AN: There are a lot of italicized text in this chapter. I tried to go through and fix all the messed up spaces, but I'm not sure I got them all. Sorry.

Also, again, this chapter features French dialog, via google translate. It's probably wrong, or just awkward. Any native French Speakers are welcome to send me the exact corrections to make, and I'll replace the text.

Chapter 7 – When Tournaments Attack

Harry skipped dinner that night. His grandfather had portkeyed back to France already, and he had spent part of the early evening wandering the grounds aimlessly, and then sitting up in his dorm room at his window, lightly petting the feathers behind Hedwig's neck. He was just staring out into the midnight blue sky, mulling things over in his mind, and debating whether or not he should tell anyone what he'd learned that day.

He honestly wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know at all. It was just so huge.

A piece of Voldemort's soul was inside his head.

He was destined to be the only person who could make Voldemort mortal.

Kill or be killed. If the prophecy was to be believed, Harry himself was supposed to kill Voldemort. He didn't know how he felt about that. He... he didn't want to be a killer. But this was Voldemort. The man that had single-handedly destroyed Harry's life. The man who had killed his parents and taken everything from him.

Of course, Dumbledore had been the one who had single-handedly deprived Harry of a chance at a happy childhood, and Harry wasn't about to forget that fact either.

Despite all of his misgivings about telling anyone, he didn't think he could stand to keep something this huge a secret, all to himself. He needed someone that he could confide in, or he'd go mad.

Dumbledore had asked him to keep it a secret. He'd said it was imperative that it not get out to anyone, that they knew that Voldemort had horcruxes or that they were going to search for them and destroy them. And above all else, it had to remain a secret that Harry wasone.

Harry rather agreed with that last bit, honestly. He could still remember the sharp hurt that he'd experienced when he'd been shunned by the majority of the school's population in his second year when everyone was convinced he was the heir of Slytherin. If people knew that he had a bit of Voldemort's soul in him... He shuddered at the thought. He really didn't want to try and imagine it.

So... secret then. But maybe he could tell Ron and Hermione a little bit of it. That there really was a prophecy that had lead Voldemort to come after Harry and try to kill him.

It was amazing how small the whole Prophecy thing seemed in light of the other revelations.

He ended up going to bed early and laying there with his hangings drawn, pretending to be asleep when Ron came up to look for him later.

– –

Harry did finally speak with Ron and Hermione on Sunday, and he told them a few bits and pieces, but none of the really substantial, and far more sensitive, discoveries. It was enough to give them some reasoning behind Harry's serious downturn in mood, but not enough to get them worrying about him being taken over by shards of Dark Lord soul.

Maybe it really would be best to just put the whole mess out of his mind for a while, Harry thought while lying in bed Sunday night. After all, Voldemort was still little more than a floating spirit or something at this point – right? None of this was really relevant until the monster managed to resurrect himself. And according to Dumbledore's theory, Harry's mysterious ability to just find these other horcrux things wouldn't even be accessible until the protective magic disappeared on it's own, after he turned seventeen. So, if the prophecy followed along with that, maybe Voldemort wouldn't even be coming back until after that?

He could have years before he had to really worry about any of this! Years, where his grandfather could work with the rest of the family to research and find some other way to get him out of his mess.

It was with this thought that he finally managed to get himself to sleep.

– –

The fact that school and life in general went on as normal – as if the world hadn't suddenly been turned up side down and inside out – was probably one of the few things that helped Harry cope with his new understanding of his theoretical 'fate', and the reality of what he was carrying around in his head with him.

Classes resumed, and with them, homework, studying, and general school life. Harry, of course, also continued on with writing letters to his family members, and while it was eventually made obvious which members of Harry's family had been made in-the-know about what had been revealed by Dumbledore, the topic was not exactly broached in letters. It was just to sensitive a subject matter to risk through owl post.

Sirius knew of course, and was equally furious with Dumbledore as anyone else. Harry and Sirius had spoken only a few days after Harry's grandfather's visit, via Sirius' mirror, and Sirius had grimly wondered if Dumbledore had intentionally allowed him to rot in Azkaban, just to guarantee there weren't any attempts at taking Harry away from his awful aunt Petunia.

Legally, as decreed by the Potter's will, Sirius should have gotten custody of Harry. But he wasn't a blood relative of Lily's and Dumbledore's statement that Harry could not have gone to Sirius, no matter what, left both he and Harry feeling bitter, angry, and rather suspicious. Sirius had come to the determination that Dumbledore was probably very very good at lying directly to a person's face, if not called out on his deceptions.

Speaking of being suspicious and paranoid – While most of Harry's classes were basically the same as they'd been the year prior, with one notable exception. Defense Against the Dark Arts. This year, like all years before, Harry once again had a new professor for the subject. This time it was a grizzled and scarred ex-auror named Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Harry was still torn between the opinion that the man was brilliant, or absolutely insane.

He was a very different teacher than Lupin had been, but he was still pretty good at it – if a bit extreme. At least he wasn't a fraud like Lockheart, or a stuttering mess, with Voldemort growing out of the back of his head.

Harry's Ancient Runes class was basically smooth sailing. Over the summer, Harry's Aunt Lucienne had come to visit the Chateaux several times, and worked with Harry on the family spells used to learn dead languages, without the advantage of the emersion he'd gotten when learning French. Ancient Runes, as a class, was about memorizing the runic alphabets used in a slew of 'dead' languages from around Britain and Europe. Each of the alphabets had phonetical sounds associated with them, but they also had meanings and symbology around the runes as well, and it was mostly that, that they memorized in the class.

Learning how to speak and read the languages associated with the various rune alphabets was an incredible boon to anyone who seriously wanted to work with runes – but there was just so many of them, that it was hardly expected of anyone in school to accomplish it. If anything, they were expected to pick one of the major ones and focus their efforts on just that one, and see how far they could go by seventh year.

Harry had focused on learning two of them that summer, and considered himself surprisingly successful. At this point, he'd become nearly fluent in proto-Norse, and proto-German, both of which relied on the writing system of Elder-Futhark. And while he was still a little shaky on his pronunciation, he could at least read and write in both languages smoothly enough that he could actually read some of the text in the family library written in them. It was thrilling. It was like a whole knew world of ancient and nearly forgotten knowledge had been opened up to him. The number of people in the world who could actually read these books was so small, they could probably all be in a large room together and not be all that crowded.

But then he had wondered, if it had been so easy for him to learn these two languages, why weren't more people doing it that way?

As it turned out, his family's linguistic magics were apparently nearly unprecedented. There were no publicly published spells for people to quickly and easily learn languages by magic. When Harry had asked why the family didn't offer up the one that they'd let him use, he was informed that they wouldn't actually work for anyone who was not of their blood line. They were designed by an ancestor, only to work for his descendants.

It was also pointed out to him that Uncle Crestian's wife, and Aunt Lucienne's husband, only spoke French, and not English or anything else – as they couldn't use the linguistic spells because they weren't blood relatives – they married into the family. Their children did carry the family blood, and as such, could use the family magics just fine; but not them.

Harry's plan for his Runes class was to attempt to learn Old Frisian next, along with Old Norse. Then move onto Old English, and finally Middle English. Working his way up to Younger Futhark and the Anglo-Saxon furorc alphabets.

In his ancient Runes class, they were still mostly focused on Elder Futhark, which had been why he'd focused on the older languages first. With his new ability to so easily read the languages used with the runes, he was flying along in the class, and enjoying it quite a bit more than he would have expected.

He'd continued to sit with Hermione, of course, but he often found himself glancing over towards the other side of the classroom where Malfoy always sat with Parkinson and Zabini. Sometimes he'd even catch Malfoy's eye, and the blond would nod his head the slightest bit in acknowledgment of their eyes having met. But nothing more.

Harry really knew he shouldn't expect anything else. After all, what else could he expect? They certainly weren't going to suddenly sit by each other, when they never had before. What would people think? They weren't exactly known as mortal enemies anymore, but they were still a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, and anyone in their year remembered the animosity that had existed between the two at one point.

Besides... if they did sit beside each other... what would they even do?

"Hey, where are you going? We've got Runes," Harry asked in confusion as Hermione started to head off in the direction of the Hospital Wing instead of the Runes Corridor.

"Harry, weren't you listening to me at all during breakfast?" Hermione said exasperated.

Harry blinked before ducking his head and shrugging. He'd been a bit distracted, honestly. "Er..."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Look, it was even posted on the announcement board up in Gryffindor Common Room. All fourth year girls have to attend a special class with Madam Pomfrey today, and so we've got a pass from whatever class we would normally have at this time."

Harry looked at her blankly again. "A special class with Madam Pomfrey?What for?"

Hermione looked even more exasperated now.

"If you really must know, she's going to be teaching us contraceptive spells. Alright?"

It took Harry's brain several seconds to register what 'Contraceptive Spells' actually meant, before he flushed bright read and sputtered. "Er, right. Sorry I asked."

Hermione just shook her head and resumed her path to the hospital wing.

Harry entered Ancient Runes to find the class mostly empty. He hadn't really realized before just how many girls were in it before this point. He found a seat in the middle of the third row and started to dig out his class supplies. A minute later he heard the telltale scuffing sounds of someone pulling the chair to the desk to his left out and sitting down. Harry lifted his head from where it had been buried in his bag and blinked in surprise at the sight of Draco Malfoy sitting beside him and pulling out his own work materials.

Zabini was standing to Malfoy's left, looking somewhat bewildered before he just shrugged and sat down on Malfoy's other side.

Harry paused, unsure how to proceed for a moment, but once Malfoy had his textbook, rune dictionary, parchment, and supplies out on his desk, and his rucksack set back on the floor beside his seat, Harry decided that this opportunity would come by again.

"Hey," He said, shuffling with his notes.

Malfoy looked over and the corner of his mouth turned up into a small smirk. "Hey," he echoed with a tinge of amusement.

Harry looked back at his desk, grinning for some irrational reason.

"So, is the lack of Quidditch driving you as crazy as it is me?" Malfoy asked calmly the next moment, drawing Harry's attention back to him.

"Ugh, tell me about it," Harry said in a commiserating grouse. "Everyone is all 'triwizard tournament'-this, and 'triwizard tournament'-that. I'd take Quidditch any day over some stupid tournament that only one suicidal student is going to get picked to play in."

"Exactly. I don't see why we can't still have Quidditch," Malfoy drawled. "It's not like it would really interfere with the stupid tournament. There's only supposed to be three events held for this tournament all year, and we could easily schedule our matches around them. It's just outrageous."

Professor Babbling came in a moment later and called the class to order. Seeing as how more than half the students were absent for the day, she decided to not bother attempting to introduce anything new that day, and instead set them to review, translating passages from their books, instead.

"Hey, Draco," Zabini said quietly some time later and Harry' glanced over out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah?" Malfoy replied, not looking up from his own notes as he continued writing.

"What's this mean?"

Malfoy made a quiet resigned sort of huff and set his quill down. He turned and looked at Zabini expectantly. "What does what mean?"

"This here," Zabini said, pointing in the textbook. Malfoy peered at it for a moment and Harry found himself watching the whole thing out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy's lower lip was pouting out as he read the passage and Harry hand to blink to break his gaze from it.

Weird.

"Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't quite gotten that far yet," Malfoy said with a sigh. "It'll probably take me a few minutes to cross reference the runes and check my proto-norse dictionary. I hate proto-norse. Old norse is bad enough, but this stuff..." he made a sort of frustrated huffing noise.

"Which part?" Harry asked and both Slytherins looked over at him. Malfoy with a look of blank curiosity, and Zabini with an expression of pointed scorn.

"Page sixty-seven, the passage to translate right under the illustration," Malfoy replied.

Harry looked down at his own textbook and then flipped back a few pages to the one they were asking about.

"Oh yeah, I'm past this already. Which part was giving you trouble?" Harry asked, looking back up.

Zabini's brows raised slightly for a moment before he looked back down. "The part where it's talking about the different contextual uses of ingaz and um... ehwaz. And what's the deal with sowilo in the this second part?"

"Oh, it's simple. Okay, basically –" and Harry went on to work with the two Slytherins for the rest of the class. Zabini had been hesitant and rather chilly towards Harry for the first several minutes, but after a bit, his desire for help with his worse subject, combined with the fact that Malfoy was being perfectly genial to Harry, led to a thawing of his attitude.

"Wait, wait – Potter, did you just read that passage, bare? You weren't looking off your notes," Zabini said with dawning realization after about twenty minutes of working in a group of three.

"Hmm? Oh yeah. I can read proto-norse pretty well. It's why I'm so much further ahead than you two are. It's loads faster if you can actually read it, rather than having to look up every other word in the dictionaries."

"How can you possibly read proto-norse?" Zabini exclaimed. "No one actually reads proto-norse!" Malfoy looked pretty stunned too, honestly.

"My aunt taught me over the summer," Harry said shrugging and looking away while picking at the edge of his parchment of notes.

"You can't learn proto-norse over a single summer," Zabini said in a flat, disbelieving tone.

"You can if you use magic," Harry said pointedly, and finally looking up to glare at Zabini.

"There's no magic that can help you just learn a language," Zabini retorted.

"My family knows some that can. But it's family magic and won't work on anyone who doesn't share our bloodline. We have a whole Grimoire of family linguistic spells. I actually got to see it once this summer when we visited the... er, one of the family's main homes."

"Family? I thought you were an orphan," Zabini retorted, giving Harry a scrutinizing look.

"It turns out that my mother wasn't a muggleborn. She was raised by two muggle parents, and they did die in her sixth year, but her real father was a wizard. Her mother had an affair with him and kept it secret, even from my mum until her real father contacted her in her 4th year at Hogwarts. But she still kept it secret from people. He contacted me a couple years ago and got custody of me so I wouldn't have to live with my mum's muggle half-sister any more. I've been with he and his family for two summers now. Draco can tell you all about it, actually."

Malfoy's head shot up, wide-eyed and looked at Harry in shock. Zabini's eyes widened and he looked over at Malfoy for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Yeah Draco. Tell me about it."

Malfoy hesitated and looked over at Harry curiously. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded his head. "Yeah. I... I don't like the idea of you having some magical oath hanging over your head. Magical oaths and agreements and stuff seem to be a bigger deal than I really realized before. Do I have to say anything to get rid of it?"

"Um, well what you've said already is probably enough, but you could make sure and just say something like, 'Draco Malfoy, I release you from your oath of secrecy', or something along those lines."

Harry nodded his head. "Draco Malfoy, I release you from the magical oath of secrecy that you promised me last spring. You don't have to keep it secret anymore. Okay?"

Malfoy gave him a small smile and nodded.

"Wait – what magical oath?" Zabini asked.

"When I told Malfoy about my family last spring, he made me an oath that he'd keep it a secret. But I'm not hiding it anymore. Dumbledore has apparently known all along, so whats the point in keeping it secret?"

"He's known?" Malfoy exclaimed.

Harry snorted bitterly. "Yeah. Apparently he's known since the moment my aunt signed me over to my grandfather."

"So how come he never confronted you about it?" Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "It's complicated. I can't really get into it."

Malfoy nodded his head slowly, but Zabini was just looking between the two of them curiously.

"Wait, so how long have you two been buddy-buddy enough to call each other by first names and share secret oaths?"

"First names?"

"Yeah, you called him Draco," Zabini drawled.

Harry blinked. "Did I?"

"I don't mind," Malfoy said nonchalantly as he looked away. Harry looked over at him curiously and after a moment Malfoy looked back and his face was passive and bored, but something in his eyes seemed to appear fragile and uncertain. Harry felt a small smile curling his lips up.

"Me neither. I mean... if you wanted to call me Harry, I wouldn't mind."

Another small smile appeared on Draco's lips and he gave Harry a short nod.

Zabini's brows had raised considerably into his forehead, but he wisely remained silent.

"So your family really has a grimoire of language magic?" Draco asked after a few moments of silence had passed to the point of awkwardness.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it's brilliant. That's how I learned French as fast as I did."

"I had wondered about that. Is this related to all that talking to animals stuff? Or is that something completely different?"

"It's part of it, actually," Harry said.

"Talking to animals?" Zabini asked.

"Harry can speak to equines as well as snakes," Draco replied easily. "You said you had a cousin that could talk to dogs or something, right? She had a pet crup she used to talk to?"

Harry chuckled and nodded. "Yup. And I've got another that can talk to marmots, and one that can talk to songbirds."

"Wait – you can talk to equines? Like horses?" Zabini asked.

"Yup," Harry answered. "But also magical creatures that are even part-horse, so I can even speak with Hippogriffs."

"Aren't they more bird than horse?"

"They're a magical hybrid – half and half. Half horse, half eagle," Harry said with a shrug. "But it's enough, apparently. I can talk to thestrals too."

"So... then your parseltongue thing is a family trait? Does this mean you really have nothing to do with Slytherin's line, after all?" Zabini asked.

Draco snorted. "Are you kidding? Harry Potter, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin?" he asked incredulously. "Besides, if he'd been from the Slytherin line, he would have been sorted into Slytherin house, and that never would have happened."

"Actually..." Harry started hesitantly before clamping his mouth shut.

Both boys were looking at him curiously now, though.

"Actually..?" Draco asked in a leading tone.

Harry chewed on his lower lip, realizing that he'd never actually admitted this to anyone but Dumbledore. Finally he just blew out a breath and shrugged to himself.

"Well, as it just so happens, when I was being sorted back at the start of first year, the Hat sort of... wanted me in Slytherin," he said the last bit rather quickly and cringed slightly.

Both of the other boys gaped at him in various degrees of disbelief.

"If the hat wanted you in Slytherin, then why are you a Gryffindor?" Zabini asked, skepticallly.

"I argued with it," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "I just kept begging it 'Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. Anywhere but Slytherin.' So it put me in Gryffindor."

Draco looked affronted. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Harry looked down at his desk now and shrugged. "I was raised by muggles, you know... and I never knew about magic and Hogwarts or anything until about one month before school started. I didn't exactly get a lot of exposure to anything magical during that time either. I'd only met Hagrid, and then there were the people I met on the train."

"And you sat in a compartment with Weasley," Draco said with a sneer. "I bet he spent the whole train ride going on about how evil and slimy Slytherin's were."

"You weren't exactly motivation to join up either, you know," Harry said, pointedly and glaring mildly at Draco. "Honestly... I mean, the fact that Hagrid had said that Voldemort –" Zabini gasped and flinched; Draco's face slackened a bit, but he mostly restrained his reaction, "–had been in Slytherin, and then went on about how 'there wasn't a single witch or wizard that went bad that didn't come out of Slytherin' – that did stick with me. And I was pretty horrified that anyone might freak out over the idea of me being sorted there. And Ron definitely had some choice words in regards to the house as well, but the crux of me asking the hat to sort me somewhere else was because you had already been sorted there, and I didn't want to be in the same house as the stuck-up boy who had been such a git both of the times I'd seen you."

"In what way was I a git to you at Madam Malkins?" Draco retorted defensively.

Harry just sighed. "I just... you reminded me of my cousin. All superior and haughty, and you made me feel like an idiot for not knowing what Quidditch was, and you insulted Hagrid and he was my first friend. He rescued me from my relatives, when they tried to make a run for it when my Hogwarts letter showed up. And on the train you insulted Ron, who was the first friend I'd ever made that was my own age."

"You never had a friend until you met Ron Weasley?" Zabini asked incredulously.

"My cousin always scared away anyone who tried to befriend me. He was a bully and a grade-A arsehole. Told everyone I was a freak and if they got too close, I'd contaminate them with my 'freakishness'. He made my life miserable."

"And I reminded you of him?" Draco asked quietly with a closed off expression.

"Back then – yeah. I guess it's why we started off so bad. You reminded me of someone I hated, so I hated you too. And I guess that wasn't entirely fair, but you werea git to Ron on the train."

"Like he doesn't give back as good as he gets!" Draco scoffed defensively.

Harry shrugged. "Look, whatever there is between you and Ron, it's between you and Ron. That's what I've decided. But he's still my best mate. I have to stand by him."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"So how did this thing between you two happen?" Zabini asked, making a gesture between Harry and Draco.

"I guess it stems back to Harry here saving me from that ruddy Hippogriff at the start of last year," Draco mused quietly.

"And then, Draco saved me from falling to my death in that Quidditch match where the Dementors swarmed me."

Draco seemed to shudder slightly at the memory.

"I heard that something happened at the end of term last year," Zabini mentioned casually. "Something to do with Professor Lupin turning out to be a werewolf, and Draco leaving school early."

"Potter saved me from a giant dog that attacked me, and then after Lupin transformed, Harry distracted the werewolf long enough for me to get away, even though I was wounded."

"You distracted a werewolf?" Zabini asked, incredulously, gaping at Harry. "Are you suicidal?"

"Gentlemen? Are you intending to spend the remainder of class gossiping, or are you actually going to use this time to get some work done?" Professor Babbling said in a pointed voice as she came over from behind and glared down at them all.

"My apologies, Professor," Draco said, giving her an innocent smile, that Zabini echoed a moment later. Harry ducked his head slightly and looked guilty.

After that the group managed to get back to their work, and Harry continued to help the two Slytherins out where they needed it. Draco was actually pretty good at the subject, but he didn't have Harry's near-fluency, so he it still took him longer than Harry to complete the work. Zabini openly confessed that this was his worst subject, and he had been sorely tempted to drop it, but his mother would never have permitted such a thing. Professor Babbling kept a closer eye on them, but since they were now talking about class work, she let them be.

– –

"Today I got a special treat for ye," Hagrid said in a jolly voice as the class finished gathering out on the school grounds. It was the third week in October and it was starting to get pretty darn cold, so everyone was bundled up in their scarfs and heavy cloaks. Not many looked particularly interested in whatever Hagrid's 'special treat' was. Harry, however, was grinning quite widely in anticipation, as he already knew.

Draco glanced over at him and noticed the look. He raised a single questioning eyebrow at Harry, but that just got him a smirk and a wink. If anything, Draco's brows raised higher at that.

"Now follow meh, ev'rone. Come on now, this way. We're headin' over to the southern paddocks," Hagrid called out and several of the students groaned and rubbed their hands together, blowing on them and trying to keep warm. The class moved as a group, most huddling together for heat, as they made their way over to the paddock nearest the forest.

"Now, I want everyone to stand back and try teh be as quiet as yeh can. Dun wanna spook the mother none," Hagrid said in a quieter voice as they reached the fence and everyone spread out along it to try and get a look at whatever insanely dangerous beast Hagrid had for them today.

Quiet but excited Ooo's and Awe's instantly broke out among the girls as they finally laid their eyes on the baby Pegasus that was presently curled up on the ground in the hay beside it's mother. The attention seemed to have caught it's notice because the tiny winged-foal wobbled its way onto his feet and cocked its head to the side, observing them all curiously. The mother seemed to bristle with protective instinct and made some snuffing noises and stamped her foot.

"Alright everyone. Quiet down and listen up. I dun wanna have to talk too loud and spook 'er. Now this here little fella is a mix between a Granian and an Aethonan – those are breeds of winged-horses, as yeh should know. It's in yer books. The Aethonan's are usually chestnut in color and are local to Britain and Ireland, a course. The Granian's are gray, like this here foal and her mum, and are usually found more around Swedan an' Norway an' that sort'a area. I had me a pair of Aethonans, actually, but the mare didn't want nothin' teh do with the stallion. I managed to trade her out for this lovely lady here. This mare is named Kertr, but we ain't named the foal yet."

More 'awes' ensued from the girls.

"Can we help name it?" someone asked, and the notion was seconded by several others.

"I was actually gonna give the 'onor ah namin' 'im to the one tha helped me birth 'im. But yeh can feel free to give 'im your suggestions."

"Who helped birth him?" Seamus asked.

"Why, Harry did!" Hagrid exclaimed with a big grin on his face. All eyes turned to Harry who ducked his head and grinned sheepishly.

"Harry?"

"Potter?"

Several surprised and incredulous exclamations floated about at this proclamation.

"Aye, Harry was a great help. I rather doubt tha' Kertr would'a let me anywhere near 'er if it weren't fer Harry here. She's a right testy one. Got a lot of pride, and she's stubborn. Harry talked her down though, and she finally let me help her."

"Why would Potter be any help with birthing a Pegasus!" Nott from Slytherin sneered.

"Why b'cause he's a horse whisper, he is! Didn'ya know tha?" Hagrid said.

Again, all eyes went back to Harry, now both incredulous and curious.

"Prove it," Nott demanded.

Draco turned and glared at the boy, which apparently confused him because Nott deflated some and frowned in apparent bewilderment.

Harry just rolled his eyes and pushed his way to the fence and without even a moment's hesitation, he hopped over it and onto the other side, earning him a few gasps from some of the girls.

The mare – who really was quite enormous up close – looked up and snuffed once, watching Harry closely as he approached. The people who were the closest to the fence at this point could swear it sounded as if Harry were whispering, very quietly. They strained their ears in an attempt to make out whatever it was he was saying, but no matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't hear him.

The mare bobbed her head and made a few more snuffling sounds before bowing her head down and nudging at her little foal. The little horse's attention seemed transfixed on Harry and as soon as it was apparent that the mare had given her permission, Harry crouched down beside the foal and reached out his hand to run his fingers through his short, messy mane. Harry grinned, leaned in, and seemed to be whispering some more.

The little foal gave a chipper sounding whinny and attempted to flap his feathered wings.

Harry turned over his shoulder, looking back at Hagrid. "I'm going to renew the warming charm around this part of the paddock. It's starting to wear off and he's getting cold."

"A'right, Harry. Tha's probably a good idea anyway. It's getting mighty chilly."

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand slowly, whispering to the mare the whole time. She snuffed loudly a few times before bobbing her head, at which point Harry made a sweeping motion with his wand and set an area renewed heating charm in place.

"That doesn't prove anything," Theodore Nott muttered darkly and Draco shot him another scathing glare.

"Kertr says she'll let the students pet her nose and neck from the fence," Harry said as he finished with his charm and turned back to face the class. "But she doesn't want anyone touching the foal. She doesn't want too much human stink on him," Harry added with an amused chuckle.

He turned back and seemed to whisper to the horse again and she trotted over to the fence and stood along the side of it, holding her head up high and mighty, like the proud beast she was. Harry grinned at her and crouched back down to feed a carrot to the foal.

The students all crowded around the huge winged horse, cooing and murmuring their appreciation for her as they reached over the top of the fence and ran their fingers through her mane and along her back and nose.

Once it was obvious that Kertr was done with show and tell, she huffed noisily and trotted back over to stand beside her still-wobbly foal. Harry jumped back over the fence and stood beside Hagrid.

"A'right, now we're gonna talk about the birth'n process!" Hagrid beamed, Harry chuckled, and several of the students looked skeptical or just plain green at the prospect.

"You really got to help the horse give birth?" Draco said quietly from somewhere behind Harry, causing him to turn and look slightly over his shoulder and smirk.

"I did," he replied. Most of the class were in groups, in various stations around the stable working on an assignment, while Harry was standing closer to the front gate while Hagrid did rounds and answered questions.

"You're life is far too exciting. Don't you get tired of it?" Draco said airily.

Harry laughed and shrugged. "Sometimes. Most of the time, I'm just bored or doing homework just like everyone else. My life isn't all that unusual... most of the time."

"Yeah, it's the rest of the time that stands out though. Fighting werewolves, being attacked by dementors, and, oh yeah – assisting a rare, magical, winged horse give birth," Draco drawled sarcastically.

"I've been helping Hagrid out with stuff since last year. This actually isn't the first time I've helped birth something. I was pretty freaked out the first time Hagrid asked for help, but it's actually really brilliant, once you get over the ick-factor."

"Really?" Draco asked both excited and shocked. "What else did you help birth?"

"A thestral. Now that was weird... and difficult."

"A Thestral? Aren't they cursed? They're bad omens," Draco said, shaking his head and looking very wide-eyed.

Harry scoffed. "That's just superstitious nonsense. They're brilliant creatures."

"Can you see them?"

"That's what was the difficult part. I can't see them so... well, it's mostly by sound and by touch."

"You really can't see them? Huh... I thought –" Draco started, but cut himself off and looked apologetic, suddenly.

"Yeah, I would have thought so too," Harry said, giving him a small smile that told the blond he wasn't upset at all. "But it's not like I really remember seeing my mum killed. I'm not sure if I was even looking right at her when it happened – and if you aren't looking right at the person when they die, it doesn't count, or something."

"Oh. Huh."

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug.

"You really helped birth a Thestral?" Draco said incredulously after a few moments of silence, and Harry laughed.

– –

Ron stormed into the Gryffindor Common Room looking red in the face and rather furious. He stood still for all of one second before he spotted Hermione sitting near the fireplace with a book in her lap and stomped over to her.

"Do you have any idea where Harry is!" he asked her in a rather incredulous, rhetorical tone.

Hermione heaved a small sigh and slowly closed the book in her lap and looked up at Ron. "No, but I'm assuming you're about to tell me."

"He's in the library!"

Hermione blinked at him. "Okay... So?"

"He's there with Slytherins!"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Slytherins?"

"Yeah! Malfoy and that Zabini guy!"

"What? Why? What were they doing?"

"I don't know! Harry said something about Runes," Ron grumbled as he threw himself down into the chair beside Hermione. "Said that Zabini asked him for help or something, and Malfoy came along. I mean, what the hell? What do you think they're up to? You'd think Harry would know better! It's got to be a trap, or a trick or something! But when I tried to drag him out of there he just got all annoyed with me! And I was just trying to help him out and give him an excuse to get away from those slimey gits, and he got angry! With me!"

"Well, did it ever occur to you, Ron, that maybe Harry wants to be there?" Hermione offered up hesitantly.

"What! Why would he! He hates Slytherins!"

Hermione just gave him a flat look and cocked a single brow at him.

"What?" Ron said, defensively.

"First off Ron, I think it's you who universally hates all Slytherins. Granted, Harry certainly seemed to follow along with you first and second year, but I think he's starting to see them more as individual people and not just the all-encompassing label of 'Evil Slytherins', like you do. I mean – have you seriously forgotten what happened on the train to school? Or what happened with Malfoy last spring with Professor Lupin and Si–Padfoot? Malfoy seemed legitimately worried about Harry, you know. He refused to leave him in danger, and they apparently exchanged letters over the summer. I don't think that Harry hates Malfoy anymore. And maybe Zabini really did need Harry's help. Harry's really brilliant in Runes."

Ron blinked dumbly for several seconds before he apparently remembered and his scowl deepened.

"I still say it's just some sort of trick! That's all just stupid. What the heck is wrong with Harry, huh? He should know better. I don't care what anyone says, Malfoy can't be trusted. And he's willingly hanging out with Malfoy of all people! Here I thought it was just temporary insanity on the train, but now he's studying with the slimy git."

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh and re-opened her book, pointedly ignoring Ron as he continued his rant."

– –

October 30th rolled around and a sizable portion of the student body gathered outside and watched as a great flying carriage arrived, being drawn by a group of Abraxan winged-horses. Harry watched the Pegasuses in wonder as they flew through the air with powerful grace and came in for a magically gentle landing on the Hogwarts grounds. Once the carriage had come to a full stop, the door opened and out stepped a truly enormous woman, who Harry recognized as the Beauxbaton's Headmistress, Madame Maxime.

She greeted Dumbledore, and left instructions for the horses to be properly taken care of before calling back into the carriage and leading a group of shivering, under-dressed, students out and up towards the school. Harry heard some snickers from those observing, in regards to the Beauxbaton's school uniform, but Harry mostly just pitied them for their thin, lightweight silk cloaks. There was a significant difference between late October in Southern France, and late October in Northern Scotland.

"'Arry!"

Harry turned his head and blinked in shock for a second before a wide smile spread across his face. "Fleur!" he exclaimed as a tall, thin, and very shapely Beauxbaton's girl came rushing out of the group and greeted him with a friendly hug. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici? Ne me dis pas que tu veux sérieusement entrer
dans ce tournoi ridicule?"

*/'What are you doing here? Don't tell me that you're seriously going to enter this ridiculous tournament?' Harry asked in surprise.

'But of course I am! At least, I'm putting my name in for the running,' she said with a smirk.

'But why! It's suicide!'Harry exclaimed incredulously, shaking his head.

'I have my reasons,' she replied simply and tilted her chin up into the air defiantly.

Harry just sighed and gave her a soft smile.

'Well, it's great to see you again. I'd wish you luck, but I'd feel a lot better if you weren't aiming to participate in a deadly tournament.'

"H-h-h-ha –"

Harry blinked and turned to look over his shoulder where Ron and Hermione were standing. Ron's mouth was hanging open like some sort of dead fish, and his eyes were glazed over.

"Ron?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Har-ha-ha-ha..." Ron continued to stutter as he looked at Fleur with wide, dilated eyes.

Hermione slowly began to scowl as she turned and looked at Ron incredulously. Quickly the scowl shifted into full-fledged glaring and folding her arms across her chest.

Harry turned and looked back at Fleur, cocking a single eyebrow. 'Surely at age seventeen you've got better control over your Allure than this?' He said to her in French.

She smirked. 'But this is just so much more fun.'

Harry rolled his eyes.

'Besides, the only wizard-boys I'm interested in are the ones who can manage some level of resistance to it. If they get all dumb and drooly like this boy, then they're not worth my time.'

Harry gave her a bit of a conceding shrug at that. She did have a point.

"Um, Harry... are you going to introduce your friend?" Hermione asked, trying not to look at Ron at all at this point.

"Oh right! Sorry. Um, Fleur Delacour, these are my best friends Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. Hermione, Ron, this is Fleur. Her little sister Gabby is best friends with my cousin Adelle and they came to visit the family a few times this last summer."

"Eet is a pleasure to meet you bose," Fleur said with a thick French accent as she inclined her head a bit to them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too," Hermione said graciously.

"I – I – I – you... I –" Ron continued to stutter.

"Fleur!" Harry growled slightly under his breath.

"Oh fine," she said in a put-upon tone. A moment later the glazed, over-dilated look in Ron's eyes faded some and he blinked a few times.

"H-Hi," Ron said in a dopey voice as he gave her a wide, stupid-looking grin. "You're beautiful," he said finally, in a wistful tone.

Hermione turned and glared angry daggers at Ron, who appeared totally oblivious.

Fleur snorted and rolled her eyes.

Ron's face suddenly went red and his eyes went wide as galleons and he squeaked in apparent embarrassed horror when it dawned on him what he'd said.

"Er, right, anyway," Harry said quickly, trying to divert further disaster, "you look freezing, Fleur. And you're going to lose track of the rest of your school mates if you don't hurry. I don't know where they're putting you up for your stay here, so you'd best hurry up."

"Oh yes. You are right. It was 'onderful zeeing you 'arry! I will see you again later, yes?"

"Of course."

"Goodbye 'ermione. Ronald."

Ron's face went even more red and for a moment Harry legitimately thought he'd faint. Fleur ran after the rest of the blue-clad Beauxbaton students and disappeared into the castle.

"Ronald Weasley! What is wrong with you!" Hermione shrieked.

"Huh?" Ron yelped in shock.

"Hermione, it's not entirely Ron's fault," Harry said quickly in a placating tone. "Fleur had her Allure on pretty high there."

"Why would she do a thing like that!"

"Er... well, she said it's so that she can figure out which of the human wizards have any natural resistance to it. Some blokes are better equipped to deal with it than others. Fleur's only a quarter Veela, like me, and she intends to remain mostly in wizarding magical society after graduation, so I think she's aiming to eventually find a mate that's um... human. Not Veela. This is just her way of narrowing down things from the start. Anyone she finds that acts like uhh..." Harry paused and glanced over at Ron and grimaced. "Well, like Ron just did, gets crossed off her list. Not that she'd ever date a young guy anyway."

Ron's face crumpled and fell in despair and Harry cringed again.

"Well, I think it's an awful thing for her to do!" Hermione humphed.

Harry just shrugged, helplessly.

They remained outside a little bit longer and watched as a great ghostly ship broke through the surface of the Black Lake, rising up and eventually docking at the Hogwarts docks at the base of the cliff. Out of the ship stepped a shifty, shrewd-looking man, who turned out to be Headmaster Karkaroff, followed double-file by the Durmstrang students in heavy fur-lined cloaks.

Ron had basically been miserably depressed since Fleur had left, but his spirits perked up almost instantly as he spotted a familiar face among the students.

"Viktor Krum!" Ron gasped.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"The Bulgarian National Quidditch Team's Seeker! He played in the Quidditch World Cup this year! He caught the snitch!"

"But didn't Ireland win by points? Not the smartest time to catch a snitch if you ask me," Harry said dubiously. "If he'd been paying attention to the score, he'd have waited until his team wasn't so far behind in points to catch the snitch."

"You weren't there, Harry! You didn't see it! He was brilliant!"

– –

The feast was a rather overdone affair. Dumbledore introduced Headmaster Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, along with welcoming the delegation from each school. Most of the Beauxbaton's students had sat down at the Ravenclaw table and Harry could really only figure it was because their house colors were blue, and the Beauxbaton's uniforms sort of matched.

But the table wasn't big enough to hold all the Ravenclaws and all of the Beauxbatons students, so a few smaller groups had broken off and sat at the other tables. Fleur and a group of her friends from Beauxbatons had come over and sat at Gryffindor by Harry, leaving Ron to babble nonsensically again, even though Fleur was still keeping her Allure mostly in check. Ron wasn't the only one who was ogling her, but he was definitely the worst.

Dumbledore introduced two people from the Ministry who were organizing the tournament, and Harry bristled as he heard the name of one of them. Barty Crouch. The man who had been head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement back when Sirius was apprehended. Now he was the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and he was personally responsible for bringing the tournament back from the dead. Harry now had two reasons to utterly despise the man.

The other Ministry official was Ludo Bagman – Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Harry had heard about him, both from Ron, and from the Twins, to whom he apparently owed money. He used to play professional quidditch, but now he just seemed to have a bad gambling problem.

After that, Dumbledore unveiled the Goblet of Fire – an ancient and powerfully enchanted magical artifact that had been used as part of the Triwizard Tournament since it's inception.

It was announced that those who were of age, and who were interested in putting their name in for the tournament, were instructed to write their name down on a scrap of parchment and toss it into the goblet before the time of the Halloween feast, the following night. At the feast, the three champions names would be chosen by the goblet.

The students were warned not to make their bid for entry lightly. As soon as a person was chosen by the goblet, they were bound my a magically enforced agreement that could not be broken without severe consequences. There would be no going back, so tread carefully.

There were excited whispering all around the hall as various people proclaimed their intention to enter to their table mates. The whispers were cut off as Dumbledore pressed on and told everyone that he would be placing an Age Line around the cup, to guarantee that no one under the age of seventeen could enter the tournament. This garnered disappointed groans and mutterings.

Once the meal actually began, Harry found himself dragged into a conversation, in French, with the six Beauxbatons students who had sat down at the Gryffindor table. This wasn't a bad thing, by any means, and he was enjoying the conversation, but he realized suddenly he was garnering a lot of stares and looked around with blank confusion as his housemates just gaped at him.

"What?" Harry asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"When did you learn to speak French like that?" Lavender asked.

"Oh. Uh... the summer before last, I suppose. I've lived in France the last two summers. Total immersion really helps you learn a language fast."

"You lived in France?" Parvati gasped.

Harry just nodded vaguely and went to turn back to the Beauxbaton's students when he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

"Hey, Harry," Seamus asked in a quiet voice as he leaned in close, while still keeping his eyes trained on the French witches who had carried on their conversation, even though Harry was now distracted.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"You... how... That um.. the blond one. She's... she's – wow. How come you... She's a Veela isn't she? How can you just talkwith her like she's just... just some girl. She's beautiful!"

Harry leaned back and blinked at Seamus before he burst out laughing and shook his head.

Seamus looked affronted for a moment before pouting. "Oh come on, Harry! It was a serious question! If I knew your secret, maybe I could actually talk to her and not make a total git out of myself like Ron has."

Harry shook his head, trying to stifle his snickers. "Er... sorry Seamus. It's just..."

"Oh... wait a minute. Harry... are you a poof?"

Harry's snickers died instantly and he blinked at Seamus in shock.

"What?"

"I just... I mean, I heard that the only way a bloke could go face to face with a Veela girl and not get all loopy was if he just didn't fancy girls at all."

Harry blinked once before he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well, you're wrong on that front. If a Veela turns on her allure up strong enough, even a gay bloke will go all 'loopy' for her. It's about the Veela's preference, not the witch or wizard's preference."

"Huh?" Seamus asked, and now Parvati and Lavender appeared to be listening as well.

"Say, for example, you had a lesbian Veela," Harry began, and Seamus' eyes went wide and slightly glazed. Ron seemed to be doing much the same as a very dumb smile spread across his face, "well the lesbian Veela can turn on her allure and every human girl in the vicinity will start going crazy for her, even if they're all straight. If you've got a straight Veela woman, and she turns on her allure, every man in the area will go crazy for her, even if they're normally gay. It's not about the human's preference – it's about the Veela's preference. The Allure calls in all potential interest. It also means that if you've got a bi-sexual Veela, his or her's Allure will draw in everyone, which I imagine would get kind of crazy."

"How do you know so much about Veela?" Parvati asked.

Harry grinned widely. "The same reason why Fleur's Allure isn't effecting me, and the same reason I knew her before she got here."

"And what reason is that?" Lavender asked, impatiently.

Harry laughed. "Because I am one."

"You are one, what?" Seamus asked, looking confused.

"He's a Veela," Ron said in an exasperated tone. "He's one-quarter Veela. His mum's dad is a full Veela, and Harry's got the active Veela traits, or whatever."

Lavender gasped. Parvati's jaw dropped. Seamus' eyes bugged out, and several heads further down the table turned to gape, revealing that they'd been eavesdropping, even if they'd been trying to hid it.

"What? No way!" someone exclaimed.

"Harry Potter's a Veela?"

"No he's not! That's stupid!"

"But Harry," Lavender hedged, "if you're a Veela, how come we aren't all going crazy over you, the way the boys are drooling like idiots over this Fleur girl?"

"I'm only fourteen. My Allure hasn't kicked in yet," Harry said with a shrug, and Ron scowled and turned away, muttering something under his breath.

"I was fourteen when my Allure came to me," Fleur spoke up then, and Harry looked at her with mild surprise.

"Really? That had to be hard to deal with," Harry replied.

She nodded sagely. "Eet was. It happened in za middle of zee school year as well. It was quite 'orible. I could 'ardly study for my classes at all with all zee boys always stalking me. Zhere were days when I just wanted to crawl into a 'ole and 'ide until it was over, but I couldn't."

Harry was grimacing slightly now and gave her a commiserating look. "Yeah, I'll admit I'm really anxious about it. I'm hoping that it kicks in close to my summer holidays so I've got all that time to practice my control, but..." Harry sighed and shrugged. "I'm rarely that lucky."

"You're really a Veela?" Seamus asked, still sounding entirely shocked and disbelieving.

Harry grinned and pulled his hand out, palm-side up, over the table and conjured a ball of blue flames.

"Wicked," Seamus whispered.

– –

The following day was Saturday, and groups of students spent portions of the day camped out in the Great Hall watching as various seventh years, and a few 'fortunate' sixth years who had already had their birthday, took turns putting their name into the Goblet of Fire.

A few seventh year Gryffindors put in their names, followed by Angelina Johnson, who was a sixth year, but her birthday was October 7th, so she was already seventeen. She smirked smugly at the Weasley twins as she strode up to the cup and dropped in her scrap of parchment.

The Weasley Twins seemed to take this as a go-ahead or a challenge of some sort. They strode up to the edge of the Age-Line Dumbledore had put in place around the cup and grinned at each other. Several people called out with taunts and dares, and laughing. The twins then pulled out two vials of a potion, interlocked their arms and downed whatever the concoction was.

When nothing appeared to have gone wrong, they stepped through the line and grinned triumphantly – for all of two seconds before they were thrown back and started growing long gray-white beards. Everyone laughed and the procession of students entering resumed.

Fawcett from Ravenclaw, Summers from Hufflepuff, and then Warrington from Slytherin followed next. After that was Cedric Diggory – a sixth year who had also just recently turned seventeen and managed to make the cut-off. He got a number of whistles and cheers as he made his way up to the cup, and he smiled back at them.

Harry found himself watching Diggory as he preened for the crowd of girls. Diggory was really quite nice-looking, honestly. He obviously had a lot of fans among the girls in the hall, and he knew it. He had a nice smile, Harry decided. And his hair was kind of cool. It looked soft. He was Hufflepuff's Seeker, so Harry knew of him, obviously. And Harry did respect his skill at the game. He was pretty good, but not as good as Draco.

Draco looked better too. Sure, Harry could definitely see what the girls saw in Diggory – he truly was quite nice looking. But Draco...

Harry froze in this line of thought, feeling his face go hot with confusion and embarrassment.

A distraction from his slightly bewildering train of thought was provided as the Durmstrang students came in and began to put their names in, one at a time. There were a few cheers when Krum put his name in, and he smirked smugly at the room at large before leaving with the other Durmstrang students.

Like Cedric, Krum had quite a group of fangirls calling out and waving at him, and Harry found himself observing Krum rather critically too. He wasn't bad looking, but Harry didn't quite find the appeal. He was a bit to thick around the neck, and his jaw was just too wide and squarish. He would probably be considered handsome by some people's standards though... but he was not quite Harry's thing...

The Beauxbaton's procession came next, and Fleur smirked at Harry as she dropped her name in. He rolled his eyes and clapped for her politely. He still thought it was madness to willingly enter this thing, but if it was what she wanted, then so be it.

When the number of people entering trickled down to nothing, they all left the Great Hall, going back to common rooms and such. Harry tried to work on some of his homework, but the atmosphere was too energized in the common room to get anything done. Everyone was overly excited for the dinner that evening, and the revealing of who would be the Hogwarts Champion.

Harry finally just gave up on it and cleared out, deciding to go visit Hagrid and see if he could get a glimpse at Madame Maxime's winged-horses. When Harry gets to Hagrid's hut, however, he's shocked to find that Hagrid appears to have dressedup, and even attempted to tame his hair and beard – not that he really succeeded. He also had some sort of awful-smelling cologne that made Harry's eyes water.

Harry was bewildered by all of this for a while until he and Hagrid are walking across the grounds towards the paddock that was holding the Beauxbaton's horses and they see Madame Maxime in the distance and Hagrid became noticeably distracted.

Harry looked at Hagrid in bewilderment for a moment before following his gaze to Madame Maxime, then looking back at Hagrid, then back at Madame Maxime. A knowing grin slowly spread across Harry's lips and he chuckled.

Well, if ever there was going to be a match for Hagrid in size, it would be Madame Maxime. Harry just worried if maybe Hagrid was setting his sights a bit high. While they seemed to share certain genetic characteristics in common, Harry wasn't sure what else they might have as a common ground.

Hagrid suddenly became exceptionally flustered as Madame Maxime spotted them and headed directly for them.

"You are Hagrid, yes?" she asked and Hagrid stuttered a bit before confirming that hes, he was Hagrid.

"Professor Dumblydoor said that you would be zee one looking after my 'orses, yes?" she continued.

"Yeah, tha's right. Harry here wil pro'bly be help'n me out a lot too," Hagrid said nodding his head over to Harry."

"Oh? 'Arry? Are you 'Arry Potter?"

"Um, yes, madam. That's right."

"Harry here is a horse whisperer. He's right brilliant with the horses. Helped to birth one just earlier in the month," Hagrid beamed.

"A 'orse whisperer, hmm? You are from the Conceil line, yes? I know your grandfather. Your cousin is at my school now, yes?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah. Alexis is a second year."

She gave a firm nod in return. "So you have experiencing wiss handling winged horses? My Abraxan's are eespecially large, and zey are very picky. Zhey drink only single malt whiskey."

"Well, the Abraxan's are a bit larger than our Aethonan is, but we've got a Granian that's almost as large, and she was the one that gave birth earlier this month. I'm actually really looking forward to seeing your Pegasuses. Hagrid was just taking me over to see them now."

"Oh yes? Well zen we shall all go zee them together. I would like to see dis 'orse whispering you do."

Harry just shrugged in acceptances and he and Hagrid led her over to the paddock.

They actually ended up spending more time there than Harry had planned, and the three had to rush a bit across the grounds to get back to the school so that Madame Maxime could meet with the other Headmasters in preparation for the selection later that evening.

It was obvious that Hagrid was quite smitten with Madame Maxime though, and Harry had found at least one thing they had in common. They both really liked magical horses. The both of them had gotten talking on the subject and that was what had really taken up most of the time.

Finally the whole school gathered into the Great Hall and dinner was served. The puddings had just vanished from the tables and the anxious and excited chatter filling the hall had reached a fever pitch when the Goblet first started to spark and spit out bits of flame. Dumbledore called for silence and approached the cup just as it spit out the first flaming bit of parchment. As he caught it, the fire died out and he read it.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons is... FleurDelacour!" he shouted out, and the blue-clad students cheered and those sitting around Fleur at the Gryffindor table all hugged her and squealed. Harry smiled at her. "Congrats!" he called out over the roars of the hall and she grinned widely before standing up and primly walking up to the head table where she was then directed to go through a small door to the side.

A moment later the cup sparked and spit flames again before shooting out another bit of singed parchment.

"The Champion for Durmstrang is... ViktorKrum!" Dumbledore called out and roars of cheers broke out into the hall.

Krum stood proudly, smirking proudly and accepted several congratulatory pats on the back, shoulder, and even some fist-bumps. He followed the same path Fleur had a moment before and the cup began to spit out more sparks.

The final piece was spit out and Dumbledore caught it. He paused and looked out over the crowd, drawing forth the drama before speaking. "The Champion for Hogwarts is... CedricDiggory!"

The roar from the Hufflepuff table was deafening, but even those from other houses were keen to cheer on their new champion, so applause and cheering filled the hall from all ends, even the Slytherin table, although it was less enthusiastic down there. After all, there was only so much enthusiasm that Slytherins could muster for a Hufflepuff.

Dumbledore raised his hands and finally got the hall to start to calm down as Diggory disappeared through the anti-chamber doorway to the side, and started to speak when the Goblet of Fire began spitting sparks again. The hall went deadly silent and everyone watched with rapt attention as a fourth bit of parchment shot out of the goblet and floated through the air and into Dumbledore's hand.

He frowned and read it; his frown only growing more and more intense. He looked up and then glanced back at the Head Table for a moment where everyone was looking equally confused before looking back over the hall and towards the Gryffindor table.

"Harry Potter," he said in a firm voice.

Harry's heart stopped. His jaw dropped and his head shook. No. Noway. This was not happening.

"He cheated!"

"No fair!"

"'ogwarts cannot have two champions!"

"What about Cedric!"

"He's not seventeen!"

The boos and jeers echoed through the hall, but Harry's world had gone hallow and deafened.

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again and Harry was shaken from his total shock by the sharp jab of Hermione's elbow in his ribs.

"Go!" she hissed.

He just gaped at her like she was mad and shook his head.

"Harry! Go!"

Harry managed to stand up on his numb, shaky legs and stagger his way around the table towards Dumbledore who wordlessly pushed him towards the head table and gestured with his head for Harry to follow the others into the anti-chamber.

Some part of Harry's mind was aware that the people were still boo'ing, but he was just too stunned to give it much thought yet. He walked numbly into the anti-chamber where the other three Champions turned and looked at him curiously.

"Do they need us for something?" Diggory asked, looking at Harry curiously.

"'arry?" Fleur asked curiously as she walked closer and slowly became aware of Harry's obvious state of dismay. "'arry, what has happened?"

"I... someone... I –" Harry's mouth floundered, but suddenly the room was filled with noise as the three headmasters, McGonagall, Snape, Crouch and Bagman rushed in through the door and Harry was suddenly set upon by Dumbledore rushing him.

"Did you put your name in the cup, Harry?" he asked sharply.

Harry shook his head. "No! No, sir! I didn't!"

"Did you have someone else put your name in for you?" Dumbledore asked and again Harry shook his head and denied it.

Karkaroff scoffed and said that Harry was probably just lying. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime quickly began to argue with Crouch and Bagman about it being unfair for Hogwarts to get two champions.

Moody burst in and said something about it taking a powerful confudus charm to bewitch an artifact as powerful and old as the Goblet of Fire and no fourth year could possibly have pulled off something of that level, and then more arguing ensued.

Harry just stood there, dumbfounded and numb.

"'arry... are you... are you a Champion too?" Fleur asked incredulously.

Harry blinked at her and nodded his head. "I didn't... I didn'tenter my name! I swear it!"

She gave him a very worried look. "Zo you think zhat someone has put you in zees tournament... what would they want wis zhat?"

Harry scoffed scornfully. "They probably want me dead. I'm only fourteen! I can't be in this thing! I think it's suicide for you guys to be in this thing, and you've got three years of schooling on me!"

"Technically, I've only got two," Cedric pointed, out, giving Harry a weak smile that was more of a grimace.

Harry laughed humorlessly. "This... this is absurd! I can't be in this thing!"

"Are you suggesting we use him as bait?" The outraged exclamation from McGonagall drew in Harry's attention and he looked over to find her speaking with Dumbledore and Snape.

Harry's eyes narrowed instantly with suspicion and he stormed over to them.

"What's this about?" he demanded.

"I am suggesting no such thing," Dumbledore said in a placating voice to McGonagall, giving her a pointed look in the process. She was still glaring balefully at him, however, and Harry was not convinced in the least. "I am merely saying that we have no idea who is responsible for this or what their motives might be. Until we have a clearer view on – "

"I am not competing in this tournament!" Harry said point-blank and loud enough that it drew the attention of the squabbling Karkaroff, Maxime, and Ministry people.

"I'm not entirely sure that will be an option, Harry," Dumbledore said gently.

"What do you mean? I can't be in this thing! I'm only fourteen! I didn't enter my own name! I get that there's a magical contract involved when a person enters their own name, but Ididn'tenter! I never agreed to anything! And as for keeping me in this thing so you can try and work out who's behind it – You want to know what motive a person would have for entering my name for me? Here's a real obvious one. They want me dead! But they don't want to do it themselves, so they're counting on the tournament to kill me for them! I've thought this tournament thing was stupid from the start, and I want nothing to do with it!"

"Ah, but I'm afraid Harry, that the Goblet of Fire isn't exactly creating a magical contract in the sense that you are thinking. It's very complicated and –"

"I want my Grandfather here – Now!" Harry demanded.

Shock had been replaced by fury, and adrenaline was only fueling him further. Panic, however hidden, was also a very powerful force as well, and this whole thing was just not okay!

"Harry, I'm not sure how possible that would be at this hour. He will be notified as quickly as possible, but owl post takes –"

"But the floo is instant. Grandfather has said that the floo in your office is hooked up internationally because of your work with the International Confederation of Wizards. I should be able to contact him from there, and he should be able to floo in immediately. Why are you trying to stall me, Headmaster? I am a minor being roped into a deadly competition against my will, and I demand the council of an adult that I actually trust.Now are you going to let me use your floo?"

"Why, you impudent little –" Snape began to bellow, but Dumbledore held up his hand and gave his potions master a pointed look.

He looked back at Harry and sighed heavily. "I am most saddened that you don't feel you can trust me, Harry. We shall visit my office and use my Floo to contact your grandfather."

"You haven't exactly given me a lot of reason to feel I can trust you headmaster. Perhaps if you hadn't hidden monumental secrets, lied, broken laws, erased my memories, and ritually bound my magic when I was five, I'd be a little less bitter and a bit more trusting. As it stands, I wouldn't trust you with my safety if my life depended on it – and I rather suspect that at the moment, itdoes."

McGonagall's eyes went as round as galleons and her gaze shot to Dumbledore like lightening. When all he did was heave another heavy sigh, and do nothing to deny anything Harry had said, her face pinched into a tightly controlled mask of fury that promised him they would be sharing words later.

Snape's eyes were wide as well for all of one moment before they narrowed and grew rather wary, but also quite calculating.

Everyone else in the room was utterly silent. Bagman looked especially uncomfortable. Fleur and Krum both looked mildly impressed while Diggory just looked dumbstruck. And Moody was giving Harry a very interested look, indeed.

Finally, Dumbledore led Harry out of the small anti-chamber, promising the others that they would resume shortly, and telling Mr. Bagman that he could proceed with informing the other three champions of the pressing details of the tournament. McGonagall hurriedly followed after them, and the three walked up to the Headmaster's office in heavy, stormy, silence.

Harry found himself trying desperately to hold onto his fury. He suspected it was the only thing keeping the panic at bay. At least while he was angry, he was getting something done. All he had to do was hold it together long enough for his grandfather to get there. He would fix this. Surely he would fix this.

They reached the gargoyle and Dumbledore gave the password – some sort of sweet, Harry really wasn't paying attention – and they climbed the moving staircase. Once at the top, Dumbledore strode over to the Floo and seemed to do something or another – Harry assumed he was unlocking it, or adjusting some setting that would allow Harry to bring his grandfather through. Finally, Dumbledore stepped back and offered Harry a small tin of floo powder. Harry took it wordlessly and tossed a small handful into the grate, turning the yellow and red flames into a bright breen.

He knelt down and stuck his head in while yelling out "Chateaux de Faucon, Iledevol, France, Entry hall grate."

Harry closed his eyes to fight off the nauseating feeling of having his head feel like it was spinning in a cyclone for several seconds. Finally the feeling subsided and Harry opened his eyes to find himself looking out into his family home's entry hall. A little bell was ringing in the distance and Harry knew that someone should be by in a minute to check on the floo.

He wasn't let down as a minute later, the housekeeper bustled in and gave a small squeak of surprise at seeing Harry there.

'Master Harry? What are... has something happened?'

'Get my grandfather, right away. It's an emergency,' Harry spoke quickly in French.

'Rightaway,' she said with a firm nod before racing out of the room.

Harry remained hunched over, bent into the floo grate for about a minute longer before his grandfather raced into the room.

'Harry? What has happened? Are you hurt? What's wrong?'

'Papy Luc, it's awful! You have to come through to Hogwarts. Someone put my name into the Goblet of Fire and I got selected! Dumbledore tried to make some excuse about it not being a normal contract, and he made it sound like I've got to compete in this thing, but that can't be right!'

'Whoa, slow down. Someone entered your name in that idiotic tournament?'

'Yes! And Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking and it sounded like Dumbledore wanted to let me stay in the stupid thing just so that they can find out who did it, and what their motive is. But I think it's pretty damn obvious what the motive is – they want me dead!'

'Okay, Harry. Just calm down, I'm coming through, alright? Step back a moment and I'll be right there.'

'Thanks papy,' Harry said with a tinge of relief, added in with his panicked voice.

Harry quickly pulled his head out of the fireplace, feeling a bit like trying to pull his head out of a vacuum and stood up, stepping away from the grate.

"He's coming through," Harry said, and Dumbledore and McGonagall both nodded.

A moment later the green flames flared up much brighter, and a second later Harry's grandfather had stepped through and into the room looking tall, proud, and very intimidating. It was quite a feat for any wizard to look intimidating when in the presence of Albus Dumbledore. But of course, Lucas Conceil was a Veela of royal blood who was on a mission to protect his kin.

Within moments, he had demanded details of what was going on, and things as they were known were quickly explained to him. He was introduced to Professor McGonagall and he was curt, but at least vaguely polite with her. Dumbledore, however, received a rather thorough tongue lashing for his lack of security around the cup, that would allow such tampering to take place.

"I assure you, it was being guarded," Dumbledore had said at one point.

"Oh? By whom? The person should be questioned, immediately. They either neglected their task, or they could have had something to do with the tampering. I demand a full and thorough investigation, Dumbledore. I will be having words with the Minister, as well as this pompous, incompetent arse, Crouch!"

When it got to the subject of Harry's participation in the tournament, things really got heated.

Dumbledore seemed rather insistent on his belief that, since Harry had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire, Harry would have little choice but to participate in the tournament or possibly face dire consequences. The Goblet's purpose wasn't to bind those who entered the tournament to participate, but rather, its purpose was to select the best of the best from a list of submitted names, under three schools. The binding was part of the magic, but it wasn't a magical contract in the sense that both parties must agree. In fact, willing participation was not a factor atall in the original tournament, but those chosen were still magically bound to participate.

Harry didn't really follow most of it – it all sounded rather ridiculously convoluted, and there was some old story about the first tournament in there to explain why it was constructed this way, but Harry really didn't give a damn. All he cared about was how the hell they were going to get around it.

Lucas was furious – stating resolutely that given the nature of the Goblet, it never should have been used again. It was ancient magic. Dangerous magic. Not something generally okay to be used in modern magical society at all. He also stated that he would be personally investigating the Goblet and would also be bringing in several investigators of Iledevol to run some diagnostic spells and conduct an investigation of their own, and if Dumbledore dared to protest this action, Lucas and the Veela Nation would rain their fiery fury down upon him until he learned just what it meant to earn the scorn of the house of Conceil.

Finally, he turned to Harry and promised him that if there was a way to get Harry out of this, he would find it.

This didn't exactly leave Harry feeling all that reassured. He wanted to believe his Grandfather could get him out of this, but he had a sinking feeling, deep in his gut, reminding him just how often things in his life had a tendency of going horribly, horribly, wrong.

It seemed like it had been ages since his name had come burning it's way out of that blasted cup when Harry finally made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It was late, and he was more exhausted than he remembered feeling in a long time. Mentally and emotionally drained, and still filled with a lingering sense of horror at the inevitable.

When Harry stepped through the portrait hole and into Gryffindor's common room, the room fell into silence for all of two seconds before a sudden uproar of screaming and whistling and cheering flooded his senses, and he was suddenly pulled forward by the excited masses.

"You should have told us you'd entered!" Fred exclaimed looking half annoyed and half deeply impressed.

"How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!" roared George.

"What? Are you mental? I didn't enter! How the hell would I?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Fred said, raising his eyebrows.

Angelina came up then, grinning madly and draped and arm around George's shoulder. "Well, if it couldn't be me, at least we've got a Gryffindor Champion! I don't know how you managed to get past Dumbledore's Age Line, Harry, but congrats!"

"I didn't!" Harry exclaimed, shaking his head almost desperately. "I didn't put my name in the goblet!"

But no one seemed to be listening. They all just gave him these looks, like they were playing along with a game. Some even smirked or winked at him when he continued to insist that he'd had nothing to do with his entry into the tournament.

Harry grew frustrated veryquickly, and made several attempts to side-step the crowd and go to the stairs to the dormitories. Someone had produced food and drink and the gathering had somehow become a legitimate celebration, which really only stoked the flames of anger and resentment in Harry's gut. Dean had produced a Gryffindor banner from somewhere and even tried to tie it around Harry's shoulders like a cloak, but Harry managed to wrench himself away from his dorm mate before growling at the lot of them that he was going to bed and storming through the crowd up to the stairs.

He couldn't help but wonder where the hell Ron and Hermione were. He hadn't seen them anywhere down in the common room, and he was wishing desperately for a chance to sit down with his friends and try to make sense of the insanity that was the last few hours. As such, he was relieved when he pushed open the door to the 4th year boys dorm and found Ron laying on his bed, still clothed, and staring up at the canopy draped over the four posts.

Harry heaved a sigh as he stormed in and closed the door rather loudly in his frustration. He stomped his way over to his bed and let himself fall heavily onto it, sitting on the side facing Ron's bed.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked, feeling annoyed.

"Up here. So I s'pose congratulations are in order," Ron said, and Harry thought that the strained smile on his face looked rather odd and forced.

"Congratulations?" Harry echoed incredulously.

"Well, they're letting you compete, right? You aren't even in trouble for it. I heard from the Fat Lady, who heard it from that portrait of Violet that Dumbledore's letting you stay in the tournament. How'd you manage it anyway?"

"I didn't!" Harry roared.

"Even Fred and George couldn't manage it. Did you use the invisibility cloak or something?"

"Ron, are you even listening to me? I didn't put my name in that goblet! And the invisibility cloak wouldn't let me past an age line! That's ridiculous!"

"Oh... yeah, I didn't think it'd be the cloak. I figured you'd have told me if that was it since it could have hidden us both."

"RON!"

"Oh, come on mate. This is me. You don't have to lie with me. I get if you're trying to avoid getting in trouble for it and all, but I wouldn't have thought you'd try that with me!"

"I'm not trying anything Ron! I didn't enter my name in the Goblet! Why would I? I've told you time and again, all term, how stupid I think this whole thing is!"

"Well if you didn't put your name in, then who would?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"Why would someone else, put yourname in the Goblet of Fire! You think someone else wants you to win the thousand galleons?" he asked sarcastically.

"I don't know Ron," Harry said sarcastically, "maybe they want me dead? You think of that?"

Ron's eyes went wide for a moment before he scowled again. "Don't be stupid, Harry. You're not gonna die because you're in this tournament," he rolled his eyes dramatically and sneered slightly. Then he got this look on his face like he'd just figured something out, and gave Harry a cold look. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

"Huh?"

"He helped you put your name in! That's why you didn't tell me. What – am I not good enough for you anymore, Harry? You'd rather hang out with your posh new Slytherin friends?"

"Ron, don't be stupid!"

"Whatever, Harry. I'm going to bed," Ron said in a low bitter voice as he reached up and yanked the hangings around his bed closed.

Harry just remained sitting there on the edge of his bed, gaping in stunned, angry, shock, at the dark velvet red hanging now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.