord?" He inquired. Voldemort's arm rose, and Peter cringed in anticipation of the terrible searing pain of a thousands knives entering his body, of that terrible red flash that was Crucio, but the limb casually moved to the arm of the armchair, one thumb gently rubbing a circle in the faded velvet.
"Contact our spy at Hogwarts. There's been a change of plans."
Matt let out a low whistle as the Beauxbatons students made their way out of their gilded carriage. He pointed to one of them, a tall, leggy blonde with saccharine blue eyes and a haughty turn of the mouth.
"She's a looker, ain't she, Harry?"
Harry looked...
And instantly fell in love. Honestly, why couldn't he see it before? Destiny must have brought her impossibly beautiful form here. He would have no trouble outshining these ugly buffoons around him, but should he do something to get her attention right here...?
A harsh blow brought Harry back to his senses. He fingered his slapped cheek as it stung. "Ouch." he muttered.
Matt looked a bit apologetic. "Sorry. She's a Veela. Suppose you might have trouble resisting the aura."
Comprehension dawned on Harry. So that was why he had become so enamored at first sight. A thought struck him.
"Why aren't you affected?" He asked Matt curiously.
He shrugged. "Practice. My nanny was a Veela, back when I was young. I couldn't start humping her leg every time I saw her, right?"
A dark look crossed across Harry's face. He did not like being controlled. "Can you teach me how to do it?"
"There's nothing really to teach, you just need to keep your wits about you." Matt allowed easily. "Besides, her aura seems weaker than the others, I'm guessing she's only half-Veela, or something. You're lucky you've never met a Veela matriarch." Matt shivered. "It's scary how easy they can enrapture you. Dad had to wear immunity charms whenever he was dealing with her."
Harry looked back at the silvery blonde girl, making sure to concentrate.
It worked. Sure, he could notice she was pretty attractive, but there was no unearthly glow around her, like before. Harry could now fully appreciate how funny it was that all the other students around him, the male ones, that is, were gaping like fools. Ronald Weasley seemed to have a bit of drool hanging out of his mouth, much to the ire of Hermione Granger, who was trying and failing to get his attention.
A tremendous splash to the right of them drew their attention to the Lake, where a large frigate burst out of the water like a submarine, before rocking gently and beginning to let down small sloops to come to shore.
"Durmstrang." Matt offered. Harry snorted slightly.
"Like their entrances, don't they? Let's go inside, it's fucking freezing out here..."
"First of all, I would like to welcome our foreign guests, along with their respective Heads. Let us welcome Madame Maxine, from Beauxbatons, and Igor Karkaroff, from Durmstrang. Welcome to Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled as he shook the scowling Karkaroff's hand and embraced Madame Maxine warmly.
"Eet is zo very good to zee you again, Dumblydore." She intoned kindly. Harry was BUSY staring at her size. She looked as big as Hagrid. Was she half-giant or something?
"The pleasure is all mine, Olymphe." He returned benevolently, his eyes twinkling. He turned back to the assembled students of the three school.
"The champions from each school will each be chosen by a impartial judge. Said judge will be..." Dumbledore strode easily to a large object, covered in a black sheet.
He cast it off easily. Harry felt his breath catch.
"The Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore finished, as the students assembled murmured and pointed at the archaic cup that sat atop a simple stool, a stark contrast. "Any and all those who wish to compete will scribe their names on a single piece of parchment and cast it into the Goblet."
Dumbledore waved his wand, and the Goblet lit with flickering blue fire. The mutterings of the students increased.
"To discourage anyone from under seventeen to enter their name in the tournament, I will be drawing a Age Line around the Goblet." There were a few protests voiced, but quickly quieted. "Any of those who wish to test the Line, of course" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly as he smiled. "-are welcome to do so. However, you may find that the results are not to your liking. The Goblet will be accessible for three days here in the Great Hall, before the names will be chosen and the tournament begun."
"The Beauxbatons students shall be bunking with the Ravenclaws, and the Durmstrang students are welcome to stay with the-" Dumbledore began, before being cut off by Karkaroff.
"We will stay on our ship." He announced tersely. Dumbledore merely bowed his head in acceptance.
"Very well. Without further delay, let the feast begin."
Food magically appeared appeared on the platters, and the students began digging in. The foreign guests picked at the food, seemingly unsatisfied or put off by the English menu. Harry smiled slightly as he heard the girl Matt had pointed out before start complaining about how all the foods were horrendously fattening.
"Sounds like you've hit a rut, Matt." Luna chipped in, loading a generous slice of shepard's pie onto her plate. Matt didn't touch his plate, as he had his fist on his chin, a deeply pensive look on his face. "You do know that Dumbledore got his Arch-Mastery? in Wards, don't you?"
Dumbledore was one of the few wizards in existance that was regarded as a Arch-Mage?, or Arch-Wizard?, a title given to those few and inbetween that had achieved a Arch-Mastery? in several subjects, along with being evaluated by any available Arch-Mages? for their position. It was not a title easily given. They had to achieve Arch Masteries in at least seven subjects. And a Arch Mastery was a whole other can of worms.
Arch Masteries were only given to those in a field that submitted something that generally improved the whole field in general. Naturally, this had to be something totally unheard of before, in order to sufficiently impress the thirteen Masters in the field needed to approve of the Arch Mastery.
Albus Dumbledore had recieved no less than nine Arch Masteries. In Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Wards, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Alchemy, Potions, Astronomy(which was widely regarded as a farce).
"Yeah, he's a Ward Arch-Master?, he's not exactly going to fuck up a Age Line. Maybe you should be reasonable and just drop this tournament idea, Matt." Harry added, piling a few biscuits and some mashed potatoes with gravy onto his plate.
"No. No, I'll find a way around it..." Matt muttered. Harry chewed thoughtfully on one of his biscuits.
"Well, there's Occlumency. If the line can't sense you, it can't stop you. But I doubt you're good enough in that to completely mask your presence. That takes a right master in Occlumency." Harry offered. Luna was half-heartedly picking at her shepard's pie, obviously thinking.
"Can't you break the ward somehow?" She asked. "Like, destroy it or alter it to go a little lower?" Harry shook his head immidiately, shortly followed by Matt.
"No, for one, he's probably going to do put it somewhere hidden, like on the cieling, or under the floor tiles. Secondly, he'll probably make it in Eternity Ink, ink that only comes off when the writer who put it on decides to take it off. So you can't rub it out."
"I suppose I could ask a older student to put it in for me...?" Matt theorized slowly. Harry snorted.
"Who would? One more name means more competition. Even a Gryffindick could figure that one out. Besides, what are the chances it would pick you over all the other students entering? You probably won't be able to put a Compulsion on the parchment, he'll probably set up wards against charming the parchment, too."
Matt frowned. "Damn it, you're right." He pushed his plate away. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going to go study about Age Lines. See you in the dormitory." Matt got up from the table and strode out of the Hall, leaving Harry and Luna at the table.
A awkward silence ensued between them as they picked at their respective plates.
Harry knew he had been avoiding Luna since that hospital visit. He knew he had. She knew he knew he had. The simple problem was, he didn't know how to deal with Luna liking him. At least, he thought she liked him. Would she kiss him if she didn't like him? What if she was just thankful for the saving from the basilisk thing?
It was Harry's tendency to overthink things as such that led to his General uncomfortableness.
Plus, Luna was his friend. He couldn't honestly claim to have too many of those, he would easily admit. His respect was not easily gained and very easily lost. He would admit he was anti-social to the point of hermitry for days on end, likely due to the lack of attention he recieved as a child as his parents heaped it on Henry.
Harry was afraid of losing that. Of, if, he made the plunge and asked Luna if she liked him, if he told her that he liked her, that he might be totally wrong, she might not be his friend anymore. The thought of losing one of his very few friends actually pained him physically, sending a sharp pain lancing through his chest, making it feel tight, constricting.
Harry knew he was staring at her. He knew because she was staring right back.
"I've got homework to do." Harry mumbled, before pushing back his plate. Something flashed across her face. Anger. Frustration, perhaps.
"Now you wait just a minute, Harry Potter." She started, but Harry was making his way quickly out of the doors of the Great Hall.
He didn't hear them shut behind him for a little longer than what was usual.
He barely got to the corner of the corridor, before he was taken rather roughly by the shoulders, pressed up against a tapestry, and snogged rather thoroughly by a pair of cherry lips and a soft body pressed against his.
Harry wasn't exactly sure how long it lasted, only that he came away with his head spinning, staring into a pair of silvery eyes crinkled in amusement.
They both stared into eachother's eyes for what had to be a minute.
"This is the part where you ask me out, Mr. Genius." Luna prompted, a smirk tugging at the edges of her lips.
"Er, right, em, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" He asked heisitantly.
She replied by pecking him once more on the lips and smiling.
"Love to. This weekend."
"Right."
"Six'o'clock."
"Okay."
"Don't be late." A giggle escaped her lips. "Or I'll send the Nargles after you."
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't want to upset the Nargles...?" Harry ventured. She answered with a saucy smile, before letting go of the front of his robes and sauntering off. Harry watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared around the corner.
Harry slid down to his bottom against the wall, just as a lazy clapping filled the air. His head whipped around, to find Matt leaning against the wall, smirking cheekily. His eyes narrowed.
"Matt...!"
"Finally, dude. It's about time you grew a pair and asked her out. Merlin, even Cedric asked Cho out, finally, come the start of term."
"Matt, I'm warning you...!"
"You know, Cho actually did the same thing to Cedric, except she grabbed him by the balls and threatened to rip them off if he didn't man up and ask her out. Maybe Luna's waiting until after the date for that..."
"You will die a horrible and painful death if you don't shut the fuck up right now..." Harry growled.
"You know, I was actually kind of starting to wonder if you preferred a big fat 'D' in your 'A'-"
"Fecisio!" Harry snarled. A brown matter shot out of the end of Harry's wand and splattered the spot next to Matt's head, who jumped away.
"What the fuck is that? Shit!" Matt yelled. Harry grinned, a touch of insanity around the edges.
"Exactly. Fecisio!"
Matt screamed girlishly and ducked the large wad of crap, narrowly avoiding a blast of fecal matter. He took off at a dead run, as Harry chased in hot pursuit, shooting off more flying fudge-monkeys at the fleeing form of his friend.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I can't believe you."
"Mmhmm."
"You covered me in shit."
"Yep."
"I smell like shit."
"You do."
"I took like, ten baths. My wrinkly skin still smells like shit."
"It does."
Matt stood, glaring at Harry from across the room, who was very demurely drawing out a Arithmancy equation. Matt's prodigious scent could be smelt from across the room. Matt pointed one finger at Harry.
"I hate you."
"Mhmm."
"I will wreak my revenge."
"Have fun."
"I will ruin your date."
That one gave Harry a bit of pause. He shrugged it off, and answered in one word.
"...Luna."
Matt winced.
"Okay, maybe not. But I'll...I'll..."
"If I get rid of that stink, will you shut the fuck up?"
Matt looked upon Harry's form with puppy dog eyes, all previous animosity forgotten.
"You can do that?"
Harry responded by whipping out his bone white wand and pointing it carelessly at Matt's form.
"Odorous"
There was a whoosh of air, and Matt lifted one hand tentatively to his nose and gave a heisitant sniff. He grinned.
"It's gone. Good." Matt abruptly wrinkled his nose. "My robes still smell like shit, though."
"Deal with it. I'm not your fucking laudromat. Honestly, if you'd just play by the rules we set for insulting eachother..."
Rules. Matt frowned. That word, it struck something. Rules. Listen to the rules. Abruptly, a epiphany hit him like a hurricane. Matt sat up quickly on the couch he was previously lounging upon, his mind already whirling.
"Harry, you're a genius. I've got to go."
And Matt speeded out the door.
"Nice to see someone appreciates it." Harry muttered, to no one in particular.
Matt's head was already whirling.
Quickly, he scanned through the enourmous full volume of Enchanting the Soul, looking for something very specific. He had already all but memorized the few Parseltongue phrases he needed to get in the Chamber, and those needed to close it, too. They weren't that difficult.
"Conflagratory...combustion-protection...combustion-creation? Ooh, I am so doing that one later...Aha!"
His finger's quickly did the walking to the page required, and he read the details for the enchantment with a practiced eye.
"Right, let's see...damnit, they're mostly in Greek, I suck in Greek runes, looking those up is going to be SUCH a bitch...Yeah, yeah, regular wards, don't do this if yadda yadda yadda...Why the fuck would I even be reading this if I didn't know how to write a basic containment line? Stupid fucking tosser author..."
His eyes fell upon the core needed to preform the enchantment, and he grimaced.
"Fuck...Veela hair."
Veela hair was not for sale, unless you were deep in the black market of the wizarding world. Veela hair was so exceptionally rare because it could only be given willingly, by the Veela herself, and they very seldom gave hairs to anyone but lovers or family members.
Seeing as Matt was not a some smuggler, he had no earthly idea how teven get in contact with the black market, so he was flat out of luck.
He let out a enourmous sigh. It echoed in the large library.
He abruptly brightened.
"Well, there's always foraging locally...
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Excuse me ladies...?"
The several blue clad Beauxbatons girls turned, rather annoying several of the boys trying to get their attention. He could tell they had Veela blood, from their hair and the way there were several boys attending each of them at all times.
Matt thanked his lucky stars for his lessons in French and Japanese. Without them, he doubted he could have even gotten their attention.
He could feel them flexing their Veela auras, testing his resistance. He weathered them easily, having faced the likes of much worse than theirs.
If I'd have to guess, they're half and 3/4 Veela bloods..."I was wondering, could I bother one of you for a single hair on your head?"
Shocked and slightly scandalized looks appeared on some of their faces, and Matt feared he had DONE something wrong. He hastened to explain.
"You see, I am a aspiring enchanter, and I need one in one of my more...obscure, enchantings." Their faces turned to derision, and perhaps something of disgust? Matt schooled himself from cussing out their faces. One of the faces turned coy.
"Maybe you should ask Fleur, she gives out her hair rather recklessly, does she not, Marietta?" The imperious Half Veela asked her friend, and the whole gaggle of Veela erupted into giggles. Matt didn't even try to figure out why they were laughing. Probably some girl joke.
"Sure, whatever, where can I find her?" Matt asked. One of them pointed by the common room fire.
There was the girl Matt had pointed out when they had been stepping out of the carriage. She was hunched over a book, chewing on her full bottom lip thoughtfully. Matt quickly thanked the girl who told him (not sincerely, of course), and headed over.
As he fell out of range of their auras he walked into hers.
It was even weaker than theirs, but somewhat fluctuating. Not enrapturing, but almost hostile, as if it were telling you to get the fuck out of her breathing space before she made you do so, forcefully.
Not that she wasn't hauntingly beautiful in spite of it, of course. Silver blonde hair, not totally unlike Luna's, but more wavy and glossy, and longer, too, and blue eyes, like sapphires...
Matt shook himself out of his daze, realizing it was likely just her Veela aura sneaking up on him. Yeah, that was it.
"Excuse me, are you Fleur?" He asked. She looked up, almost cautiously.
"What of it?" She asked, a guarded look flashing across her face.
"Well, I'm trying to enchant a object, but I needed a Veela's hair, I was wondering if you could help me with that?" He asked hopefully.
Rage and shame flashed across her face, and the book clattered to the ground as she shot up from her seat. Matt flinched back slightly defensively. "The girls over there are the one's that said you gave them out!"
That did it.
She nailed him with a slap across his face that nearly unhinged his jaw, and the girls across the room erupted into laughter as she stalked out of the common room.
"What the fucking-?" Matt growled, wincing as he touched his sore cheek. He ran out after her.
She was pacing furiously in the hall. Matt walked up to her.
"Why the hell are you so fucking angry?" He asked, forgetting to switch to French in his annoyance.
Wrong move on his part. She grabbed him by the collar of his robes and slammed him against the stone wall with unnatural force, rattling one of the suits of armor nearby. There were unshed tears of anger in her eyes, and her face was red.
"Did Marietta put you up to that? Or Lucile? To insult me? To shame me so?" Fleur snarled. Matt shook his head so hard he nearly broke his neck.
"No, you crazy woman! I'm really a enchanter! Look!" Matt held up his right hand, pointing to the steel ring on it. He activated it, and the blue sheen of a Dueler's Shield shone over his hand. "I made that! All I was asking for was a hair for a project, and you nearly break my jaw!"
If anything, this seemed to piss the French girl off more. She grabbed one of her hairs, and yanked it out of her head. She practically shoved it down his throat and stalked down the corridor. "Here! Take the stupid hair, you bastard! And stay the fuck away from me!"
"Gladly! I hope someone bends over and pinches a loaf off in your mouth! MAYBE THAT'LL IMPROVE YOUR SHITTY ATTITUDE!" Matt yelled after her. He got no reply. "Crazy bitch..." Matt muttered. He held the one silvery blonde hair in front of him.
He then smiled.
"Now to enact my plan. 1000 Galleons, here I come!"
The three days had passed rather quickly, honestly. The Hall had always been very BUSY, considering the amount of seventeen year old students that were entering themselves.
Incidentally, the Hospital Wing was also very BUSY, on account of the amount of underage students who attacked the Line, some trying aging potions, others trying to just throw themselves far enough to get their paper in. None of them worked, and all of them ended up with the same thing. Long, white beards, and wrinkled skin.
Strangely, Matt never even touched the Line. He would sit off to the side, watching the students come and go, and write notes on a little notebook, and mutter to himself. Harry found it rather odd that he wasn't even looking for the runes that constituted the Line.
A few times, he would rip pieces of paper out of textbooks and throw them at the line, something Harry found rather odd. The odder thing was, that some of them caught fire and were incinerated as soon as they passed the line, and some of them weren't.
But Matt never actually crossed the line himself. Harry thought that Matt, given his temperment, would be practically trying to blast the Line right out of existance by now. Even when enchanting, he seldom wrote one array more than once, before copying it onto a piece of paper, so he wouldn't have to do it again. Matt was not the most patient of individuals.
Harry began to consider the possibility that Matt had given up. That, or gone crazy.
Well...crazy-er.
Matt, however, was the least of Harry's problems.
Moreover, Luna was.
What was Harry going to do, come tommorow? He had no fucking idea how to act on a date, or what to wear. The fact that he was actually putting forethought into the issue was testamount to how stressed he was.
It was a very good thing Matt couldn't read thoughts, or he'd piss himself laughing. The great Harry Potter, bested by a date to Hogsmeade. Oh, the shame. Harry would alternate between making contigency plans for things that had a very improbable chance of happening on a date, like a assasination attempt or a Death Eater attack, and kicking himself in the ass for having such a overactive fucking imagination.
One could say that Harry was lacking in social skills. That one would be right. He'd get punched in the fucking face, but he'd be right.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx
The night was very solemn. All the students sat quietly assembled, all practically quivering in anticipation of what was about to happen. Harry was rather interested in spite of himself, after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he'd be a fool not to enjoy the spectacle. Matt hadn't dropped a strange grin from his face ever since they walked in.
The Goblet of Fire was placed in front of the Head Table, with Dumbledore waiting in front of it. The blue-green flames flickered eerily in the dim.
Suddenly, the flames leaped high, to nearly twice their original height, and turned purple, like a magical whiskey shot had been dropped into it. A single piece of paper drifted down gently and was snatched out of the air by Dumbledore.
"The champion for Durmstrang will be...Viktor Krum!"
There was tumulous applause as the scowling Quiddich star stood up, before walking to the front of the room and heading behind the curtains. The applause died down like a cut throat as the purple flames reappeared.
Another single scrap of parchment floated down, and was caught by Dumbledore.
"The champion for Beauxbatons will be Miss Fleur Delacour!"
A tall, haughty girl stood up from among the French students sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Harry noted with amusement that many other girls were shooting her venemous glares and weeping, instead of joining in on the applause, which was considerably louder, likely on account of her considerable allure. The part-Veela bore it all like a queen, walking with her head held high towards the front, before disappearing right where Krum had.
Now, a very tense silence blanketed the Hall, as the most anticipated choice was awaited. Hogwarts was the home team, after all, in this little equation.
The purple flames roared up, even higher than before, before whipping a piece of parchment into the air, almost violently.
It was plucked out of the air. Dumbledore's face turned grave, unmistakable even in the poor lighting.
"Matthew Cooke."
Matt stood up, and walked up there, wearing the grin like the cat that ate the canary. He wasn't even trying to hide it; nay, he was broadcasting it on all channels. He had fooled Dumbledore's Age Line. And he had gotten picked because of it, too. There was no applause, only angry stares and narrowed eyes. From nearly every single Hogwarts student. Not a few Ravenclaws, most of the Slytherins were grinning at someone issuing such a slap to the face of Dumbledore, but most.
Matt was stopped by a hand on his shoulder by Dumbledore, but easily shouldered it off roughly and walked into the room.
Harry considered applauding, just to pound the nail further into the old coot's heart.
"Well then." Dumbledore began, breaking the tense silence, "That concludes-"
A near explosion from the Goblet halted him in his tracks. The purple fire billowed to the cieling, licking the artificial skylight and stone beneath.
Everyone's eyes were on the two papers that were left it's trail, fluttering gently down, like two gentle feathers. They turned on over and over and over again, until each one was deftly snatched by Dumbledore's wizened fingers.
He opened them, and Harry got a terrible sense of foreboding, the kind where your stomach drops like a rock straight into your toes. The kind where you're standing in a ABANDONED subway tunnel and suddenly you hear the train.
That kind.
"Henry and Harry Potter, would you please join me up here?"
And Harry thought-
Fuck.