Chapter 1: Unearthed Truths

February 23, 1995

"Good morning, beautiful."

My blonde goddess gives me a sleepy smile and a kiss. "Good morning."

She raises her arms up and stretches, throwing off the blanket as I watch her, and I can't help consider myself lucky to wake up to such a magnificent view. "Do you have to go to classes today, or can I keep you all to myself, at least until noon?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asks in a husky tone my body reacts to.

Damn you, teenage libido.

"Whatever we can think of," I answer with an easy smile.

She gives me a kiss and stands up, moving over to the basket of potions and lotions Poppy gave us. "How about we focus on your back first?"

I agree with a silent nod and turn around to lie on my front as she walks back. She places the basket next to me and takes her place over my hips. Her weight feels lovely on my back and makes it hard for me to lay face down but I manage.

Since starting on this salve, my recovery speed has almost doubled and while I doubt I will be back to perfect by the Air Challenge in three days, it is better than nothing. I have a few ideas on alternative methods of flying that won't require me to aggravate my back, and even though none of those methods would earn me a victory, I'll settle for keeping the point difference over ten for this one.

Hey! I have a physical disability and honestly, I'd prefer being able to walk to establishing a further lead over my fellow champions, one of which has her hands on my shoulders, doing wonders to my sore muscles.

"Can I ask you something?" Fleur says with an oddly shaking voice, drawing me out of my musings.

"Of course," I answer easily. "Anything."

She stays silent for a long time while her hands continue their ministrations. Just as I think she might have decided against asking whatever that has her so unsure, she stops rubbing, though her hands stand on my back. "Why did you forgive me so quickly?"

The question takes me by surprise and I feel her tense on my back, probably nervous about my silence. "Why wouldn't I?" I ask rhetorically. "I want to be with you, I never hid that. And yes, you did hurt me but…" I shrug before I continue, "You also regretted your actions. And frankly, I am raised by Albus Dumbledore and if there is one thing you should know about him, he's all about forgiveness. It rubs off on you."

"What do you mean?" she asks, her hands returning to doing a work Poppy would praise.

"Why stay upset and deny myself what I want when I could forgive and have what I want? To keep feeding my hurt towards you would achieve nothing. You made a mistake, you apologised and I'm- like- seventy-five percent sure you won't repeat it again. I think the time I spend with you is enjoyable and worth the risk of possible pain you can cause me."

She stays silent for a while as I enjoy the work she's doing turning my body to mush. "But how can you just… put aside your anger like that?"

"Anger? Why would I be angry with you? I was upset, hurt. I don't own you and you never promised me anything. We weren't even dating, really. So, getting angry with you for going out with someone else wouldn't make any sense." I shake my head and move to the next thing. "The slap on the face… Well, that's a bit more grey area. Normally, I'm an anti-violence guy, especially violence used for intimidation or for violence's sake, and I always defend myself, sometimes even disproportionately."

"But yours was… out of humiliation and hurt more than anything, and while another attempt at such a thing would raise my ire, this one… didn't deserve it, if that makes any sense. Besides, I bet my semi-cool exit hurt more than any angry remark could."

She chuckles, making a few bells ring in my belly, both with pleasure at the sound and with the vibrations coursing through her body and travelling down to mine. "So, you went for emotional abuse instead."

"We sound so fucked up, don't we?" I ask with a grin. "Not the most conventional beginning for a great romance, I have to admit."

Her work done, she lies on top of me, hugging me from behind. "But we got there," she whispers, her breath on my neck. "I hope that's enough."

I turn my head a little to look at her face, her silvery hair blocking us from the rest of the world, creating a world of our own. "You saw what I created at my lowest." I give a cocky grin. "I think I can do anything at my best, even make you fall in love with me."

She snorts but pauses. "That was the most presumptuous thing I have ever heard but... I can't say it's wrong."

My grin softens. "Oh?"

Her cheeks darken as I watch her closely, loving the softness in her eyes as she refuses to look away. "I meant when I said I want to be yours. That's what scared me so much."

I open my mouth but am cut off by a tapping sound by the window. Still, the moment is far too beautiful to look away; her honest, vulnerable look is too beautiful for anything else in the world to matter, so I wave an irritated hand to allow the owl to enter. The owl flies inside and lends next to our attached bodies, hooting irritatingly before another wave silences it.

I absolutely refuse to look away from this mesmerising view.

The silence stretches between us, neither feeling the need to fill it with words, both knowing this moment is the start of something glorious.

Time stretches, minutes become hours, clouds shift, and the world continues to turn without either of us moving.

In the end, it is Fleur who breaks the silence when an irritated-to-be-forgotten-about owl, snowy and beautiful, bites her finger hard enough to draw blood. "Ow! Why would you do that?" Fleur asks as she turns to the owl, her hand moving to her lips to suck on the precious blood by reflex.

Owl gives Fleur a look before rolling her eyes and raising her claw for Fleur to take the parchment tied there, making me snort. I didn't know owls could be so sassy.

"Fine, you stupid thing," Fleur hisses at the bird, blushing in embarrassment.

As soon as Fleur detach the parchment, the owl jumps in the air and flies to land on the back of a chair, but only after slapping the blonde on my back with a wing.

Merlin, the owl just schooled the veela princess. Oh, how I glad I am for Albus' pensieve. Just living this scene can't be enough, I must relive it, often. And with Aimee and Samantha. Possibly with Hermione too, just to mess with Fleur.

"Shit!" Fleur cries, unaware of my traitorous thoughts, putting them on pause. "My mother and sister are coming to Britain to watch the next task."

"I take it that's a bad thing," I comment dryly, giving an innocent smile when Fleur glares. "Right, controlling and demanding."

"She already suspected I have a closer relationship with you than I implied. She'll be unbearable," Fleur grouses, burying her head on my neck.

I fail to prevent a chuckle from escaping. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the big bad Mama Delacour."

She bits into my shoulder as a response, her mouth landing right next to a hickey she caused the night before, making me shiver in remembrance. "She'll probably find a way to corner you," she warns.

"And you don't want her to know?" I half-ask, disappointed and hurt.

She, again, bits into my shoulder. "Don't be stupid. I don't care whether she knows. I just know she'll be as unpleasant as humanly possible."

I give her a wide-eyed look. "I can't believe you called me stupid."

She tries to stay serious but a small smile escapes her for a short moment and she taps my shoulder. "Be serious."

"Oh, that's an idea," I say eagerly. "How about we have a family meal? You bring your mother and sister and I bring Sirius and Remus."

She gives me a dubious look. "No offence but that's an awful idea; my mother would eat those two alive."

My answering grin is anything but innocent. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." A condescending smile is Fleur's only answer. "How about a bet?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"The winner chooses our first date," I answer immediately, an idea forming in my head. "And by date, I mean to the end of the night, whenever that may be."

She considers for a moment and assured by her victory, nods before leaving my back and laying next to me. "Okay. But be ready to dance," she warns, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"I knew it was my 'drunken monkey' that won you over." I give a cocky grin as I turn around in bed to lay on my side, my hand finding her fingers to play with them.

She openly laughs, her eyes closing as she softy pushes my forehead with her own. "Oh, yes. It was so sexy, I couldn't help myself."

"That's understandable," I whisper before leaning in and giving her a kiss. "It's the animal magnetism of The Monkey."

She smiles against my lips, her eyes bright.

"Just be ready to fend off against young ladies getting caught in my charm."

"Just… Shut up," she says, her mirth obvious in her tone. Her hand leaves mine and travels through my arm to my cheek as she caresses it. "Come on. Let's have breakfast," she says with a soft tap on my cheek after a few minutes of silence during which thinking is too much of a chore for me.

I wait in bed for extra few moments just to watch her as she walks to the table, admiring the view. By the time she reaches to the table, Dobby has already laid out a spread.

"So," I say after a few minutes of satisfied quiet as we enjoy the first bit of food since the previous afternoon. "Your mother is coming."

She sighs in disappointment at the subject though knows we have to discuss it. "Yes, and if there is one thing she never fails to be, it is antagonising. So, expect thinly veiled insults and convoluted needling."

"She sounds like she has a mastery in passive aggression," I comment, throwing a piece of pastry into my mouth.

"Wrote the book on it," Fleur agrees. "You can be the world's best wizard in every sense of the word but she'll find something to be condescending about."

"I'm sure I'll survive," I answer as I lean forward in my seat.

"I've no doubt you will," Fleur agrees. "Part of me fears the result if you can't keep yourself from snapping back at her. Part of me can't wait to see it happen so I can watch her face."

"I'll try to be in my best behaviour but… I don't have a great track record with handling antagonising people," I warn honestly, drumming my fingers on the table softly in a slow rhythm. "Our second meeting should have given you an idea."

She tilts her head to a side as she examines me. "I attributed that to the shock of the moment, mostly."

"That was a part of the reason." I nod. "But it only increased the intensity. My response would be just as disagreeing and vehement if not as disrespectful if it were under less… stressful circumstances."

She leans forward on her seat, giving me an intense look. "That reminds me. I meant to ask earlier, but it never came up. What do you know about how you got involved in the tournament?" she asks, burning with curiosity. "I know you know more than you let on when we talked by the lake. You are training far too hard for it to just be for the tournament. Then there was your cryptic warning to my father. Both those things tell me you are preparing for something big."

I watch her in silence for a moment as I consider what to tell her. If the knowledge of Voldemort's actions gets out, the situation would get escalated, either by Voldemort to feed the nervousness of public or by the potential disbelievers who would make up an ulterior motive for our unsubstantiated suspicion.

But, this is Fleur, the daughter of the Head of French Auror Division. If anyone knows the value of discretion, it's her. A trait, I'm sure, she inherited from her father and had to cultivate during her formative years.

And this is Fleur. If I want a real relationship with her, she has to know what being a part of my life entails, with the good and the bad. I hope I don't freak her out too much.

"You heard the story of Halloween of nineteen eighty-one," I start. "What you don't realise is, most of it is blatantly false. My survival of the killing curse wasn't a coincidence or a result of some hidden power I have. I survived thanks to an ingenious ritual my mother came up with. For the ritual to work, she needed to sacrifice herself and it is her sacrifice which kept me alive."

Fleur's eyes widen as my lips curl up in a melancholic smile. "You do remember your mother's death."

"Yes, but that's not how I know it. The morning of the attack, Albus investigated the scene and found my mother's notes. He reconstructed the ritual with a lot of effort, thinking it could be a key to finding a practical defence against the killing curse. He made progress but couldn't figure out a way to accomplish it without the sacrifice of a life. Anyway, neither are the reason I am telling you this. Another misinformation about that night is the death of Voldemort; he is still alive."

Her shock is not surprising. What makes me smile is the trust she's showing; not even questioning the truthfulness of my words even though they go against what everyone in the magical world assumes. She doesn't take a moment to process; it is now a fact for her.

Her trust feels empowering.

"Through means, I suspect only Albus knows, he survived. I found out about his survival during the attempted theft of the Philosopher's Stone in my first year."

"Dumbledore told me what happened, how you had to kill your teacher," she cuts me off and surprises me.

I shake my head. "I'm sure he didn't tell you the most important part of what happened. The Defence Professor of that year, Quirrell, tried to steal the stone, but he wasn't after it to use it himself. Voldemort was behind the whole thing." I laugh at my bad pun while she gives me a puzzled stare. "Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. Well, not possessed. He was still in control of his actions but Voldemort was sharing his body." I chortle. "It was an ugly sight."

I take a deep breath before continuing, "I am telling you this because he is back in action. The imposter professor I killed was his agent in Hogwarts. He's the one responsible for my name coming out of the goblet. Voldemort wants me, I'm not sure why. According to the dead imposter, Voldemort has plans for me which may or may not involve my death. He hinted that Voldemort may prefer to add me to his ranks though."

Fleur takes a large sip of coffee while trying to process the information. "Would you? I mean, if he offered you, would you join him?"

The question makes me burst into hysterical laughter. "Are you kidding me? That homicidal maniac killed my parents. Hell, he is personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. Because of him, I had to kill four people so far. He stole my family, my childhood, my innocence. The moment I get the chance, I will blow his brains out."

She gives me a soft smile as she puts her cup down. "Yes, I wasn't expecting a different reaction, to be honest." She shakes her head. "What I'm curious about is how easy you make killing He-Whose-Name-Mustn't-Be-Spoken-Unless-You-Are-Stupidly-Brave sound."

"That's called Gryffinitus, a common alignment for my ilk." I enjoy her smile for a moment. "I'm really not much fun of hyphenated names. I know there is a reason people still refuse to say his name but… it feels childish to do call him stupid names. Call him Tom if you must."

"While France felt his terror too, it wasn't as bloody for us," Fleur says with a nonchalant shrug. "But the French origin of his chosen name feels even more silly. He's mostly mentioned as the Dark Lord."

"That's different here because mostly, only the people who support his cause call him Dark Lord," I warn. While most of the population don't care what anyone calls Tom as long as they avoid his monicker, his hardcore fans and enemies care about the difference. I know because Sirius got in trouble when he challenged a Frenchman who called Tom by the less reputable monicker.

I was six; he spent a week in lockup.

I take a breath and focus on her actual question. "I don't think I'm powerful enough to defeat him," I confess. "Hell, I doubt anyone but Albus could. That doesn't mean I won't do my best. But, my initial goal is to get stronger."

She looks dubious and a little afraid but doesn't address the issue. "You said Da- Tom put your name into the goblet. Why?"

"Two reasons: to identify me and kidnap me," I answer right away. "I think he suspected my identity but to make sure, he used my birth certificate."

Her eyes bore into mine with a frightening intensity. "I don't care about the last part. What was that about kidnapping you said?"

"He plans to kidnap me. The good news is, we know the two possible times he might strike. The bad news is, we have no idea why he plans to kidnap me other than half a theory with no evidence to support it. Another good news is, we know he doesn't have a… real body. Another bad news is, with the death of his inside man, he's calling his trusted followers."

I shrug at her confusion. "The list goes on like that. For every piece of good news, there is a bad one and all we can do is wait for the plot to thicken while we prepare. Without knowing exactly when, where, why, with whom and how, we have nothing concrete to work with and no moves. We haven't even been able to locate him, let alone try a preemptive move against him."

"How can you be so calm about this?" she asks in a high-pitched tone of distress. "This is the most feared dark wizard since at least the Statute of Secrecy. And he's coming after you!"

"That's the story of my life since I was a baby, Fleur," I answer with an aimless wave. "I've faced him three times. The first one turned me into an orphan and him a wraith. The second one turned me into a killer and him a wraith. His defeat third time was inconsequential, but I still defeated him."

I frown in thought as my eyes find the landscape outside my window, misty mountains and the endless forest. "Don't misunderstand me, I know he's powerful; much more powerful than I am at this stage but worrying too much or fearing the fate that may befall me would make no difference in the grand scheme of things. Where Tom Riddle is concerned, I am and will always be in the thick of things."

She lets out a breath as I turn my attention back at her, her eyes moist as she watches me.

I take a deep breath and release the morbid tension of the subject, focusing my attention on the beautiful girl in front of me. "Nevermind that now, we have more important things to focus on."

She raises an eyebrow in askance, the forced smile on her face lets me know she knows my move but wants to play along.

I pursue the first idea that comes to my mind as a change of subject. "With my back the way it is, I need to figure out a way to fly a broom without aggravating my injuries."

Her interest in the new subject is neither fake nor exaggerated as she leans forward on her seat, her feet back on the ground as her arms rest on the table. "You have a plan?"

"Yes, but I would appreciate your help all the same."

Normally, I don't like sharing my ideas. Not because of any trust issues but because I enjoy keeping things mysterious and dramatic, but the eager smile Fleur rewards me with is enough incentive for me to tell her every detail of every plan I ever come up with.

"I thought I could come up with a contraption enchanted to mimic body movements to allow me to control the broom without putting a strain on my back."

"Like a yoke?"

Like a what, now? "What's a yoke?"

"What pilots use to control aeroplanes," she answers, her hands in front of her in a driving motion. "They look like a driving wheel."

My both eyebrows raise in surprise at the trivia, impressed.

"What? I am a curious person," she grouses upon seeing my reaction. "I even took a few piloting lessons."

"You did? How?"

She shrugs. "It's not that difficult, really. There are many small aerodromes in France that offer lessons by the hour."

"Okay, but wouldn't you need a Muggle identification? Isn't there an age requirement?"

"I don't know about Britain but in France, the age requirement is fifteen and you can get a Muggle identification from the ministry for a handful of galleons."

Well, that's a surprise. I always thought requirements for piloting an aircraft, no matter how small and basic, would be high. The Muggle identification explanation makes sense though. Even with the secrecy, offering Muggle identification makes sense, if only to allow the magical population to blend in.

I nod distractedly before shaking out of my surprise. "Anyway, yes, a similar system to aeroplane controls, but one that allows me to steer the broom using only my foot. I have a basic design in mind but, as you know, I'm not much of an enchanter."

She gives me an impatient look when I don't immediately share my design. This is a side of her I haven't seen before and it reminds me of Hermione a little. Fleur is just as fervent as my bushy-haired friend though the younger girl's enthusiasm for knowledge extends to more areas.

Well, no one's enthusiasm for knowledge can compare to Hermione's. She wants to know everything about everything. It's a sickness, really.

Okay, maybe I don't really think it's a sickness, but that doesn't mean I don't tease Hermione about it. What kind of a friend would I be if I didn't tease her about her passion?

The ease with which Fleur takes apart my, albeit still raw, design and improves on it is a sight to see and for the next few hours, all I can do is, nod and mumble as she creates for me a perfect way to control my broom without using my upper body. All I can do is watch in awe as she shows me how deep her knowledge runs and why Goblet of Fire thinks she makes a great champion.

I have no doubt if one of the tasks involve casting or dismantling enchantments, she'll win the round by a great margin.

It makes sense now just why my enchantments don't last and are never powerful enough. Fleur mentions mechanics and principles I haven't heard of. I didn't even realise I had to take rules of physics into account when enchanting an object such as a broom.

By the time she runs out of steam, I am humbled by the knowledge that what I know about magic barely scratches the surface, and more than a little aroused by the passion Fleur shows. A new determination flows through me with the realisation of how little I know and I make a silent vow to study more.

After I demonstrate Fleur just how sexy she is when she's on a roll, of course.

-HP-

February 24, 1995

This is awkward.

I am sitting in my regular place in Great Hall, surrounded by my best friends, Fleur and her best friends and the silence is oh, so fucking awkward.

I won't lie to you and say I didn't expect tension between my friends and Fleur as Hermione never was subtle and she never attempted to hide her dislike of Fleur. But the level of animosity between them is ridiculous and not laughing takes an effort while our large group eats in silence.

Ron shares my amusement and doesn't even try to hide it, watching the two girls with a large grin, eating without even a glance at his plate.

Neville, on the other hand, couldn't make himself smaller. Poor guy. Even though his self-confidence improved by leaps and bounds, he still doesn't feel comfortable with confrontations. Thank god, Ginny is sitting next to him and distracting him or he wouldn't touch his plate.

I know this animosity cannot continue, not between one of my best friends and my girlfriend, but I am enjoying it far too much to force a change yet. No, right now, my thought process revolves around ways to take advantage of the situation.

"A lovely weather we are having," Balzac says, his lips drawn in a thin line in an attempt to hold in a laughter.

"Indeed, my friend," I respond with a nod, my face pink with exertion. "Everyone loves a good thunderstorm."

"What's not to like?" Aimee joins us, throwing a not-so-subtle glance at Fleur. "I always enjoyed muddy grounds and drenched shoes."

"And fuzzy hair thanks to the charged air," Ron agrees with an awed glance at Hermione's monstrosity of hair. Her bush resembles a brown steel wool more than anything a human could produce.

Hermione throws a glare at Ron at the same time Fleur makes it obvious what she thinks of Aimee's apparent betrayal.

That's enough for me to lose the fight to the inevitable and I give a full-belly laugh. Everyone except the two upset ladies joins me in merriment, attracting weird looks from other people in the hall.

Fleur's hand finds my thigh while I'm doubled over and pinches me, making me laugh even harder while Ron receives a slightly more violent treatment from Hermione in the form of a slap to the back of his head.

When my laughter subsides, my eyes are blurry due to tears of mirth and I'm sure I have a bruise in my leg. "I'm sorry," I say in-between deep breaths, hugging Fleur's arm, my forehead resting on her shoulder to hide my dishonesty.

She shakes her head at me and pinches me one more time. "I'm sure you are."

I look up to see her pout at me cutely, her cheeks pink and lean in to give her a chaste kiss. Her pout turns to a cute smile while her cheeks gain even more colour.

The heat of Hermione's glare breaks up our sweet moment, making me roll my eyes. "I gotta go see about a Headmaster," I say to the table as I climb off the bench.

Nods all around, I leave the table and climb the endless stairs of Hogwarts, my mind on the upcoming meeting. I should probably have had this conversation with Albus earlier but being a teenager, the affairs of my heart took priority over whatever plot Tom is cooking, and I don't have it in me to regret my priorities.

Neither does Albus as I trust he realised the sudden flare of pain I experienced by the lake while I was painting my biggest piece yet.

Still, even with Fleur's delightful presence, a part of my mind couldn't help worry about it. While I can't claim to be a master of the art, I have become proficient in occlumency but no matter how much I tried- and believe me I did- I couldn't get free of the vision's grasp. And that freaks me out, the inability and helplessness I felt.

Since my last session with Snape, the realisation of how vulnerable I am to mental manipulation has been eating at me; a gnawing worry that was further amplified by the vision. The knowledge that wizards, if sufficiently proficient in legilimency, can change my perception of reality…

For all my strengths and flaws, I am an intellectual person. Maybe not an avid reader, nor a perfect student like Hermione, but I am an armchair philosopher and a man of many hobbies. And everything that defines me; everything I take pride in, depends on and fertilised by my mind and perception of reality.

I absolutely refuse to be a slave to another's whims and I am prepared to do whatever necessary to ensure the integrity of my mind.

Albus' bid to enter makes me jump out of my skin as I realise where I am. An irrational fear grips my heart momentarily as I try to remember the walk here and giving the password to the gargoyle.

I breathe easier once I realise it was my distracted state and nothing more that had me freaking out like a teenage Mad-Eye. I push the door open and shoot a smile at my beaming mentor, ignoring the ghostly whisper in the back of my mind. 'Is it paranoia if they are out to get you?'

A tea set is waiting on the table as I sit down on one of the comfortable chairs and breathe in the delicious aroma of freshly baked scones. I truly missed this, my semi-regular meetings with the merry old man. His wise perspective and puzzling ideas have always given me a fresh look at things and a sense of excitement at dullest of happenings of the world.

"How are you today, dear boy?" he asks kindly once I settle in and prepare my tea.

"Jury is still out on that one," I answer after a moment of thought and with a small smile, and take a sip of what's possibly the world's most delicious tea.

The tea was a point of resentment between us once upon a time as Albus doesn't let me take some with me and refuses to tell me where he gets it from. It didn't last long though as after two weeks of the cold shoulder; I returned for more of the tea and good conversation.

Now that I think about it, that's probably why he's so strict about it.

Aw, man! Now, I feel awful for giving him the cold shoulder.

"Whatever do you mean?"

I take another sip, enjoying the warmth spreading through my body and using the time to gather my thoughts. "Things are great with Fleur and with my usual after-breakdown euphoria, life is glorious."

"But…" he prods, no doubt knowing the shadow hanging over the ecstasy of the last few days.

I sigh and put down my cup before crossing my feet and leaning back. "But, as you have no doubt deduced already, I had another vision and no matter how much I tried, I wasn't able to stop it."

He drums his fingers on the table as he looks at me with his piercing blue eyes over his half-moon glasses. "And you don't think your failure is due to any inadequacy in your part over the mastery of your mind?"

"No," I refuse with a single, confident shake of my head. "I can't say I am a master by any stretch of the word but the vision felt… inevitable for the lack of a better word. I can sense subtle outside influences to my mind- and this was anything but subtle- and I can throw off Snape. The vision didn't feel like an outside influence. It hailed from within."

The resigned frown on his lips is all I need to know Albus expected that would be the case but hoped otherwise. "That is unfortunate."

I snicker at the understatement. "It wasn't all for nothing, at least. The first time I had one, I wasn't even consciously aware of it. His actions felt like mine, no matter how out of character that would be. His emotions felt like mine. This time, I was able to distance myself from the memory and keep an analytical mind."

His countenance turns pleased with that, giving me a nod and a genuine smile. "That is, indeed, good news. It means while we will need to search for alternative methods to keep these visions at bay, he won't be able to influence you if you master occlumency."

"Oh, I have no intention of dropping the subject even if it were useless against Tom," I say vehemently. "In our last session, Snape proved just how dangerous a legilimens can be and I have no desire to fall victim to one."

"I hope you realise it will take years before you can master occlumency, not that I'm trying to dissuade you," he warns, though pleased with my resolution. "But that's a discussion for another time. Vision?"

A theatrical gasp pushes out of my lips as my hand close down on my mouth to hide my smile. "You don't care about me at all, do you? All you care about is him!"

"Drat! You weren't supposed to know that," he deadpans in a dry tone.

"Right. Tom was with three other men. One blonde in a business suit, the other two with dark hair and traditional, dark wizard robes. I didn't recognise any of them. The blonde looked… dangerous; predatory, like he wants a nice, warm bath prepared with the blood of innocent. They were making a deal but I don't know what the deal was about. What I do know is, Tom plans to reunite with his old gang. He was paranoid but eager about it," I trail off, my eyes on the mountain range view of Albus' office yet seeing nothing.

"And?" Albus prods, refocusing my attention on the vision.

"My name came up only once throughout the vision. Wormtail asked if it was wise to include the other Death Eaters while 'his lord' was still so weak." I give a wicked grin, enjoying the coming memory for a moment. "After a small taste of Cruciatus, Tom answered. He- He said he needed more resources if he wanted to challenge me…" I let out a frustrated breath, my confusion obvious in my look. "I don't get it. I know I'm nowhere near powerful enough to challenge Tom. And the way he said it… Like it was a game and he was eager to play. He sounded actually pleased with the show I put on."

Albus chuckles at my frustration though he himself looks confused about our enemy's behaviour. "I have spent years trying to understand how Tom's mind works, Harry, and trust me when I say he is a brilliant man. Can you not think any reason your performance would please him?"

I try, I truly do but I am shooting blanks, and the look I give the old man mirrors that, making him grin with unrestrained amusement.

For a moment he says nothing but in the end, he must have decides me an answer for once, instead of turning this into a puzzle. "Tell me, would you watch Tom if he was competing in the tournament?"

"Of course," I respond immediately. "It would give me a chance to…" I trail off at the realisation that I am giving my enemy the perfect chance to see my talents and weaknesses.

Albus nods though I am only vaguely aware of the movement from the corner of my eyes. "I see you understand my point. Another possible reason for his pleasure at your success is, your power feeds his ego. As far as he is aware, the last two times he attacked you, he lost. He'd prefer to have underestimated you and lost because of that instead of some unknown work of fate. He can learn from a mistake."

"Do you think it was a mistake for me to perform as I did?"

He shakes his head. "No. Call me foolish or naïve but I believe it is important we live our lives as we see fit instead of hiding away in fear."

"Says the man who insisted on changing my name." I snort.

He takes a sip of his tea, a small smile playing on his lips at my words. "Indeed, it does sound hypocritical of me but I liked what you said to Miss Skeeter in your first interview. Harry Potter is just a name, not a definition of who you are. Your character and behaviour didn't change only the people's preferred designate for you did."

He is right, of course. I refuse to cower in fear, no matter how dangerous and powerful Tom is.

And he is powerful, I have no delusions about the disparity of power between us. I may be a prodigious wizard but compared to the vast knowledge and experience of the likes of Albus and Tom, I am but a toddler playing at being a grown-up.

Tom Marvolo Riddle is a wizard who had the wizardry population of Britain on their knees, either in servitude or in fear. People are still afraid to speak of him and uttering his name is an instant mood-kill across the isles.

I am a fourteen-year-old wizard, miles above his peers to be sure, but a fourteen-year-old nonetheless.

No. Against Tom, I have no chance of surviving unless Ladies Luck and Fate intervene on my behalf and colour me presumptuous but I refuse to allow others, even anthropomorphic deities, to decide my future.

So, you may ask, what I plan to do to level the playing field? How can I hope to stand up to such a powerful figure as Tom Riddle? Who am I to imagine I can be as great as he is?

Well, first of all, back up, dude. This isn't an interrogation. Jeez.

All joking aside, a confrontation against Tom feels inevitable. And I need to be ready. Or at least as ready as I can be. While Sirius and Remus are great teachers, their experience extends only so far. I think it's time I ask Flitwick for help.

His duelling style is something I think I can imitate up to a point though I doubt I can match his speed.

But even that would leave my education lopsided as Flitwick, like Sirius and Remus, is an ardent dissident of dark magic. No, I need the help of someone who knows dark arts inside and out. Someone who knows Death Eater tactics and what I will be up against. I need someone who will not hesitate to make me suffer if my performance is not enough. Someone with enough knowledge of the types of magic Tom uses to teach me how to defend against it. Who I need is…

Merlin, no! Don't say it. Don't.

… Snape.

Fuck.

But even Snape can't teach me all I need to survive against Tom. There is only one person who can do that.

"Albus, I'm going to need to confiscate your pensieve and a few memories."

Tom himself.

-HP-

I leave Headmasters' Office in deep thought, sombre knowledge of my lacking running through my mind, and let my legs take me where they may. Albus and I discussed many things from possible ways Tom may make his attempt, to occlumency and a debate on forgiveness and affection.

In our talk, Albus confessed that while it is near impossible, legilimency used in conjunction with Imperius curse and other similar mind control magic can cause enough pressure on a person's psyche to completely revamp their personality. That, added to Barty Jr.'s allusion to Tom's possible desire to recruit me, is freaking me out.

I am a powerful wizard with a fragile mind; I have no delusions about that. How can I fool myself into thinking otherwise when just a week ago, I was batshit crazy? And it is that distant possibility that has me so wrapped up in my world as I step out to the Clock Tower Courtyard with unseeing eyes, ignoring the gaggle of my fellow students.

Just the thought of a wizard of my talent under the tutelage of Tom with a personality to match… The amount of destruction we could cause, the amount of pain, it is difficult to think.

Not difficult in the sense that I can't, because I can imagine the results. A visage appears before my eyes, looking just like me yet so different. Red cruel eyes instead of soft green ones; blood dripping robes instead of my preferred jeans and long-sleeved shirt combo; a vicious smirk instead of my cheery smile; a nightmare in every sense of the word.

The mirage stands thirty feet across me and raises his hand to comb his hair back as his smile widens to a crazed imitation of happiness. "You think you can escape this? You think you can avoid becoming me?" the figure whispers, followed by a high-pitched laughter.

My hold over reality shatters in an instant even as I try to shake myself out of this cruel nightmare I see. "I will never let anyone turn me into you."

His laughter turns into an insane cackle of a broken mind; of my broken mind. "I think the more important question is, why would you fight against it? Why fight this when you can embrace your power?"

I shake my head, in denial, in refusal; I don't know. "This isn't power," I say pointing at his blood covered robes. "This is madness and destruction, nothing else."

"Oh, but it is," he answers, no sign of his previous amusement in his hate-filled gaze. "You spend your time painting like a child, ignoring your calling, listening to an old man's foolish ideas when you could be out there, remaking the world in your image."

"I will never become you!"

"Are you sure about that, Harry Potter?" he hisses, taking an aggressive step towards me. "Do you think you are strong enough to fight my Lord?"

At the mention of the man, my scar flares to life, burning just as strongly as it did when I was fighting against him at eleven, turning my vision blurry and driving me to my knees.

"You see how powerful he is? How grand?" my counterpart gloats in sick pleasure and leans over my kneeling form, somehow moving faster than what I would have thought possible.

I grit my teeth and try to force my body to ignore the pain but it is hard. The figure standing above me raises the bony wand I remember from my visions and caresses it lovingly before aiming it at my scar and whispering, "Crucio."

My mind goes blank as I writhe on the ground, pain coursing through my body, breaking apart cells and my whole being in one fell swoop.

And just as suddenly, the pain is gone, leaving me choking in my vomit on the ground. I spit the remaining portion of the scones I had with Grandpa Albus and send a silent thank you to him for the tea that makes the experience easier on my stomach.

My hands on the ground, I raise myself with a herculean effort; my arms, and indeed, my whole body protesting my stupidity but I ignore it. A soft, heart-warming tune fills the air though, for the life of me, I can't tell where it's coming from, my attention fixed firmly on the hateful figure standing a few inches from me. "I would die before turning into you," I snarl, blood and spittle flying out of my mouth.

"My Lord can arrange that," he tells me with a smile. "Just like he arranged our little girlfriend's death after he fucked her over her family's dead bodies."

That… That hits me like a freight train; an unbidden image of such a scene searing itself onto my brain, right next to the memory of my mother's death. It also proves the foil for this mirage as my mind protests the image and reasserts itself, reality yanking back into place with a vengeance that makes my eyes water.

And the reality isn't sunshine and roses. All around me, shocked eyes watch the scene with unbridled and morbid curiosity; judging me like they wont to do. Three sets of eyes stand apart from the group with their fear almost tangible in their eyes.

The perpetrators.

I glance down to see two broken vials with wisps of dark red smoke coming out of them. A potion induced nightmare? Creative and cruel.

"You have overreached with this one, fellas," I croak, my voice spent from screaming though I have no recollection of doing so. With a flick, my wand appears in my shaking hand as I convince myself the mirage had no real effect on my body; that the phantom pains sending tremors across my nerves has no bearing in reality. "And I have had it with you."

The hell I unleash on them as the crowd escapes the line of fire is a sight to see as spell after spell leaves my wand, raining down destruction on the three redheads who have the presence of mind to shield against my wrath with everything they have.

I expected an attack from the twins, albeit not one as heinous as this one, but Bill is a surprise. My dislike of him aside, he never struck me as a vindictive type, other than your usual macho bullshit and this was far too cruel for such a retaliation. Not that I am inclined to care for their motives right now.

No, they will feel my anger and if I have to break bones to do it, so be it.

The redheads prove themselves at least adequate as they weather my spells with only minor cuts before they retaliate, putting me on the defensive for a short time.

The first spell heading my way is a body bind. Amateurs. I move half a foot to left and spell passes me by. Apparently, not letting the spell hit me was insulting to the trio because they follow up with curses and hexes at the same time. This time, dodging is not an option as the spells fly at either side of me so I twirl my wand and conjure a shield.

Three spells splash against my shield with no effect other than a metallic clanking sound. I consider firing back but choose not to do anything. Provocation is always a good strategy. "Come on, man, I thought you could at least make this challenging. I was joking when I said you must be a charity case for Gringotts but I'm not so sure anymore."

A part of me knows the trio standing against me probably made a mistake with the potions they made intending to only humiliate me. Another part remembers the pain I suffered and the fear that gripped my heart at my counterparts words and doesn't care.

One twin moves to my right as the other circles the other way. That's a mistake. Bill takes his casting up a notch, two curses leave his wand almost simultaneously followed by one curse each from the twins. I crouch low and let my shield dissolve away. Bill's two curses splash against the wall behind me with no visible effects while one twin is hit by the spell his counterpart cast. The other twin conjures a hasty shield, enough to save him from feeling his doppelgänger's curse. The slower one's bleeding arm puts a smile on my face.

Must be a cutter.

Smiling cheekily at the bleeding redhead, I cast one of my own spells. A small bird flies up and explodes in a bright white flash over my head, blinding the all three of my assailants. That should give me enough breathing room to focus on the bleeding arsehole.

I stand straight, take a deep breath and start casting at a furious pace. A stunning curse, a disarming charm, a body bind, a cutting curse, a vanishing spell, another body bind and a swarm of bees leave my wand one after the other.

A minute after I stand, the Peter stands frozen, naked except his boxer, and with red marks all over his body as the bee venom coursing in his veins cause him considerable pain. His wide eyes move from side to side in pain and fear yet he finds no release. His wand is on the ground, twenty feet away from him.

Eye for an Eye is what he gets for vanishing my clothes in the middle of Great Hall and causing me unimaginable pain with the phantom Cruciatus.

I turn around to deal with the second twin but have to shield against two hexes as my opponents have their eyesight back. I wasn't fast enough to go on the offensive when it was three against one but two against one is easier to handle.

Three snakes and the same number of birds leave my wand, followed by a hasty shield to stave off a hex from the remaining twin before I cast an urination spell used by healers for patients in a coma. Bill deals with the first two snakes without difficulty but the other one slithers towards him while the birds circle him, keeping him from casting anything which gives me a small window to deal with the twin.

The twin in question sends a weird-looking purple spell which once again splashes on my shield as a stunner followed by a stream of water leaves my wand. He dodges the stunner but is not fast enough to do anything for the water as he gets soaked. I cast a mild lightening hex followed by a freezing charm on the water as soon as it touches the twin, causing him enough pain as revenge and trapping him in an icy prison, taking him out of the equation, at least for now.

Now one on one, Bill's spell-casting becomes more erratic and dangerous.

As soon as he finishes the last snake, he casts another stunner but dealing with a stunner is no hardship as it is off the mark. When I turn to face him, I see the realisation set in his eyes as he sees the ice sculpture of his brother. He follows the stunner with two curses I don't recognise and an exploding hex and a shredding hex.

Trying to protect the idiotic onlookers in the vicinity from his bad aim, I cast a wide area shield but the last hex hits the mark, shredding my long-sleeved t-shirt. I tear off what remains of my shirt, leaving my upper body naked. Thankfully, the adrenaline combined with the warm liquid dripping from back that I am too focussed to investigate is enough to stave off the cold for now.

I cast an overpowered finger breaking curse and one of my own, an exploding bird curse. The finger breaking curse sizzle against his shield as do two of the birds. Third bird to make contact breaks the shield and the last two explodes upon getting near Bill, leaving burn marks on left side of his face and his right arm.

His pained screams is a music to my ears, and that thought makes hesitate as I realise just how much the mirage affected me.

My hesitation costs me as a sickly yellow curse hits my left shin, a burning sensation makes it impossible to move my leg. I don't have either the time or the knowledge to deal with whatever curse destroying my leg is, so I cast a hasty but powerful suspension charm.

Suspension charms are used to keep food or unfinished products in the same condition for a short period. I'm not sure whether using it on a human body is a good idea, but it is the only thing I can come up with at the moment.

Focusing back on my enemy, because he is an enemy after casting whatever that curse was, I attack in earnest. An animal of pure fire leaves my wand a few seconds before a hallucination curse does. I follow that with two severing curses aimed at his foot. He deals with the animal by conjuring water but the resulting smoke hides my other curses, only one missing the mark.

As he rolls around three feet away from where his foot still is and screams, I focus on calming my breath as the crowd surrounding us look at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. Summoning the wands of my attackers, I cast a silencing charm on Bill. "This's the third time someone attacked me in the last six weeks. I am sick of having to defend myself!"

Levitating the other two redheads next to Bill's prone body, I bind them all with ropes, silence them and let other magic I cast dissolve away. "I don't know what you think you were going to accomplish with that trick with the potion and I can't find it in my heart to care about your motives," I say, my tone low and dangerous as the trio watches me with horror. "I am sick of having to defend myself. Sick of having to hurt others to protect myself. Here is a fun fact for you," I begin but pause.

I look up at the crowd, the interest in their eyes sickening me. "And this goes for everyone, so please, listen carefully," I continue in a louder voice. "You can attack me with everything you have and while my back is turned but there is one thing you will never see me do; lose. If there is one thing you should take away from what you've seen of me so far; it is that no matter the odds, no matter the consequences and no matter the pain you may cause me, I win. And I will always win."

I drop the silencing charm, allowing his painful screams to ring across the courtyard to remind everyone what crossing me entails before reapplying the spells as the man cries in silence. "I always win. You may hurt me, injure me, leave me bleeding to death but you cannot beat me. Even when I am dying, I don't give up. A basilisk's bite didn't stop me. Getting stabbed in the back with a trident didn't stop me. Two bouts of cruciatus didn't stop me. Did you think-"

"Mr Potter!"

Oh, man! I was getting to the best part.

I take a step back from the bound figures and turn to the shocked professor. "Yes, Professor McGonagall? How can I help you?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

I shrug. "You know, the usual. People attack me, I kick their asses. I was in the middle of a scary monologue when you cut me off so if you don't mind, I'd like to finish." I tilt my head to the side. "Oh, if you would tell Poppy in approximately fifteen minutes, my leg will stop working, possibly forever, that would be lovely."

"What?"

My shoulders sag as my vision darkens. "Please call Madam Pomfrey? This moron's," I point to Bill, "curse is trying to burn away the nerves on my left leg as we speak and it hurts something fierce."

She looks at where I'm pointing and her eyes widens when she sees the pain I wroth. Or maybe it is the two severed foot. Either way, her angry eyes when she turns her gaze back to me only adds to my pain. "What have you done, Mr Potter?" she asks, taking a step towards me in anger, her tone pinched.

"Back off, Professor," I answer, the world spinning and my tone just as tired as my mind.

"We have given you a lot of leeway with rules but if you think I'll allow you to attack other stud-"

"I said back off!" I yell, stumbling on my feet but remaining standing. "Do not presume to tell me what the rules are when I'm the only reason this school is still standing! Do not think my respect for you, Aunt Minerva, gives you the right to assign me the blame when you have no idea what happened!" This time when I stumble, I have neither the energy nor the presence of mind to fight gravity and I find myself sprawled on the dirty ground.

"Do not judge me before you know just what I saw," I mumble before letting the darkness envelop me.

- Flowers for Your Grave -

Chapter 2: Second Rate Performance

February 26, 1995

I broke yet another record. I've woken up in the hospital wing eighth time this semester and there are still four months, two challenges, a duelling tournament, the final task and a possible confrontation with Voldemort to go.

Albus offered to trade one of the private rooms of the wing with my current room. It would make the commute easier, he said.

I didn't laugh.

The curse Bill used on my leg turned out to be of Egyptian origin. Nasty stuff. It burns through your nerves, starting with the area it hit and spreading through the body until it reaches the brain at which point, you are long dead.

Poppy said while the suspension charm I used shouldn't be used on living organisms for a reason I don't remember, it saved my leg and potentially my life. Okay, that's a stretch, it would have taken hours for the curse to kill but still, it could have killed me.

Eventually.

Fleur was mad. Oh boy, she was mad, and between you and me, she looks hot when she's mad. First, it was mad because I made her wait until she learned what happened. Then, she was mad because I aggravated the situation when I could have walked away.

Her yelling turned into tears as her anger was spent and fear for my sake surfaced. Maybe telling her about Voldemort wasn't such a good idea.

I don't think I need to tell you last two days weren't fun as Poppy refused to allow me to leave the hospital bed, not even to visit the toilet. The same urination charm and a different variation of it to relieve me of the contents of my bowels were the name of the game and let me tell you, they are not pleasant.

At least, I got to spend quality time with my friends and mock Hermione about Viktor still following her around like a lost puppy. Ron's scowling was just an icing on the cake. Katie seemed a little low spirited, and that's not a good look on her but cheering her up has never been an issue and this time proved no different.

It isn't a fun morning either. I got used to waking up next to Fleur the last five days. No, I'm not being clingy. Compared to that, waking up to Poppy's nagging is awful.

And now, I'm on a carriage to the racing track the ministry built for this occasion. It was a surprise to hear as broom racing fell out of favour around mid-century.

The first thing I see as I walk into the tent is the beaming face of Gabrielle. She is rapid firing questions at her older sister as an older woman, who I assume is Mama Delacour, tries to rein in the little girl. Aimee is smiling at the excitable girl's excited talking.

I wink at Fleur as I stumble past the four blondes and find a comfortable seat to wait for the task to start. Britt is the only other champion in the tent with us and she's no conversationalist. So I close my eyes and go over my plan to see if there are any holes in it or any improvements I can make.

I come up empty which isn't surprising as Fleur perfected it over the last week based on what knowledge we have of the task; that it will involve riding a broom.

The organisers sure love their mysteries. Bastards.

This task will cost me, of that I have no doubt. The best I can hope for is to stay in the lead. Viktor will get the highest points in this task though Fleur may surprise everyone if her determination the last few days were any sign.

Either way, I am fourteen points ahead of closest competitor and I doubt Cedric can outperform Viktor on this one. I need thirty-five points and I hope I can get at least that much. It all depends on whether I can make my plan work.

"What are you doing?" Aimee asks, jolting me out of my reflection.

"Just thinking."

She sits next to me. "About?"

"How I can keep my lead."

"With your injuries?" The doubt in her voice hurts my ego a little but I survive.

"Viktor will probably win this round. As long as I score over thirty points, I will still be in the lead."

"You are right, I will win," I hear Viktor speak in broken English.

I smile at the reserved boy. "I will still win the tournament though."

He crosses his arms and gives me a 'we'll see' look.

"You are confident in your abilities, Mr Potter," I hear a cold feminine voice and turn to Fleur's mother.

I shrug nonchalantly. "I am and for a good reason too."

"Let's hope so. We wouldn't want a young boy like yourself to get hurt in this tournament." The sentence is a little insulting but what gets to me is the condescending tone she uses and the way it reminds me how Fleur behaved the morning after my birthday.

Fleur gives me a look before rolling her eyes. "Why people insist on calling me a 'boy'? Would it hurt you to call me a young man, instead of a young boy?" I complain childishly which doesn't impress the middle-aged beauty one bit.

Céline Delacour is a blonde with exquisite curves and a youthful skin that makes her seem in her mid-thirties. She looks to be an older, hazel-eyed version of Fleur except not as beautiful, though beautiful in her own right.

"Maybe because you are a fourteen-year-old boy," Aimee points out with a roll of her eyes.

"And yet, it was you who wanted to roll around in the snow for hours on end, not me. And it is me who has a fourteen point lead." I throw a cocky look at eldest Delacour woman. "I think everyone should be glad I am only fourteen. Can you imagine if I was seventeen?"

When Aimee sticks out her tongue, I answer with a similar show of tongue.

Mama Delacour must be unaccustomed to being ignored because she huffs indignantly and walks to the furthest corner of the tent.

"Someone is in trouble with the in-laws," Aimee sings as Fleur follows her mother with a thin set of lips and shaking shoulders.

"Meh. She'll get over it."

Any further conversation is cut short by a certain fat man. "Good, you are all here. Gather round."

He throws a mad glare at me when I don't move. "I am injured and my healer told me not to stand in ceremony for pompous arseholes with washed up fame. Please, just focus on your job."

My insult earns me few snorts and smiles, and a giggle from Gabrielle, though Fleur's mother gives no reaction other than her narrowed eyes.

Bagman clears her throat and continues as if no interruptions occurred, "your task today is to complete the track as fast as possible and steal a bag from a griffin. But there are various creatures you will have to get past before you can attempt that, including pixies, a runespoor, a river troll and one other surprise creature."

Merlin, what's with this tournament and surprises? Though if the last time Bagman mentioned a surprise creature, an ashwinder, is any sign, it won't be a dangerous creature. Especially considering we already have to deal with a runespoor, a troll and a griffin.

A runespoor is a three-headed snake that can grow as big as a basilisk but not as dangerous as they are slower creatures with no killing gazes and venom.

Troll won't be a problem at all as long as the champions can move fast.

Griffin. That could pose a problem. Griffins are proud creatures with vicious talons, lightning-fast reflexes and mild precognitive ability. There is a reason Godric choose a griffin as the animal of his house. Griffins are protectors of the forest, and they kill anyone who wanders into their territory with impure intentions.

I'd rather face a dragon than a griffin, to be honest. Dragons are scary and they breathe fire but griffins are incredibly smart and one of the fastest creatures in the air.

"You will go in order of your points, which means Mr Potter is first, followed by Mr Diggory and so on."

Yay. I'll get to watch my competition this time.

-HP-

First thing I do as soon as I leave the tent is applying the needed charms on the Nimbus X I rescued from the lake and test it. I waste valuable ten minutes to get it done, and it still is nowhere near perfect. The back support I added will increase the air friction, preventing me from reaching the top speed even if I had no intention of doing that. The main problem I face is the broom's reaction time to the stick I charmed to control it.

Nimbus broom racing company has been losing market share steadily ever since the start of ninety-three when Firebolt hit the market. Nimbus X will be their answer to the new competition. It wasn't hard to convince Ron to try the X against my Firebolt, bless his soul, and the differences are few but substantial. Firebolt's top speed is a respectable hundred and fifty miles per hour while the X can reach up to two hundred. The Bolt takes ten seconds to reach the top speed while the X reaches two hundred in seven seconds.

There is one major advantage the Firebolt has over the X; handling and control. When you are flying on a Firebolt, the broom reacts to your every whim. It's almost like the broom can read your mind. The X has a good handling too, but its reaction time is slower and movements are a little jerkier in comparison, at least according to Ron.

The stick I add to the broom slows the reaction time even more. Honestly, I'd prefer doing this with a Nimbus 2000 as they are by far the most agile brooms ever made.

I will have to make do.

As soon as I am sure everything is ready to go, I mount the broom and take off. I have to say, the new seating arrangement is cosy compared to a broom right under my balls. No more half an hour of warm water, followed by an ice pack as an apology to the guys downstairs.

Cushioning charms, my arse.

In the last two tasks, the commentary for my performance was... different compared to the other champions. This time is no different. The fat man is confused and stupefied by my actions. According to him, I am ruining a perfect broom for no reason whatsoever and wasting time.

Dunderhead.

Oh, boy. I should stop channelling my inner Snape.

I fly at a comfortable speed as I will need a second for the broom to react to any sudden movements I need it to make. The track is twenty miles long and I encounter the first trouble at four miles mark: a mountain troll bigger and uglier than the one Ron and I killed in ninety-one.

A troll, no matter how big, shouldn't be a trouble for a wizard on a broom but the tournament planners acted smart on this one. I encounter the troll as I fly out of an arch that prevented me from seeing it. Just in time to avoid crashing into the troll, I stop the broom's forward motion and consider my options.

The troll has a range of ten feet and the rocky passage he stands in the middle of is twenty feet at most. I have to draw it towards me where there is more space to manoeuvre around it. That won't be too hard as the troll needs no encouragement to want to kill me. And if I move at the right time, the reaction time of the broom won't matter against a slow creature like a troll.

As the stupid creature makes his move towards me and swings his club, I transfigure his club to water. The troll's surprise at the loss of his weapon is the perfect opportunity, one which I take full advantage of. The troll is of no concern to me by the time he realises his prey is gone.

One problem solved, more to go.

Pixies. The second trouble I find myself in is a swarm of pixies waiting for me right after a narrow turn.

The way they used pixies is ingenious, especially the placement. They are not dangerous but can cause a lot of problems for the champions and the extremely tight space they are in makes them all the more effective.

I can just fly past them but there is no telling what damage the little devils can cause to my broom. Instead, I follow my bookish best friend's example and cast a strong freezing charm.

Who would have thought I learned something thanks to- or because of depending on how you look at it- Gilderoy Lockhart? Though, Hermione was the one to think of using the freezing charm on the pixies so she gets my gratitude.

I wait an extra second to ensure my charm worked on all the little devils before flying past them through the tight, rocky ravine.

The eight miles I flew past in ten minutes is not bad and that has me worrying what I will face as I rush through the widening ravine. If I spent just over ten minutes to get here, the other champions, especially Viktor, can do it in less than five.

That means I am fifteen minutes behind him which is abysmal.

I hate this; being crippled and weak. I hate feeling like a small kid in over his head; like how I felt when I faced the troll, Quirrell, the basilisk… like the sickening mirage of my future-self said...

Wait, where did that come from? I shake my head to clear it and slow the broom down. Something is not right. I may not be doing well on this task so far but I am not in over my head. On the contrary, I am doing great.

Not just in the tournament either. My life is going great considering everything that happened. I have a beautiful, sexy and smart girlfriend, a wonderful group of friends, two father figures cheering for me from the stands and a mentor who is there for me even though he is not allowed. My studies are going steady even without going to any classes. Even occlumency is going fine according to Albus and Snape. I recently made it to quarterfinals in an international duelling tournament even though I am only fourteen.

Yes, I am under a lot of stress this year but I am happy and content.

So why am I getting this sudden dread, like all the joy is gone from the-

Oh, shit.

I guess the surprise of this task is more dangerous than a simple ashwinder. They brought a fucking dementor.

No problem. I faced down these fuckers before and lived, repeating that won't be a problem. Hell, it will be less of a problem than the troll I flew past thanks to the memories Fleur recently supplied me with.

I think through all the time I spent with Fleur and come up with the best memory: her apology by music. The resulting silvery Puck is my brightest one ever.

I turn the corner used to hide the dementor, speed up and fly past the shrieking dementor with a grin on my face. This is to my advantage. Patronus is a difficult charm, one not everyone can conjure and there are handful people who can do so as fast as I can.

There are two reasons for that: one, I am great at compartmentalising and manipulating my own emotions, and two, I worked damn hard on the patronus charm.

You would work hard not to hear your mother's death too.

I continue on my way before slowing down when I reach the entrance of a huge cage. The ceiling stands fifty feet over a river with wild current. There is no way this cave is without a dangerous creature in it. The question is which one comes first: the griffin or the runespoor.

I hope it's the griffin because if something goes wrong with it, this cave will be to my advantage as it would limit the movements of the large creature.

My hopes come true half a mile into the cave and I come across a large griffin with silvery feathers and brown, muscular legs, sitting in front of a backpack on a small sandy island.

The griffin regards me with caution but doesn't stand yet as I rack my brain for a plan. I can't dive and steal the backpack. Even without my injuries, escaping a griffin would be a challenge and I am not brave or stupid enough to attempt that.

No, I need to get to that pack without rising the noble creature's ire.

Newt Scamander and Hagrid both believe treating magical creatures with respect is the way to win their heart. I guess we'll see just how right they are.

I send a silent prayer to Buckbeak's immortal soul, may he rest in peace and land on the sand. With my broom in my hand, I stumble closer to the magnificent beast. The beast stands in response, a looming seven feet and rears back on its muscular back legs, proving his manliness before lets out a high-pitched shriek, a threat of a painful death. I stop at once and bow to the creature as much as I can without hurting my back, again.

I spend the next two minutes showing my respect for the creature and cursing the twins for reopening my back injuries as he prances over, sniffs me and judges me. Turns out, I am worthy because he nudges my hand, ordering me to... not pet, worship him with my hands. This isn't a mere animal you can pet.

After five minutes of paying the piper, the griffin nudges me on with a whine. I walk to the backpack and tie it to the back of the back support of my broom before taking off once again.

The cave snakes on for another mile before I get to the mouth of it and the runespoor blocking it.

Like I said, a runespoor can grow as big as a basilisk and this proves that. It reaches the fifty feet high ceiling of the cave without trouble with all three of its heads.

Who knew Parseltongue can be a useful talent to have? Well, that may not be the right word for it as my talent with the language allows me to hear the three heads of the creature discuss how to eat me, giving me new nightmare materials and a refreshed dislike of serpents.

Maybe if I ask nicely, they would let me pass?

No, Parseltongue is an 'evil' language and I don't want to remind people I can speak it.

What else?

Can I slip between its heads? Not a long shot. But can I risk it with my injuries? If there are more threats outside the cave, speeding past it may end up being the last thing I do.

What are the chances of that happening? If I calculated the distance correctly, the only thing outside the cave should be the finish line.

Decision made, I fly back to give me enough distance to reach high speed and do just that. I get away with a small graze from a tooth which is lucky considering I had no chance of dodging all the creature's heads.

Turns out, I was right. The finish line is a hundred yards from the exit of the cave.

I stop two hundred yards away from the finish line as the broom takes its sweet time to slow down.

"And there you have it, folks. Harry Potter finished the task in forty-seven minutes and without more than a scratch."

-HP-

"You are fine."

"Are you sure? And here I was thinking I would die."

My sarcasm isn't well received by Poppy. "And here I expected you to want salve for your leg," she shoots back, giving a poke to the said leg.

I slap her hand and caress my leg. "Merlin, woman! You need to go back to wherever you learned to be a healer and take courses on bedside manners."

She shakes her head with a smile. "Bedside manner applies to patients who don't insist on creating unnecessary work for their healers. Stop being a baby."

I let her access to my leg to apply the salve. "You used to be nicer."

She massages my leg with the salve and my god; it feels so good. Not the massage, the salve. I'm not so far gone so far as to harbour naughty thoughts about a woman who worked at Hogwarts while my mother was a student here. No, sir. Never.

The fact that she's a nurse does not change my teenage mind when it needs to conjure images for a dream of sweat and ecstasy.

"You used to be a cute boy."

I huff at her with a pout. "So, you show your real face. I get older and put on a few pounds, and suddenly, you don't like me anymore."

For all Poppy's stern attitude and angry rants, she has a superb sense of humour, or maybe she got used to my humour and goes along with it. "You are just too old for me, sweety."

I stifle my laughter. "I wouldn't repeat it in front of anyone else or people will wonder if it's a good idea to let you work in a school full of children."

"We wouldn't want that," she agrees with a nod.

"Merlin forbid! St. Mungo's may send a kind healer. What would that be like?"

She stops massaging and stands with a wistful smile I hope is a fake. "You can leave now."

I hop off the bed and land on my face. "Shit. Without the pain, I forgot my leg isn't working." Her laughing makes things even worse. "This didn't happen so we won't be telling anyone about it."

"Oh, Minerva will love this."

I lean on my staff and stand. "At least make sure the student population doesn't hear about it. I have a reputation to uphold."

"What reputation?"

"I don't know. I don't listen to the rumours about me because I don't care about people's opinions." My careless shrug adds to my point.

"That makes little to no sense, Harry."

I limp away to the exit of the tent. "Exactly."

"What?"

"Who?"

"..."

As soon as I walk out of the tent, I walk into a black man in auror robes.

"Sorry," I say as he helps me up from where I lay sprawled over once again.

I give him a once over. He looks familiar. "Don't worry about it."

"You look familiar. Where do I remember you from?"

He grins and reminds me, "you barged into a meeting between the Headmaster, the minister and the head of DLME last year."

Oh, right. That. "Not my best moment, interrupting a meeting."

He slaps me in the shoulder while laughing. "You impressed everyone in the room, especially Madam Bones." He leans in, almost bending over as he's at least a foot taller than me. "Between you and me, the boss hopes to recruit you after your actions last summer and your performance in Spain."

Shacklebolt. That was his name. He's close with Dumbledore and was a member of Order of the Phoenix. "Well, if she plans to retire, I'm sure she can find another candidate to take her spot," I say with a cocky grin and a shrug, earning a booming laughter from the personable man.

"Anyway, I'm here for a reason. The minister wants to talk to you in the stands, and be warned, Rita Skeeter is with him."

"Sure, lead the way, and don't worry about Rita. I know how to handle her."

He gives me an odd glance but doesn't comment as we continue our way. If Bagman's commentary is accurate, Cedric is about to face the dementor and he is nearing ten minutes mark. He has only ten minutes on me which is encouraging as he's yet to face the more challenging part of the task.

"Diggory turns the corner before the dementor without even stopping and barely able to slow his broom to avoid crashing into the dementor. Let's see if his patronus is up to the task."

Turns out, Diggory knows how to cast a patronus though he wastes five minutes conjuring one which means he has only six minutes' advantage on me.

Good.

"Harry, come, sit," the minister's voice booms as soon as I arrive at the minister's box with my escort in tow.

"It is good to see you, Minister. Auror Shacklebolt tells me you want to speak with me?"

His amicable smile seems a little predatory with the hungry look in his eyes. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you. I wanted to see if you are doing well after everything you've been through last month."

"Unfortunate series of incidents but I assure you I will be good as new in two or three days. Rita, lovely to see you as always," I say kissing Rita's hand before sitting at the seat the minister points me to. "You weren't able to interview me after the last task so we should remedy it."

Her eyes narrow but no unpleasantness show on her face. "I tried to get in for an interview but Dumbledore was persistent in his desire to shield you from me."

"I'm afraid I agree with him on the decision he made. It was a stressful month all around and with the mood, I was in, you would find me untalkative at best, replaced by an irritating arsehole at worst."

I glance around the stand we are on and see Fleur's mother, Gabriel and the judges are here. Albus sees me looking and winks while Fleur's mother tries to act like I'm not there and she's not listening in.

Rita's customary hunger for scandal appears on her face as she asks, "what happened exactly? Wild rumours reached my ears, each more absurd than the other and I'm not sure what to believe."

"Well, I'm sure you saw what happened with the siren." She nods when I take a moment to glance at Albus to see him nod his consent. "Three weeks after that, right after my back healed enough so I could walk without a staff, a man impersonating Mad-Eye Moody attacked me and held me under cruciatus. The pain was becoming too much to handle so I couldn't wait for help to arrive. I acted without a plan and the imposter died."

"Do you have any idea who the imposter was?"

"I have my suspicions but, as you probably know, when someone dies while polyjuiced, they don't revert to their original body so I can't say with certainty."

The lift of her eyebrow tells me she reads the underlying message, but she lets go. "And what about what happened yesterday? Multiple sources claim you were in a fight which quickly got out of control."

I can see the minister is getting agitated with the direction this interview is going so I change the subject. "It was a misunderstanding which got out of hand in the heat of the moment, nothing more. Rita, I'd rather we speak of pleasant subjects. Minister, I hear you played a big role in the decision to bring broom racing back to Britain."

Rita glares at me while Fudge smiles enthusiastically. "Yes, I always thought it was a shame broom racing fell out of favour in Britain. I used to love watching the races when I was a kid. I thought it would be a shame to let this wonderful track we built go to waste when we can reintroduce racing to Britain with it."

"Yes, it's a shame magical world offers so little in the way of sports and entertainment."

As we talk, Cedric finishes the task, though I miss all of it. According to Bagman's commentary, he finished the task in thirty-eight minutes.

Rita looks at me with hopeful eyes, begging for a newsworthy material. "What do you mean by that, Harry?"

"Muggles have this sport called football. Nothing special, a bunch of guys kicking a ball in the grass. What's special is the competitions, the rivalry. They don't have just the national league. They have these bigger tournaments where the best teams of every national league in Europe play against each other to determine the best team in all of Europe. And they have similar tournaments for every sport, not just football. There is basketball, tennis, rugby and many more branches of sports, each reaching to a different audience. I can't help consider us, wizards, lacking in that respect."

"Do you think we should adopt a similar approach?" Fudge asks, his tone conveying his doubt of the idea.

"Why not? It would help the economy, increase the competitiveness in the Quidditch world and give people more of the sport they love. Not the mention I'm sure the players would love the chance to compete against a wider variety of teams."

Bagman's voice cuts us off before we can discuss it any further, "next up, we have the Bulgarian Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, the favourite on this task."

My body language must make it clear I want to watch his performance because neither Rita nor Fudge says anything for the next half an hour. We watch Krum blow through the track in a show of excellent flying skills. The dementor and the griffin slowed him down just enough so I don't expect to lose my lead on the tournament. He falters and loses eight minutes against the dementor and flies past it when he fails to produce a patronus. The dementor tries to follow but is stopped by an enchantment. The surly boy wastes another ten valuable minutes against the griffin, trying to draw it away from the backpack. Not a tactical genius but his flying skills pay off as he finishes in twenty-eight minutes. He doesn't even get bloody.

"What do you think of your rival's performance, Harry?"

"He did good, as I expected of a Quidditch star of his calibre. I can't say I would've done better if I was in good health. But it seems like I will keep my lead."

"And Cedric?" she asks, hoping for something more.

"Well, he will get more points than me but other than that, I can't say anything as I didn't catch his performance."

Her shoulders slump. "You are no fun today."

I ignore her and focus my attention on the minister. He sent an auror so he can talk with me, ignoring him would be rude. "Minister, I was wondering, did Hermione, the girl I introduced you to this summer, get in touch with you about the internship you offered? She won't tell me anything."

That's a lie, I'm aware Hermione hasn't written to the man yet. She's afraid of getting rejected, afraid Fudge only offered the internship because I was there.

He perks up as he shakes his head. "No, I have received no owls from her. It's a shame too, I was looking forward to showing the ropes to the 'future Minister of Magic' as you praised her."

"I'll remind her to send you an owl then. We can't let talents such as hers go to waste."

"Who is Hermione?" Rita cuts in, smelling the news.

"Remember the girl I was walking with after the first task? She's a good friend, and one of the smartest people I know."

She lifts an eyebrow and gives me a sweet smile from where she's sitting on the other side of Fudge. "Are you sure that's the whole story? Wasn't she the girl you saved from the troll in your first year?"

"Yes, and yes. She's one of my best friends but there is nothing romantic between us so don't go inventing stories."

"So you insist on giving me nothing? Not even a schoolgirl crush?"

I shrug with no sympathy.

"Our next champion is Aimee Beaufort," Bagman announces and we turn our attention to where Aimee is preparing to take off.

Her performance is the opposite of the Krum's. While he focused on his speed, Aimee plays it smart and safe. She distracts the troll with colourful spells, freezes the Pixies as I did, produces a patronus after suffering the effects of the creature for a few minutes. The blonde conjures an animal for the griffin to hunt as another distraction and somehow ties two of the runespoor's heads together. Her time is not as good as the other two champions though. She finishes the task in forty minutes.

"Any comments on miss Beaufort's performance?"

"She played it smart and came up with good plans on the spot but her time suffered because of it."

She smiles, shakes her head and says, "I don't know why I asked, I wasn't hopeful."

I smile back at the woman, trying to make my eye twinkle and failing. "Not even I can make the headlines all the time, my dear."

She sighs before brightening up after a glance at the man holding the highest seat of the magical government. "Okay, how about you give me a quote on what your opinions are on Minister Fudge's administration?"

Said minister seems unsure on how he should feel. He gulps while beaming at me, a unique and ridiculous combination.

"Sure but remember, I know nothing about politics and I have seen no other administration. Any comment I make will be a young man's inexperienced ramblings." She reluctantly nods her acceptance. "The ministry under his leadership made mistakes but considering they inherited an unstable country that was still trying to heal after a civil war, that was expected. Magical Britain still has a long way to go to reach normalcy. I think Cornelius Fudge can lead us there if he listens to wise counsel and fights the injustices that poison our society."

"Who do you mean by wise counsel and what changes would you suggest he make?"

"Who? Albus Dumbledore is the foremost name to consider. I mean he is a century old man who fought in two wars and apprenticed under the oldest man alive. I don't know Madam Bones well but from what I've seen and heard of her, listening to her advice would make sense. Especially from law and order standpoint."

"What changes I would suggest? Fewer laws preventing werewolves from having a normal life instead of pushing them to the fringes of society. More investments in education and entertainment. That's all I can come up with at the moment. As I said, I am a fourteen-year-old boy. It would be smarter to listen to the suggestions from Dumbledore, Madam Bones and people of similar experiences and broader perspectives."

"I understand why you would support an increased budget for education but werewolves?" she asks, going for the headline material right away.

"I understand the general fear and distrust surrounding the werewolves but the fact of the matter is, they are regular people. We shouldn't ostracise them and prevent them from working to their full potential and having a real life. We should encourage the use of wolfsbane potion by selling it at a loss and invest in research so we can exterminate the disease one day in the future."

Fudge cuts in before Rita can ask another question, "what about the cost? Wolfsbane potion isn't cheap and if we were to implement your suggestions, we would be asking the public to pay for it."

"But you would also bring the victims of the disease back into the workforce. An average worker pays a hundred galleons a year on taxes. If the werewolves are able to work again, the ministry's revenue from the taxes will increase, the added workforce will help revitalise the economy. The investment you make for the werewolves will pay for itself. Not to mention it will decrease the number of werewolf attacks thanks to the potion, helping the constituents feel safer."

Fudge nods but still seems unsure while Rita scribbles on her parchment without a pause. I'm surprised she's not using a quick-quotes quill. She's learning, I guess.

"I think it would be a good project for Hermione to work on. She can calculate the cost, research what the advantages and disadvantages would be, interview a sample group to determine how both the public and the afflicted would react and search for volunteers even."

"It wouldn't hurt to look into it, I suppose."

I smile at the short man. "You can even make me the public face of the legislation if you go through with a similar legislation."

"Our next champion, Fleur Delacour enters the track." Bagman's announcement draws my attention and I turn away from the minister to watch my girlfriend.

Fleur is amazing. No, I'm not saying that just because she's gorgeous and I might be in love with her. It is the truth. She is something else out there and the determined look on her face only adds to her aura of shagtastic beauty.

The way she stuns the troll by one stunner to the creature's left eye without even slowing down is scary. What an aim!

The way she conjures one hell of a wind to throw the pixies out of her way is impressive.

The way she doesn't even glance at the dementor before casting a patronus at point blank range is shocking and quite a bit painful to the foul creature.

The only time she falters is against the griffin but she comes up with a plan quickly enough. That plan involves angering the noble beast into following her, stealing the bag and flying past the runespoor as she conjures a thick smoke to blind both creatures. Two creatures fight each other as she passes the finish line with her head held high, fighting a grin.

She finishes the task in twenty-eight minutes, and I'm not sure I could have performed better if I was in perfect health. She was something else out there. I guess her mother's attendance and her poor performance in the previous task pushed her to prove herself.

"Anything I can use, Harry?"

I smile at Rita as I respond, "what? All the talks of politics and my support for werewolf rights weren't enough?" I wait for a beat but she doesn't answer. "Well, Fleur's time is the same as Viktor's and she performed the best so far. She should get the highest scores but we both recognise that will not happen because of Karkaroff's blatant bias."

She smiles while writing what I said before glancing up at me again. "Give me your predictions on today's rankings."

"Well, like I said, Fleur should get the highest score but that will not happen. I think the ranking will be Krum, Fleur, Aimee, Cedric. I will get the lowest score. No comment on Britt as I haven't seen how she is on a broom."

"Thank you, Harry."

"My pleasure, Rita. Minister, I should return to the tent. After Britt finishes the task, the points will be announced."

"Go ahead, my boy. Enjoy the rest of your day."

-HP-

My guess at the third task ranks turns out to be spot on. Viktor receives forty-five points, one point more than Fleur while Cedric and I each get one point less than Aimee and Britt with thirty-seven points. When you consider my injuries and the ten minutes I spent on my broom before even starting the task, thirty-seven points is a damn good score. So sharing the last place doesn't feel all that bad.

I turn out to be right about Karkaroff too. The fucker gives me a four, Fleur a five. Cedric and Aimee both get six while Britt gets a ten. A fucking ten. I won't even mention what Viktor receives.

The bastard would give Viktor eleven points if he could.

It doesn't matter. I am still in the lead with 131 points while Viktor is second with 122 points. Fleur trails us with her 120, followed by Cedric's 118 and Aimee's 112. Britt brings up the rear with 109 points.

The only surprise so far in the standings is Fleur but I have a feeling she will bounce back.

The backpack the griffin let me take had a thick book and some potion ingredients which is troubling considering how awful I am at the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I am much better at foolish wand-waving and silly incantations.

I walk back into the tent with only food in mind because the sun is setting yet breakfast was the last meal I had. I can normally skip lunch without becoming a Ron but because of my poor diet for the past month, I have been eating twice as much to regain my muscle mass and my body enjoys the new attention.

Fleur has another thing in mind as she stops me with a hand on my arm. We stand there, waiting in silence for the other champions to leave. "When I said I couldn't wait for you to antagonise my mother, I was joking," she says as soon as our fellow students leave.

The anger in her tone surprises me and sparks a similar response in me, "it is a two-way street, Fleur. I show respect to those who show me respect."

She lets out a breath, nods and closes the distance between us to hug me. "I'm sorry. Mother was being… herself and driving me up the wall."

I don't answer as I wrap my hands around her shoulders and breathe in her flowery aroma mixed with sweat from the task. It is odd she can smell so good still but I can't complain. Little by little, the tension leaves her body and a few minutes later, her body leaves mine.

"So, what did she do?" I ask, not discouraged by the emptiness her absence leaves.0

Fleur sighs, her one hand rubbing the other. "Gabrielle must have let slip I went on a few dates with Bill. She invited him to dinner just to spite you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Fleur breathes out with a shrug. "She wouldn't give me a chance to explain, not that I think explaining would make a difference with her."

"We can cancel the dinner," I offer. I don't want to miss out on what will surely be a fun night but I'd prefer a happy Fleur to a tense one.

Yes, I'm thoughtful like that. Please, form a line, ladies, no need to cause a ruckus.

She shakes her head, causing her hair to fly around wildly but somehow when she stops, her hair still immaculate, like she spent hours working on it. Must be a veela thing. "No way. We have a bet, mister. You are not getting out of it so easily."

The soft but mischievous smile on my lips is inevitable as I step forward. "Why is it you are so eager to lose our bet, dear flower?" I whisper as my arms snake around her, pulling her flush against me, my eyes refusing to leave hers.

She doesn't answer, closing the distance between our mouths and giving me a deep kiss instead.

Being with Fleur is empowering, and not because she's gorgeous. Yes, we have had our share of drama and we hurt each other but making her smile is an experience, exhilarating unlike anything. The way she relaxes in my embrace and smiles against my lips when my fingers graze by her ticklish stomach makes me feel like I can do anything.

And after her performance on the track today, I'm beginning to think together, we can truly do anything.

I guess time will tell just how much we can accomplish and whether we can last.

Our moment is broken by Aimee's return to the tent though we fail to notice her presence until she clears her throat loudly. "I don't know if you are aware but half a dozen people are waiting for you so we could eat and I'm far too hungry to be amused by your antics."

Fleur and I turn to the girl at the same time and break out into laughter at the cute blonde's pinched expression at the same time. She looks so cute. Her annoyance turns into a glare as she stomps her feet and huffs before storming out, making us laugh harder even as we follow her.

My girlfriend- and no, I don't think I will get tired of saying that anytime soon- squeezes my hand when her mother comes into view, Sirius giving me a large smile behind the irritated blonde's back while Remus pokes him in the back. "Calm down, folks, for I have arrived," I announce in a Lockhart like voice though no one recognises the pompous man's imitation.

"And just why are you here?" Céline Delacour asks, her tone making it clear she's not amused.

I do my best to give her a sweet smile, no doubt failing. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I thought I had dinner planned with my girlfriend's mother."

Her nose wrinkle as she lifts her nose at me, giving me a look one would give a smelly common criminal. "I have little patience or time to waste correcting upstarts." She glares at the union between Fleur and my hands. "Let's go, Fleur. Your boyfriend went ahead to get us a table at the restaurant."

I keep my face blank- and let me tell you; it takes effort not to laugh- and turn to Fleur with a raised eyebrow. "Hunger must have gone to my head. I didn't know I was already at the restaurant. But if I'm already at the restaurant and you are right next to me… Well, this is confusing." I turn back to the Fleur's mother with a faux-glare. "Shame on you for trying to confuse me."

She stays still for a moment in surprise before her glare intensifies. "You must be mistaken, boy," she hisses, her eyes narrowed and lips pinched. "My daughter's- how do you English say it- date is waiting for us at the restaurant."

"Date is close enough word for what you are trying to say but so far from the truth, it is funnier than a Monty Python sketch," I answer, with a smile on my face to prove just how proud I am of her. "I applaud you for the effort though."

"What's a Monty Python?" Gabrielle asks, finally coming out of her hiding place behind her mother's legs.

"They are a British absurd comedy group and arguably the best thing to come out of these lands. It's a tie between them, Merlin and me."

She gives me a nod accompanied by a shy smile while Sirius and Remus are laughing their lungs out without making a sound somehow. Must be a silencing charm.

Aimee's irritation is going up each moment as she caresses her stomach despondently. Samantha, on the other hand, is well fed and all of her efforts goes into keeping herself from joining my two heterosexual fathers.

No one says anything after my explanation and the silence stretches on. I can tell Céline Delacour is waiting for me to give up and leave but all she gets is my amused smile as seconds become minutes.

My stomach rebels at my calm exterior with an embarrassing grumble which brings a condescending smile to the condescending face of the condescending woman.

Did I mention how condescending Fleur's mother is? I can't stress enough how condescending the bitch is.

It is Gabrielle who ends our staring contest with a whine. "Mama, can we have dinner now? I'm hungry."

Mrs Delacour's nostrils flare for a moment but she accepts her defeat with grace. "Fine, but if you want the boy to come, you will have to bring him along with you."

"Though I wouldn't say no to Fleur holding me, I can find my way there myself."

"And how will you do that?"

"There is this form of travel us, wizards, like to use called 'apparating'. You focus for a second and a moment later, you are there. It's like magic."

The woman huffs and takes a hold of Gabrielle's arm in a tight grip before turning on the spot, dragging the girl around.

As soon as she leaves, Samantha lets lose the laughter she's been holding since the start of the constipated conversation. "That was awesome."

Sirius and Remus drop the silencing charm and applaud; Sirius looking especially proud.

I give them a small bow. "Thank you. I live for your amusement."

Fleur groans with her free hand on her face. "I'm starting to regret this idea."

I shrug, my hand finding her cheek, drawing her eyes to mine. "Fleur, I tried. I ignored her insults. Even my sarcastic responses were tasteful and measured."

"I know. She's just..."

"A condescending bitch with a far too high opinion of herself?"

"It's my mother you are talking about."

"I know. I was describing your mother."

"What?"

Dammit, why people react this way to my perfect sense of humour? 'What' is the response I get the second most when I make a joke. More often than not, all I receive is an awkward and confused silence.

People have no appreciation of comedy.

"We can cancel the dinner date," I offer a second time with a sigh.

She leans in and rests her head on my shoulder, her arms around my shoulder, holding me close. "No, I just don't want to fight with her when you inevitably irritate her enough to get me involved."

I rest my cheek on top of her head. "Well, maybe if you offered me a good enough incentive, I could keep my tongue."

She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking back to the first night back, when I had the bright idea of combining dancing with undressing."

She smiles cutely. "Promise not to call my mother a bitch again and we have a deal."

"I promise not to call your mother a bitch... in front of you."

"Good enough, I suppose."

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Chapter 3: How to Make Friends

February 26, 1995

"So, Bill, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?" Mother asks in a courteous tone I've heard her use only to important people like my father's superiors in the government. She really must dislike Harry to lay it on so thick with Bill.

She'll be disappointed.

We are sitting in a cute little French restaurant inside a small wooded area enchanted against Muggles, waiting for our food. I am not hopeful about the quality of food but it has more to do with the country we are in than this restaurant.

Englishmen have no taste in food.

"I am a curse-breaker, madam," Bill answers and from the looks of things, he enjoys the attention, "I work for Gringotts."

"What does a curse-breaker working for Gringotts do?"

"Until last summer, we were working on tombs and pyramids in Egypt, breaking down the highly dangerous curses and protective enchantments step by step. It is hard work and a single mistake could spell death but it is fun."

That was the exact explanation Bill gave me when we first met. He and a small army of curse-breakers were in Hogwarts to raise protections around and in the lake. Apparently, with the demands of this tournament and several other demanding projects, Gringotts higher-ups asked for additional help from their counterparts in Egypt.

"That sounds exciting." Mother gives me a look that demands obedience as she tries to draw me into the conversation, "doesn't it, Fleur?"

"It does," I agree with no enthusiasm.

Harry shakes his head at me and takes my hand from where he's sitting in the next seat. "Come now, Fleur. It sounds thrilling, standing in the middle of a rich culture and history, steps away from knowledge which has been lost for centuries. Egypt was and is the land of scholars and powerful magic. Can you imagine what secrets those pyramids hide and what it feels like to be there, on the ground zero of a potentially world-changing knowledge?" There is nothing but sincerity and awe in Harry's voice, and I can't help but find it attractive.

And not only because he can say that with honesty even in this ridiculous situation where honesty inflates Bill's ego. The most attractive character trait he shows is the same as always; the wonder in his eyes and voice when he speaks about a subject he's passionate in.

My lips curled up in a smile at his enthusiasm, I open my mouth to answer but am cut off by Sirius. "Nerd!" Everyone at the table turns towards the grinning man at once and stare. "What?" he asks with an unabashed shrug.

Remus, in a manner that speaks of not only exasperation but regularity, slaps the back of Sirius' head, earning a yelp from the man. "Bad, Sirius! We do not call young scholars nerds."

"But…"

"No," Remus cuts off, shaking his finger threateningly. "Don't make me tell Anita."

Harry's hand leaves mine as he leans forward on the table, his eyes boring into his godfather's. "Oh? And just who is this Anita?"

Sirius' eyes look around frantically, presumably searching for a distraction or an escape route. "She's- ah- Well, you see…"

A snort escapes me before I can hold myself back at the man's nervousness and I feel Mother's glare at my unladylike behaviour but ignoring her is something I'm experienced with.

"Aw! Did my godfather find himself an itsy-bitsy girlfriend?" Harry mocks in a sickening sugar sweet tone, following his words with exaggerated kissing noises.

"Hey! Anita isn't itsy-bitsy," Sirius complains with an offended glare.

Harry gives Remus a questioning look as Sirius returns to his nervousness. "She's actually a nice, mature woman. I have no idea how he pulled it off but Sirius found himself a real lady friend," he informs the young boy.

Mother, having had enough of staying outside the spotlight, speaks again before the conversation can continue, her target once again Bill. "Tell me, William, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five, madam," the redhead answers, his tone perfectly polite though he commits a faux pas as he doesn't glance away from me even when he speaks to Mother.

"That's a very respectable age," Mother compliments as she herself commits the same faux pas, trying and failing to be subtle.

I've spent four days with Sirius and Remus in Spain and while I can't say I know either men well, I picked up on enough of their character traits to not be surprised when Sirius leans next to him and stage whispers to Aimee, "Let's make sure Mrs Delacour doesn't meet Albus. I think none of us are ready for that romance."

For a moment, no one speaks as we try to make sense of the word and it is Harry who breaks the momentary silence with a giggle. "If twenty-five is a respectable age, what would you call 114, is what he's trying to say," he explains when I look at him questioningly.

Mother's ire raises to new heights as she glares at Harry who raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not saying that. He is," he says, throwing his godfather under the bus with a pointed finger.

"Judas," Sirius whispers harshly, a faux-frown on his face.

"Yes, well… You are a poopy-head," Harry declares vehemently, shaking a finger at Sirius across the table.

The absurdity of the conversation, combined with the tension of the night, breaks through Aimee and Samantha who let out crackling peals of laughter at Mother's reddened face, hiding their own faces behind their hands as Mother glares at everyone at the table except Gabrielle and Bill.

Gabrielle, bless her soul, sits silently and drinks her juice as she watches Harry with stars in her wide eyes. With her very limited understanding of English, she has little hopes of joining the conversation even if she could keep up with the subjects though none of that dampens her mood.

I can't say how grateful I am, for the first time, for our age difference. Just imagining the potential cat fight between us if she was closer in age to Harry makes me shiver. I don't think I could be with Harry if that were the case.

"Really, Fleur? This," Mother spat nodding her head towards Harry, her eyes not leaving me. "Is your choice in a companion? An uncouth little upstart with no respect for his betters and no sense of propriety? I am disappointed."

I glance briefly at my chosen companion before looking back at Mother, feeling every eye on the table on me, waiting for my reaction. Everyone except Harry. He squeezes my hand, offering silent support that's worth more than I am brave enough to admit. In the end, my answer is preordained. I lean forward on my seat, taking a sip of my wine before swirling it around in the glass, allowing the circular motions to calm me. "Your disappointment is nothing new, Mother. I was born to be a target for your dissatisfaction."

She sighs as her face drops, her countenance speaks of sadness yet I don't buy it for a moment. Not when the coldness in her eyes betrays to her thoughts. "I only want what's best for you, Daughter. I always have. I don't understand your adamant need to see me as your enemy."

The table is silent and there is no sign of the previous, albeit forced, merriment and laughter. For all their frivolity, even Sirius and Remus understand the weight of the moment and act accordingly, surprising me if I'm being honest.

The large sip of wine and the circles Harry's finger draws on my palm are the only things allowing me to stay calm. "Then you have a skewed view of our history. It wasn't with my best interest in mind that you pressured me into dating that lout pig, Alphonse. It wasn't with my best interest in mind that you wrote a fake letter in my name to Henry, breaking apart our relationship."

Mother waves a dismissive hand at my words. "If your relationship with that boy was strong enough, it wouldn't have ended so easily. And Alphonse was a handsome boy of good breeding. A union with him would have served you well. Your insistent need to defy me was the only reason he's married to that tramp instead of you right now."

"Alphonse is a sexist pig who attempted potion me into bedding him when I was thirteen!" I snarl, the memories of the nightmarish night returning with a vengeance to my alcohol-addled mind.

Another dismissive gesture from the bitch has me seeing red but the real blow comes from her words. "Surely, you are overreacting. He may have gotten a little overzealous with his youthful attempts at a seduction, nothing more."

I expected many things from her. With her, disappointment and belittlement is the order of the day, all day every day. But this…

It is eye-opening and suddenly, the last shred of respect I had for her, the tiny hope of fixing our relationship is gone. And contrary to what I would have thought, it is liberalising more than depressing. With no emotional attachment to her left, I do not need to worry about her words or opinions anymore.

I am free.

So when I shrug, it is truly an uncaring gesture. "Think what you wish. It will not change reality and I am tired of your letting delusions dictate my life." Wine is truly a blessing and I don't care what Harry says, it is important.

Her nostrils flare as eyes narrow into slits, her face red with anger. "I see your time with these uncultured primates has emboldened you into forgetting your place. A slight, I shall correct."

I open my mouth but Harry's voice rings in the air before I can make any sound, his tone a faux-offended one. "Oi! Who told her about The Drunken Monkey?"

For a long moment, everyone stares at Harry incredulously, including me though I have to admit, I am thankful for the intermission into the destruction of my relationship with Mother. It is Gabrielle, bless her soul, who breaks the silence. "What's a drunken monkey?" she asks, her face scrunched up in innocent curiosity as she stares up at Harry with unhidden awe.

"It's one of my secret superpowers," Harry stage whispers as he leans forward and looks at my little sister with a far too serious face.

"Oh."

"I can teach you," Harry offers, unaware of just how big a mistake it is and if the eager smile on Gabrielle's face is any sign, I may have just lost any alone time with my boyfriend for the foreseeable future.

Before the littlest blonde of the table can answer, the oldest one cuts in with her opinion on the matter. "You will do no such a thing, boy. You do not have my permission to date, nor go anywhere near either of my daughters."

Harry calmly takes a sip of his wine before beaming at my mother. "Then I guess it's a good thing I wasn't asking for permission."

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Mother asks, straightening in her chair in an attempt at intimidation.

"Fleur's mother," Harry deadpans with no sign of his previous, albeit false, calmness. When Mothers makes to speak, he cuts her off. "That's the most you'll ever be. You could be the empress of the world and that would still be your second most important title."

He shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows at the table and looking at Mother's eyes with contempt dripping from his visage. "Sadly, I was orphaned at such an early age that the only memory of my mother I have is of her death. And believe me, I would do anything, anything for a chance to meet her. But watching you with your daughters tonight and listening to the garbage you spew… God forgive me, but I'd prefer having only stories of my mother to being your child."

Ouch. And wow.

That's the third time I watched Harry deliver a verbal smack down and am I glad not to be at the receiving end. I know no one else who can be as hurtful as him when he wants to be.

I should be offended and angry at him for attacking Mother like that but for the life of me, I can't find it in me to get mad at the boy I love for attacking the woman who clearly doesn't. Mother seems to disagree as her eyes find my wide ones. "Are you going to allow this insignificant little boy to insult your mother like that?"

I take a sip of wine and smile coldly at my mother over my glass. "He's trying to defend me against the woman who prefers to defend my would-be rapist. I'm not inclined to get mad at him for that."

Mother gives me a long and hard look before standing up suddenly, her chair flying backwards. "You are no daughter of mine then," she snarls before whipping around and leaving the table with long strides.

As soon as she leaves, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the part of my mind that informs me Mother forgot her youngest daughter at the table, proving just how little I lost tonight except for my hopeless hope. As much as I wish otherwise, tears slip from the corners of my eyes and when I feel Harry's arms around my shoulders, drawing me into his body, I let them go completely.

A part of me holds him responsible for my irreparably broken relationship with... her but I am not surprised my reaction is gratitude.

Sometime later, as I hide from the world in my lover's arms, my tears spent yet I am still disinclined to face the world, I hear three words that do what I would have thought impossible; make me laugh. It is Bill who speaks, his tone awkward and unsure.

"I should go."

-FD-

March 4, 1995

Something has been different between Harry and me. Even though we have been spending less time together this past week because of my sister's presence; when we are together, things are… content and blissful. We reached an unspoken understanding between us, I guess.

He's more at ease around me, more carefree and I get to see more of him without the air of infallibility he likes to wear. And I smile more often, even without his presence and in public. The bastard turned me into a semi-pleasant person to be around.

It's unbearable.

I think my fight with Mother solidified our relationship for both of us. Trust comes easier and I can't help get excited about this new form our relationship took.

So, this past week has been great, except I couldn't spend as much time with him as I'd have liked. It's not that I regret having my sister with me. The problem is, I can't stay here after the tournament ends and I will miss him when he returns to school without me.

By D'Arc, he has me worrying about things months in advance. This is getting ridiculous, and if I start drawing hearts on my books, please, do me a favour and smack me across the face as hard as you can.

Gabrielle is with Aimee, visiting Hagrid and his creatures so I make my way to Harry's spot by the lake to see my boyfriend and maybe get in make out or two while I have the chance.

I really do sound like a schoolgirl with a crush, don't I? I guess I'll have to face the facts. I am not as emotionally mature as I want to portray, and I can't say I am broken about it.

Another funny thing happened four days ago. Madame Maxime called me into her office for a talk. Apparently, my concerned mother felt that certain champion may be a bad influence on me and my performance in the tournament could suffer. The headmistress interrogated me on my relationship with Harry long and hard before relenting and confessing she knew for a while now.

I love Madame Maxime. She is like a mentor-figure, and not because she's the Headmistress. It's because she's a half-giant who overcame the bigotry she had to face and maintained her dignity and principles throughout her life. It is admirable and something I want to accomplish. An admirable goal if there was ever one.

She may have a soft spot for me too because if she knew my relationship with Harry, she let me get away with sleeping in his room instead of staying with my schoolmates. And there is no room to doubt she knew because, as it turns out, she knows everything I did since coming to Hogwarts.

It's sweet, her worry over my wellbeing. She's well aware of the trouble I could get in because of a few overzealous and arrogant idiots, and while I'm always on guard for such things, the knowledge of her protection gives me a warm feeling and makes me feel all the safer.

Is it strange she worries about me more than Mother ever did?

The best part of my conversation with Madame Maxime was the cold satisfaction of knowing Mother's attempt at undermining my relationship worked only to solidify it when Maxime gave me her blessing. I wish she were in the room so I could laugh at her face.

I reach the small alcove and see my boyfriend, leaning against a tree and drawing with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. I stand silently for a minute and just enjoy the scene.

Harry is not the most handsome boy, especially compared to the likes of Cedric Diggory, but he exudes an aura that makes his presence felt. His face has faint laughter lines intermixed with frown lines and on such a young face, they add levity to him his smile contradicts. Not the most aesthetically pleasing face but a handsome one nonetheless, and combined with the ease with which he handles most situations and his presence, he makes for an attractive figure.

So, if I were a vain girl, I couldn't say I was settling by dating him.

"Hello, there. What's a handsome boy like yourself doing here, all by your lone self?"

Harry looks up from the drawing he's working on and gives me a blank look. "I think you meant man. Handsome man." His delicious looking lips curl up in a smile when he adds, "and what I'm doing is, I'm missing my girlfriend."

Aw. "I'm sure she misses you too."

"Who wouldn't?" He pulls me down in his lap and gives me a long kiss before we lose our balance and roll on the ground. We spend the next half an hour resting on the ground and making out, and for the first time in my life, I don't mind that my clothes are ruined by the muddy ground.

I am too busy smiling against his lips to care for my appearance.

Our kissing is interrupted by a blonde, one of the many boys who asked me out before the ball. "Well, well. What do we have here? Scarhead is in love."

Harry winks at me and sits back up against the tree, drawing me to his chest. "Hey there, Malfoy and his pet rocks. How are you doing this fine day?"

Harry's reaction intrigues me so I rest the back of my head against his chest and observe the interaction silently. Two teenage trolls stand on either side of the blonde boy with their arms crossed, trying to look intimidating and failing because of the blank looks they are wearing.

The playful response has no effect on the boy who stays serious and glares at Harry through narrowed eyes and intones, "enjoy your time while you can, Potter. Father says your days are numbered."

The 'Scarhead' says nothing for two minutes, contemplating something in silence. "Crabbe, Goyle, leave. Now." The trolls nod and leave, making Harry laugh. "You know your bodyguards are useless when they follow any order they receive."

Malfoy slaps his forehead and shakes his head in exasperation, his hand travelling down his face like he wants to wash it. "It's like having two retarded dogs. You love them but sometimes you can't help wonder if it's better to put them down." Both boys laugh before they halt, looking at each other with wide, unbelieving eyes.

An awkward silence ensues until Harry speaks, "what made you decide to do this?"

Malfoy stiffens. "I don't know what you are talking about, Potter. I always enjoy humiliating you."

Harry shakes his head in disappointment and gives the blonde a pointed look before waving his hand around aimlessly.

Malfoy's shoulders drop. "After you kicked the three idiots' asses last week, I thought about what you said to the older one. You were right. No matter what kind of shit you are in, you somehow come out smelling like roses. I am ensuring my safety in the unlikely event that you pull some miracle out of your arse again."

What the hell are they talking about? That makes no sense.

"Fair enough and don't worry, I'll remember this." The blonde boy nods before turning away. "You should read up on everything that happened during the last war. It may give you some perspective." Another nod by the blonde though he doesn't turn to us. "And if you ever find yourself in need of... let's say, a quiet vacation with your mother, I know a guy who knows a guy."

The blonde boy looks back in surprise. "You'd do that for me?"

"Better to help you than have you as an enemy."

"That's surprisingly smart of you." He walks away before stopping again. "This changes nothing between us."

Harry grins dangerously and nods. "Of course not. I still hate you and you still hate me."

The blonde boy leaves and we sit in contemplative silence for minutes before I can't take it anymore. "I'm confused. What just happened? He threatened you and you offered him a vacation?"

Harry tightens his arms around me and pulls me closer, nuzzling my neck. "He didn't threaten me. He warned me his father is planning something. Probably something to do with Voldemort but he doesn't realise that. He basically threw his father to the dragon and told me his father said I am going to die. But what made me sure he was changing his modus operandi was the way he acted. He is many things, but he's never calm and collected. He loves theatrics, and he loves to perform in front of an audience. He'd never threaten me without a crowd to back him up and he wouldn't be so calm about it."

"You Englishmen are weird."

He gets up and pulls me up. "Come. There is something I want to show you." He leads me to Hogwarts and up the stairs.

It is an odd feeling, holding hands with someone without a care about any onlookers and knowing he'll be there tomorrow; that this is somehow real. I feel like I am part of something more important than anything I have done so far and whatever tears may the future hold for me, I will have a shoulder to cry on.

I miss most of the walk in my introspect, allowing Harry to lead me so I'm momentarily surprised when he speaks. "I miss waking up to see you so much," he confesses, and when I come to, I realise we just passed through the 'old man in a wig' painting.

"I miss it too but you know I can't stay here while my sister stays with me," I answer as we climb the stairs.

"Why not?"

I roll my eyes at him, secretly pleased by his insistence. "I can't leave my eight-year-old sister alone for all night."

"Who said anything about leaving her alone?" he asks as we walk into his room. Everything in the room is the same as it was the last time I was here a week ago; except for one thing; there is a large, comfortable looking new sofa next to the window. "You and your sister can sleep in my bed and I'll take the sofa."

"Are you sure? Gabrielle can be a handful if she gets used to you."

"Even if Gabrielle wasn't adorable, and we both know she is, I would endure her to spend more time with you."

That makes me smile. At least one member of my family gets along with Harry. "Fine, I guess we can stay here," I say haughtily as if I'm doing him a big favour.

"Good," he says with a bright smile, not at all affected by my act. "That reminds me, where is your sister?"

"Visiting the unicorn herd with Hagrid and Aimee," I answer, taking a step towards him and draping my arms around his shoulders.

His bright smile turns more devious as he leers at me, causing shivers to run down my spine. "Oh? If only we had something to do while we wait for their return," he sighs dramatically, his hands travelling up my legs and landing on my hips as he pulls me flush against him.

"We could take a walk around Hogwarts," I offer even as I lean in for a kiss.

He doesn't answer verbally but his lips shoot down that idea as he closes the last inch between us. When we break apart, breathless and flushed, our clothes rumpled, I can't help the words escaping my mouth though I'm not sure I would fight it even if I could. "I love you."

His attack on my mouth, because it is an attack, not a simple kiss, is sudden and more passionate than any we shared so far, leaving me with jelly legs and a racing heart, unable to think. He follows the kiss with countless other kisses all over my face and neck, earning moans from me.

When he leans back and away from me, a protesting moan follows in his wake but the heat in his eyes and the most beautiful smile he ever gave me on his lips stop the protests. "In case it wasn't clear, that was an 'I love you too.'"

Yes, something is different between Harry and me, and I love the change.