Harry's first week at Hogwarts went by in a breeze.
Monday morning, Professor Sprout bounced her way into the greenhouse like a rabbit high on catnip, singing a cheery song about getting devoured by the lovely flora of Magical Britain. She then proceeded to hand out plants that tried their hardest to do as much physical damage as possible to the students.
"For this first lesson of NEWT Herbology, I have chosen something easy!" she chirped, looking way too pleased with everything, considering her class was getting eaten by greenery. "You'll just have to survive for two hours, as any gardener worthy of the title would. It builds character!"
Harry decided he didn't like Herbology.
The afternoon was pretty much more of the same, as Captain Hagrid introduced them to what seemed to be the most murderous agglutination of random monster body parts known to man.
"Blast-ended skrewts," he explained to the terrified students. "They're basically the cutest critters ye'll ever meet, arrrrr. Friendly, too!"
A particularly foul-tempered skrewt shot one of Malfoy's henchmen in the face, nearly killing him.
"Ah, they grow up so fast," Hagrid sighed, wiping tears made of seawater from his eyes.
As Harry had always been much more compatible with angry animals than with hungry vegetables, he ended up enjoying the lesson quite a lot.
On Tuesday, Harry strolled into the Charms classroom and did a double take when he correctly identified Professor Flitwick as part goblin. Harry couldn't help himself, he'd waited for this moment ever since he was twelve.
"MAY YOUR ENEMIES DIE HORRIBLY FOREVER," he overenthusiastically shouted in Flitwick's face. The diminutive professor gave him an unimpressed look.
"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek," he stated flatly. He lasted about five seconds before Harry's devastated expression became too much for him, his poker face melting off like a camembert in the sun as he succumbed to a laughing fit.
"Oh don't give me that look, Mister Potter," he wheezed, trying to compose himself, "I was just messing with you. However, it doesn't actually work on half-goblins like myself. You also have to be inside of a Gringotts building for optimal results."
I'll definitely have to make a trip to Diagon Alley during Christmas break, Harry thought, trying to contain his excitement.
During Transfiguration class, Harry shocked everyone by simply grabbing his teapot and dipping it into his magical core without bothering with wand movements or any such nonsense. When he pulled it back out, it had become a Galápagos tortoise.
"Well, this is highly irregular, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, wiggling her nostrils at him, "but I'll still grant you ten points for this display of creativity. Do be more careful in the future though, bad things happen to wizards who mess with Transfiguration."
Wednesday was focused on the Defensive Arts.
Unfortunately, the first lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts was a total disappointment to Harry. Professor Quirrell seemed competent enough, but he limited himself to rehashing the first year curriculum, which was way below a Prophecy Child's level. Harry wondered just how bad the previous teachers had been. No wonder Dumbledore split it into multiple classes, I guess we'll get actual NEWT level material with Moody...
The headaches he always got when Quirrell turned his back on him didn't improve anything either.
Harry expected the worst when Moody started his lesson with a demonstration of the Unforgivables, which were OWL level material. The professor being so creepily cheerful about torturing spiders also didn't do much to alleviate Harry's worries. Things got more interesting when the crazed ex-auror decided to test his student's reflexes and started by transfiguring Malfoy into a ferret and throwing him out the window.
Professor Lupin brought a boggart to his class. When Harry marched up to the creature, it transformed into Lupin and theatrically spread its arms.
"Today, we will unveil your biggest fear in front of everyone!" it declared.
The taciturn professor got very embarrassed at that and quickly banished the boggart. Joke was on him, Harry had merely pranked him by misleading the boggart with his advanced occlumency mindscape, thus hiding his true fear from the unsuspecting masses!
Potions class spanned the entire Thursday, with the morning lessons being devoted to field work in the form of ingredient gathering. Professor Slughorn proved to be much better at navigating the treacherous environment of the Forbidden Forest than Harry would have expected from a walrus, adroitly waddling his way through the undergrowth and scaring away a flock of peacefully grazing centaurs by baring his tusks at them.
The jolly pinniped lost Harry's respect that same afternoon, lingering around his desk for way too long and congratulating him on his upcomging marriages.
"Don't worry too much about the future, Mister Potter," he advised, "one should prioritise the present, no matter how little is left of it."
Whatever, you Dumbledore-advertising poser, Harry thought. He was a little creeped out when Slughorn also congratulated him on his upcoming execution.
Friday morning splotched Harry in the face like a drunk man's vomit projectile, as it was to be spent in the company of Professor Snape, who was out for blood.
"Potter!" he sneered, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"Draught of the Living Dead, sir," Harry answered with the lack of hesitation you'd expect from one who is truly knowledgeable about the Dark Arts.
"What a spectacular demonstration of intellect, Potter," Snape spat. "I'll grant you a whole point to Gryffindor for your erudition. But where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat, sir."
"Potter, you are impressing the shit out of me with your knowledge," Snape smirked. "This is worth another single point to Gryffindor. But you're not ready for my next one! What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They're the same plant, sir," Harry answered truthfully.
"I am positively pissing myself with excitement over here, Potter," Snape snarled. "That's worth yet another point. Your advancedness truly jumbles my jimmies."
"Professor," Harry injected, "I thought this was NEWT level Dark Arts and not first year Potions?"
"I'm taking all the points back for your cheek," Snape spittled. "Malfoy, what do you call a potion containment device?"
"A vial, sir," Malfoy replied.
"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape sneerlified.
"But siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir," Harry whined.
"Shut up, Potter, I'm making a point," Snape snorkelled.
Saturday morning, everyone gathered around the Goblet of Fire in the Great Hall.
"The champion for Beauxbatons will be... Fleur Delacouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur!" the Goblet sang in an operatic tenor, doing a daring pirouette on his cart.
There was no small amount of cheering as Fleur fought her way to the antechamber through drooling boys and angry rivals.
"The champion for Durmstrang will be... Viktor Kruuuuuuuuuuuuum!" the Goblet hollered, causing the windows to rattle.
"What the hell?" Ron shouted, almost inaudible among the thundering applause, "Why is he still in school?"
"I guess all the quidditching must have distracted him from his studies," Harry suggested. "This doesn't seem fair though, they're both above Hogwarts age. Is our champion gonna be one of your twin brothers or what?"
"Pffff, it will probably be Diggory," Hermione complained. "He's still here because of a prank they pulled on him, involving a timeturner and a vanishing cabinet."
"The champion for Hogwarts will be... Hermione Graaaaaaaaaanger!" the Goblet tenorated.
"OH HELL YES!" Hermione screamed.
"Wait, what?" Harry asked.
"I thought your birthday was on the nineteenth!" Ron rallied.
"That's my official human birthday," Hermione explained, "but I'm actually three weeks older than that. You don't want to know how members of our species are born, it's ridiculously complicated."
As she made her way to the antechamber, the Goblet performed a sequence of perplexing movements, not entirely dissimilar to the dance of a bee warning its comadres of an enemy hornet attack.
"The second champion for Hogwarts will be... Harry Potteeeeeeeeeeeeer!" he announced, causing the crowd to go wild.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry said, conjuring himself a wall and slamming his head against it, "I'll bet my biscuits this is somehow Dumbledore's fault."
That same evening, there was a big party in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had been told that his house had one every Saturday, but this one was bound to be particularly impressive, considering two Gryffindors had just been chosen as Tri-Wizard Champions.
The center of the common room had been made into an already well-populated dancefloor, with music playing from a magical jukebox. Seamus Finnigan was standing between two barrels of firewhiskey, selling drinks to everyone who looked old enough. Cormac McLaggen was occupying a stand at the northeastern corner of the room and selling motivational books written by himself. He was currently bragging to a group of fourth year boys about the many witches he'd apparently impressed with what he called his Masterfully Crafted Engine of Doom.
"...And So Will You," Harry could hear him advertise, "If You Follow These Seven Easy Steps! Buy My Amazing Advice Before It's Too Late! Only One Galleon Per Book!"
"Fuck yeah mate," Ron told Harry, "this is the best day of my life. I can't wait to leech all the collateral fame!"
"Our rivalry will be a show for the ages!" Hermione added.
"Indeed," Harry agreed, "I might as well roll with it. All Dumbledore achieved in the end was to offer me an opportunity to get even more popular. I'll crush him with my influence over the public!"
Soon after, they were accosted by a pair of familiar looking identical redheads.
"Look who it is!"
"The one and only Harry Potter!"
"Destroyer of demons!"
"Slayer of sasquatches!"
"Second champion of Hogwarts!"
"Who we most definitely haven't met before!"
"We are Gerd and Geerof," the left twin said.
"May we offer you some chocolate?" the right one asked.
"No thanks, you're Fred and George," Harry replied, unimpressed.
George popped one of his products into his mouth, causing his skin to turn bright yellow, with brown spots.
"No I'm not," he protested, "I'm a geerof, mooo!"
"Mate, you look like a banana," Ron deadpanned.
George ran away and into a wall, knocking himself out.
"Hmmm," Fred mused, "that one still needs some work."
"Why are you even still at Hogwarts?" Harry wondered. "Too much pranking, not enough studying?"
"I'll have you know that we already graduated, with excellent grades no less," Fred said. "We're just here during weekends, to sell our delicious confectionery! Although innovating is getting hard with all those pesky new regulations..."
His face was taken over by a wistful look.
"I still fondly remember Russian Roulette Caramels..."
"Do I want to know?" Harry asked.
"One piece per five thousand bags was a portkey into an active volcano," Fred sighed. "Those were the days..."
After spending two hours dancing and/or being accosted by crazed fans, Harry was dragged away from the dancefloor and into a quiet corner of the room by Hermione. Ginny was waiting for them.
"So, Harry," Hermione began, "have you already started investigating? I don't suppose you put your name in there yourself, what with your other distractions and all."
"Distraction being the keyword," Harry said. "This just has to be Dumbledore's doing. He already admitted he wanted to keep me busy."
"I can't believe that freak would use me of all people to kill you, Harry," Ginny ranted. She looked absolutely livid, going so far as to emit smoke from her ears. Harry gave her a questioning look.
"Oh don't look at me like that," she said irritatedly, "just because you're my hero and all doesn't mean I'm okay with a fucking marriage contract. Especially not that early, mum will never let me hear the end of it. She'll use it as an argument for me to start my housewife career as soon as I leave school or something. I need at least two decades of adventuring before I even consider that!"
"So you'll help with our dumblethwarting plans?" Harry asked with no small amount of relief.
"Damn right I will," Ginny confirmed. "That fucker is going dumbledown!"
"Excellent," Harry stated. "Moving on, I already found out who did it: it was Moody!"
"Huh?" Ginny asked. "Didn't you just say it was Dumbledore?"
"Oh come on," Hermione interjected, "everyone knows those two are thick as thieves. Moody probably did it on his behalf. I'm more interested in how you found out, Harry."
"I asked the Goblet. Moody apparently bribed him and then obliviated him after the champions were called out, but the Goblet of Fire is protected against harmful magic."
Hermione scrunched up her eyebrows.
"This doesn't make sense," she muttered. "The fact that the Goblet was on fire should have clued him in about the immunity, those weren't bluebell flames. I can't believe someone like Moody would make such an amateur mistake..."
"Something's definitely going on there," Harry agreed. "Further investigation seems unavoidable."
Before he went to sleep, Harry tried to contact The Uncle through their magical mirror, but he got the same message as most of the times when The Uncle wasn't physically present.
'You do not have access to other dimensions', what the fuck does that even mean? Why did he give me this thing if it's just bugging out nine times out of ten?
Then, he remembered he still hadn't checked the Marauder's Map he'd gotten from the twins. After activating it, his seeker's intuition immediately led his attention to a dot labelled Quirrellmort.
Well, that's not suspicious at all, is it, he thought. The plot pile-up thickens...