Author's Note: This part in the story took longer than I anticipated. Perhaps because I'm anxious to get to the next chapter... this weekend, I hope. Either way, I finally updated again, yay!

And in non-story-related news, I spent all of yesterday interviewing for a job a reeeaaaaallly want, and I think it went well (I hope? Maybe? It didn't seem like I was failing spectacularly, anyway... I'm maybe not-so-great at this whole confidence thing...), so if y'all want to keep your fingers crossed for me, I would truly appreciate it!

Thanks for reading!

-Emmette

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They never made it to the Gryffindor party.

It had taken Harry until they reached the castle doors, but he finally convinced the others that his instructions to rest did not include bedrest, and therefore he was fully capable of walking through the castle on his own uninjured legs. He did, however, gratefully hand over the egg and broom (which he had forgotten to return to Emil) to Fred and George to carry, and even allowed Charlie to fashion a splint for the arm that was prickling painfully as a new bone slowly started to knit together. Harry walked with Hermione next to him, her hand wrapped around his less-injured arm in order to stay close to him. They were both quiet, enjoying the relief that came now that the danger had passed and everyone had made it out alive. Hermione looked almost dazed with exhaustion, and Harry finally realized just how worried his friend had been for him. Harry himself smiled softly as he listened to Fred, George, Charlie, and Oliver boast about his daring broom maneuvers during the task. Oliver, in particular, was so puffed up with pride that one would expect that he had been the one flying. By unspoken agreement, none of them actually mentioned the dragon or even the golden egg, and Harry was relieved that his friends were so understanding.

It wasn't until they reached the entrance to the common room itself that that Harry slowed reluctantly, almost at a standstill by the time he was facing the Fat Lady.

"Harry! Darling, thank goodness you're alright! All these hooligans rushing back from the task, going on about the dragons, and you summoning your broom of all things—not one willing to stop and answer my questions, mind you—and you were gone so long, I—!"

"I'm alright, Lydia," Harry assured her gently, then, turning to the slender woman squeezed into the frame beside her, he nodded his head in a respectful greeting. "Violet." To his shock, the other woman's lip trembled ominously, and then without warning she burst into tears and fled from the painting. Harry stared for a moment, then turned a panicked look back to the Fat Lady, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Now don't you worry about Vi, deary. She's been up here all morning, she has; pacing around the pictures and driving the whole corridor mad. Seems they whisked you out of the Great Hall early, and by the time she got down to one of the portraits by the entrance, you were gone. She's been beside herself, near inconsolable ever since."

"Oh. Um… why…?" Harry asked, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out any sort of reasoning behind this curious bit of information. Lydia's expression softened, though Harry noticed nervously that there was a sadness in her eyes.

"She wanted to warn you. About… about the dragons. Some of the portraits heard the youngest Weasley boy telling Diggory about them yesterday. She thought you must know as well, but when she came up to wait out the task with me this morning, I told her that young Ronald hasn't been speaking to you, and we realized… well, I just wasn't sure he would have said anything." She was eyeing him questioningly, and Harry winced as Hermione gasped beside him. He suddenly remembered his audience, and turned slowly to face them. Hermione had a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were blazing with fury, and Harry quickly pulled the girl into a hug before she could do anything rash. His eyes slid past her to Oliver (who was resolutely not meeting Harry's eyes, though there was a stony look on his face and his fists were clenched) and Charlie, the elder Weasley looking back at Harry with a lost expression, like his reality had just shifted dramatically and he wasn't sure how to act anymore. Finally, Harry turned his head towards the twins, and—in the split second he saw their faces—could have sworn that they had tears shimmering in their eyes from sheer frustration.

"We're going to murder—"

"—that little traitor," they said with eerie calm, before turning as one towards the portrait and snarling the password.

"Lydia, don't open!" Harry shouted, just in time, and flushed when he felt the eyes of everyone around him suddenly snap in his direction.

"Harry, you can't seriously think he deserves—!"

"This isn't about what Ron does or does not deserve," Harry cut in, suddenly feeling very tired, and very hungry. "This… can't this day be about me? What I want? Just today?" Harry asked, voice barely above a whisper as he stared down at his feet. On one hand, he felt a little guilty and more than a bit selfish just for saying the words; ten years of being told over and over again that he was a worthless burden was more than enough to convince Harry that he hardly ever deserved the things he wanted. He wasn't the little boy in a cupboard anymore, though. He had friends who enjoyed his company, brothers and a sister who were proud to claim him as a family, a team who supported him unconditionally, and perhaps most monumentally of all he had Sirius—an adult who listened to him and gave him advice and happily put his needs and even wants first… who loved him. He wanted to believe that he would be as important to others as they were to him. He wanted to believe he could ask for this.

Hermione snuggled closer against him, and a strong, calloused hand lifted his chin up so that he was looking into Charlie's warm eyes.

"And what is it you want, Harry?" The dragon tamer asked kindly, forcing himself to push aside all thoughts of Ron while the raven-haired young man he had come to see as family stood in front of him, looking so vulnerable. He didn't want to believe what the Fat Lady—Lydia?—was implying: that Ron had taken his warning for Harry and given it to another champion instead, leaving Harry to walk into the danger blindly. He didn't want to think that his own flesh and blood was capable of something so cruel and petty, and against the boy he had claimed to be his best mate for years no less! But he believed, in his gut, that Harry would have leapt to Ron's defense if that were not the case. The boy clearly didn't want to say a word about the circumstances, and his silence spoke volumes. Charlie caught the twins' eyes quickly over Harry's shoulders, the briefest flash of promise and warning in them: they would deal with Ron, but it could wait. Harry needed them.

The sound of partying Lions could be heard even through Lydia's portrait, the only thing breaking the silence in the corridor, and Harry winced at the idea of facing the same chaos that had met him after his name had been drawn from the Goblet. They weren't there to celebrate with him—with Harry; they just wanted an excuse to party and to rub a Gryffindor success in the Slytherins' faces. Many of them were the same people who had sneered and snubbed Harry for the past month, suddenly on his side now that he had accomplished something cool and dangerous. The last thing Harry felt like doing was joining them.

"I don't want to think about what Ron did right now," he started firmly. When this was met with only quiet acceptance, he sighed with relief, and continued in a more hesitant manner. "I don't much want to deal with all the fakers in there, either. I've been worried sick about the task for weeks, and now that it's over I just want to relax with real friends." He grew quiet for a moment, then a sudden grin broke out as he figured out what he wanted to do. "Can we go to Hagrids? Maybe… the twins could go fetch some Butterbeers and snacks, and I'd love to hear about what Oliver and Charlie have been up to while we've all been stuck in classes," Harry said hesitantly, still not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Of course, Harry." It was Hermione who agreed immediately, but when Harry chanced a glance around he saw that the others seemed to be agreeing readily. "Do you want anyone else to come? No one will pay attention to me if I go in there alone," she explained quickly, when Harry gave a pained look towards the sounds coming from the common room. "You won't have to go in there at all until that lot have cleared out, I can just find people for you." Harry smiled gratefully.

"Could you get Ginny? And Katie, Alicia, and Angelina, if they want to leave the party, they don't have to," Harry asked after a moment's thought. "Not… not anyone else, I don't think." Hermione hugged him one last time, smiled, then moved over by the portrait, waiting patiently for the others to clear away before Lydia swung gently open, just enough for Hermione to slip inside before she swung shut again. She was smiling down at Harry the whole time.

"Can you thank Violet for me?" Harry asked her suddenly. "For trying to warn me." The Fat Lady lay a hand on her cheek, sighing in the same way Harry had seen girls in Hagrid's class react to the rare baby creature that he would bring to a lesson. Harry wrinkled his nose, but was glad she simply nodded, no doubt noticing his discomfort. The guys, thankfully, didn't mention the exchange, and instead Oliver and the twins launched into a re-telling of Harry's first Quidditch game for Charlie's amusement as soon as Harry joined them to head back down the shifting staircases to the kitchens. Harry just smiled.

xXxXxXxXx

Hermione could not hide her sigh of relief when Fred and George waltzed into Hagrid's hut early the next morning, matching smirks of accomplishment in place. A moment later, there was a telltale swishing sound and Emil was carefully folding up the invisibility cloak which had hidden his and Viktor's entrance into Gryffindor domain. He handled the rare material gently, placing it on the end of Hagrid's enormous bed with the reverence he felt it deserved—not only as a special magical artifact, but also as a cherished legacy from the boy's father. When he straightened up and stepped back to his place, he noticed that Viktor had yet to move, pinned in place by the piercing gaze of the little seeker settled back against the too-large headboard.

Emil was not the only one who was watching the pair of seekers. Hermione had spent a wonderful evening in Hagrid's hut with her friends the night before. Oliver and the Quidditch girls had stayed for several hours, much to Harry's delight, before making their excuses and heading back to the castle (and, in Oliver's case, back home). While Hagrid and the boys were occupied listening to Charlie's stories about Norberta, Hermione finally took a quiet moment to study her friend closely. Like Harry, she had been aghast upon first hearing that Sirius had returned to the area. However, she could not deny the relief and gratitude she felt for the positive change she was seeing in her friend. Sirius's love and support was strengthening Harry, giving him confidence to show his true character in ways that Hermione hadn't even realized was missing earlier in their friendship. The fact that he had so openly requested to have a (certainly well-deserved) night all about his accomplishments, and celebrating them with his close friends, was just further evidence of that change, in Hermione's opinion.

As was, in a more subtle way, his decision to ignore the party waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower. She had often wondered, watching him force his way through victory celebrations after Quidditch matches, how no one else seemed to notice her friend's discomfort. His smiles were—at best—pained, and quite often just a few narrow steps away from an outright grimace. Indeed, where most Gryffindors basked in the loud and boisterous, Harry naturally shied from it. It was one of the things that had drawn Hermione to the dark-haired boy, even before 'the troll incident' and the true start to their friendship. While she herself did not have an inherent disdain for being the center of attention (as evidenced by her, some might argue, over-enthusiastic fervor in classes), it was refreshing to find another Lion who found a distinct lack of gratification in the juvenile hubbub that masqueraded as Gryffindor celebrations.

While it had heartened Hermione to see Harry stand up for—and enjoy—himself the previous night, she wasn't surprised it hadn't lasted. While the twins had launched into yet another regaling of Harry's remarkable maneuvers during the task for Hagrid and Charlie, Ginny and Hermione had welcomed Harry over to a quiet spot in front of the kitchen fireplace. Harry had lain with his head propped up on Hermione's legs and his own legs draped over Ginny's lap, and both girls had shared a look of pleasure at Harry's growing comfort with them. They had sat like that for some time, at ease in the comfortable silence. After a while, though, Harry had begun to grimace and clench his jaw in pain, hand hovering shakily over his injured arm as though even the lightest contact might be too painful to handle.

Hagrid had been insistent on Harry staying the night, sure that he was in no condition to be walking back to the castle and all the way to Gryffindor tower. Hermione thought the gentle giant would miss the little sigh of relief from Harry (who had clearly been putting off a confrontation with his fellow Lions at all costs), but a bashful smile and silly little wink from him while the twins were settling Harry onto Hagrids bed told her otherwise. The gamekeeper could be more than a little oblivious at times—plainly evidenced by the situation with Ron and the dragons, which the others had failed to mention by unspoken agreement to spare the kind man's feelings—but he was also incredibly kind-hearted and well versed in dealing with weary, injured creatures. Harry would be in good hands. She had readily accepted the twins' offer to escort her back to the common room, smiling over her shoulder as Hagrid hummed while tucking a monstrous afghan around Harry's shoulders before bustling around to make a 'bed' of sorts for himself with cushions, blankets, and furs in front of the fireplace.

Now, in the light of morning, with his injuries more-or-less healed and the shock and adrenaline of the task worn away, her friend had reverted back to the somber, weary fourteen-year-old with far too many expectations placed on his shoulders. He had already told her what he wanted—needed, in his words—to do now, and though she wasn't sure if it was really the best plan, she respected that it was his decision to make. And so, with a heavy sigh, she started at Hagrid's door and then went window to window, casting every privacy and silencing spell she knew. They weren't anything elaborate; any professor could easily by-pass them, as could probably most of the oldest students, but Hermione was fairly sure that anyone their age or younger, at least, would be left stumped if they tried to listen in. She had explained all this to Harry, of course, but he was determined to go through his plan. She ignored the questioning looks from the Bulgarians and the twins, nodded slightly at Harry when he quietly thanked her, then sat primly on the rug in front of the fireplace, legs crossed and hands folded lightly in her lap.

"Not that we have anything against sneaking…"

"…but what's with all the secrecy mate?" Fred and George asked curiously. Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts, and when he answered, it wasn't the red-heads he was looking at—it was Krum.

"I'm going to tell you a story. A story about a boy, and his parents, and a Halloween that changed his life…"

xXxXxXxXx

To say Harry was nervous would be laughably understated. He knew he was risking a lot, sharing his secrets with Viktor and Emil, but after several long debates with Sirius, Harry had realized that if he was going to try to trust the older boys with his friendship, then there were a few things they needed to understand—especially after events so far this year.

He didn't tell them everything; he started with the night Voldemort killed his parents, including the pieces that he heard and saw when dementors came near him. From there, he skipped forward to his eleventh birthday, deciding that if Viktor did decide that he wanted nothing to do with Harry after his revelations, at least Harry would have followed through on his promise to tell the other seeker about meeting Hagrid. He mentioned Quirrel—enough to give precedence to the man having been possessed—and Norbert (because he had to explain his trip into the forest and his second run-in with the Dark Lord). Hermione gave him a break here, talking about the troll, and his broom being jinxed in his first Quidditch match, because she could see that as Harry got closer to the end of their first year, he was getting more and more nervous about retelling his past. He was still a stubborn Gryffindor, however, and took over the story once again. He told about the Nicholas Flamel, about Fluffy—anything he could justify putting off the ending with—and then finally he took a deep breath and told about the 'rescue mission' into the forbidden corridor.

Harry's knees were tucked up under his chin, his arms wrapped so tightly around his legs that they were beginning to cut off circulation while he stared resolutely at his toes. He was telling them what it was like, finding Voldemort under his professor's turban—being taunted by his parents' killer—the pain when their skin touched… but he couldn't look at any of them. Hermione, because he had never actually explained exactly what he went through after they separated at Snape's potions riddle, and he didn't want to see the horror on her face. The rest of them… well, just because he was a Lion didn't mean he was brave enough to look at his friends and find disbelief and accusation in their eyes. He knew how much he was asking of them, to believe that Voldemort wasn't really dead, and that he, Harry, had somehow faced and escaped the mad wizard a second time… asking too much, probably…

…and then there was a long, shaky sigh, and a rough hand tugging at one of his own before the bed dipped and he found Viktor sitting next to him, pressed against his side while he held one of Harry's hand's between both of his. A moment later, Emil settled down on his other side and lay a hand on his shoulder. Harry held his breath, still not letting himself believe that everything was okay, until Viktor finally broke the silence.

"He is not truly dead then?" There was no need to ask who the 'he' was that the Bulgarian was referring to. Although it was phrased as a question, the resignation in his voice revealed that Viktor had already drawn the correct conclusions on his own, and Harry finally let himself breathe again.

"You believe me?"

"Vhat reason could you possibly have to lie about this?" There was honest bewilderment from Viktor, and Harry ducked his head. He felt almost light-headed with relief, a pleasant flutter in his stomach from the faith Viktor placed in him, but he still felt the need to push, to test the trust.

"To get attention?" He suggested, trying to keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice. "To make myself a hero? To excuse my reckless, rule-breaking behavior?" Viktor, though, only snorted and squeezed his hand, and it was Emil who grumbled,

"Whatever moron suggested that must either be blind or never have met you. Or they are an incompetent imbecile." The last suggestion was made in a tone of careful consideration, but a raised eyebrow and half-wink told Harry that even in the wake of such dark confessions, his new friends still felt comfortable enough to joke and tease with him. It was perhaps more reassuring than any words could have been. He sobered quickly, however, needing to make sure—one more time—that they understood exactly what he was telling them.

"You can still walk away, you know," he said quietly, looking away from their questioning expressions to gaze out Hagrid's window at the looming trees of the Forbidden Forest. "Being friends with me… with "the Boy-Who-Lived"… it's dangerous. I would understand if you didn't want someone like that for a friend."

Later, Harry would be unable to remember just how he ended up turned around to face Viktor; he would only recall getting lost into the Bulgarian's dark, piercing gaze.

"Do you vant to know vhat I learned from your story, Harry Potter? I learned that you are a man who vould valk through fire for your friends. After all, you did so at eleven," he added lightly, referring to Snape's potions riddle which helped to guard the Sorceror's Stone. "I vould feel nothing but honor to have a friend like that."

xXxXxXxXx

Half an hour later, the rest of the Durmstrang Seven had met up with them and the entire group was making their way to the castle, the twins once again carrying the egg and broom. They were discussing the task from the day before, though Harry felt much more comfortable with the subject while Viktor was walking by his side and sharing small smiles with him. Surprisingly, it was the Durmstrang students who seemed the most insulted and disgusted by Karkaroff's blatant favoritism in the scoring.

"The man is a disgrace to Durmstrang," Adriana sniffed haughtily, Rumen's hand brushing hers every few steps even if actually holding hands was considered too "frilly" a practice by the tough couple.

"He muddies all our reputations with the rest of the wizarding world with his idiocy," Ibraim muttered darkly, kicking harshly at a clump of grass, scowling at it as though it was somehow at fault for his headmaster's actions.

Harry, to everyone's surprise, suddenly started to chuckle and hopped forward to snag the Firebolt from George's hand.

"I dunno," he said, his sly grin undermining his attempts to sound casual as he sidled up alongside Emil. "I just considered it a penalty for thievery; a reasonable reaction, really." He grinned full-out then, unable to hold back at the bewildered expressions from all the others. "Sorry for stealing your broom," he said mischievously, managing a little shrug as he passed the Firebolt over to a rather surprised Emil. Viktor, however, spluttered indignantly.

"You—his—I thought that was your Firebolt!"

"All the way from Gryffindor tower? Through a closed window?! Not very good odds there."

"You cheated?" Hermione asked hesitantly, looking unsure whether to be appalled at the idea, proud that Harry had actually considered the consequences of his choices before acting, or simply relieved that the whole thing was over. Harry winced, but then squared his shoulders and reminded himself that he did what he had to do in a situation he never asked for—and he refused to apologize for it.

"I prefer 'using my resources' over 'cheating,' personally…" He hedged, and was startled when there was suddenly a loud, rich laugh from right behind him and then a strong hand slapping him proudly on his back.

"Perhaps there is more potential in your than I thought, Potter," Khal said merrily, then strode past the others towards the castle as though nothing had happened.

Harry decided he rather liked being accepted for his true self, Slytherin-esque qualities and all.