"Victory always comes at a cost."

-Darrow Starkov

Harry walked into the atrium, careful of his left arm. It had been three days since the first task and it seemed that Harry had sprained his wrist during it. All the adrenaline that was flowing in his veins must have absorbed the pain. It was not until after he had been taken out from the arena victoriously carrying his golden egg that he noticed the pain.

Other than that, he emerged mostly unharmed, but it seemed that was not the case for everyone. Many of the other champions had to visit the hospital ward to treat their burns or to have dragon teeth pulled out from their backs. It was not a pretty site and needless to say, the hospital ward was very busy.

Still, Harry had bigger problems than just his wrist.

Shortly after the first task, he had seen the front page of the Daily Prophet and it was not singing praises in his name.

The Dark Lord is Back?

You-know-who was defeated by Holden Potter who was at the time a mere infant. Without their leader, death eaters fled, went into hiding or were captured. The world was once again safe.

Or so it seems.

After the attack at Godric Hallows Holden Potter, the boy-who-lived, came out of it all with a scar that would forever mark the death of his mother and the disappearance of his brother. Then nine years later, Harry Potter was mysteriously found by James Potter, Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Everything was kept under wraps and Harry Potter never made a public appearance or gave the world the explanation that it so desperately craved. Instead, the old and senile Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore simply told the public and the ministry, it had been a miracle that Harry Potter was rescued, only sustaining a head injury in the process.

Now after being hidden away for years, Harry Potter has been thrust into the spotlight once more after he was selected as a champion in the Triwizard Tournament. The world watched cautiously and during the first task, he showed his colours. Far more powerful than any of the other champions, he was the first one to defeat his dragon by viciously cutting off the poor creature's wings and driving the beast six feet under into the ground.

A teen being able to take down a dragon with such ruthlessness and efficiency. How long before he sets his site on taking down something else or someone else? Will he first start with his brother, the boy who caused the downfall of the previous dark wizard? And when the time comes, will the Ministry of Magic even stand a chance? How long before Harry Potter rallies his hidden armies of death eaters and wrecks havoc in the wizarding world, creating fear and chaos.

Listen to this warning because it may be the only one you will get. Beware of Harry Potter.

And along with the article was a picture of Harry soaked in blood. Not his own, but the blood of his dragon's blood.

Harry sighed.

Even he had to admit he looked slightly deranged in the photo. That would be understating it. He looked like a killer. This was definitely Rita Skeeter getting back at him for ruining her interview with his brother. If you couldn't go after one Potter, go after the other one.

This was definitely Rita Skeeter trying to get back at him for ruining her interview with his brother. If you couldn't go after one Potter, go after the other one.

It seemed it had worked.

The same crowd that had cheered when he won now looked at him like he had slowly slaughtered a poor harmless dragon and had enjoyed it, as if it wasn't part of the task. People were more scared of him than ever, not that he would ever allow anyone to notice how it bothered him.

Seeing him enter, Adrik walked over to him and gestured to the banner that hung on the wall. "I never get sick of seeing it."

"I do," Harry said.

After the first task, the ministry seemed to have decided to add another banner in the atrium to display the ranking. He had been the first one to take down his dragon and he had done it with "style", as Adrik called it. So Harry's name which was written in gold was granted the honour of being at the very top of the silk blue banner.

Normally he would have kept his head low and waited for the champions to tire each other out so it would be easy picking for him, but not this time. Everyone already had their eyes on him, watching his every step. So staying in the shadows wouldn't work. Someone had it out for him, or else why would he be a champion when he didn't even enter. There was already a target on his back, so his goal was to make the shooter too afraid to fire.

"What happened to Latisha Randle?" Harry asked, coughing.

Harry remembered seeing the girl at the beginning of the first task, and he had noticed her name at the bottom of the ranking. But today her name was silver amid the gold writing and it was crossed out.

"Randle? Oh, she wasn't as lucky with the first task. She got paired with a Peruvian Vipertooth. Nasty little shits with a particular craving for human flesh. Her dragon was able to tear off both her legs before the officials were able to retrieve her. She's stuck in a coma from the blood loss right now. So she's been automatically withdrawn from the tournament. The ministry wouldn't have very good press if they push a legless unconscious girl into the second task."

Harry nodded. During his time in the hospital ward, he had heard something about that but he wasn't sure who. "On the good side, there's one less person to worry about. We should be celebrating," Adrik said in a tone that was much too cheery.

"And I wonder why people call you a sociopath." Kirsten dropped down in a seat with the two boys.

Harry's best friend only rolled his eyes. "Then I suppose all optimists are sociopaths."

Kirsten ignored him. "Anyways, Adrik has a point. We should celebrate."

Adrik and Harry both looked at each other, then raised an eyebrow at her.

"No! Not celebrate that she lost her legs and is now out of the tournament." Kirsten shouted, horrified they would even assume she meant that. "We should celebrate Harry being first. How about tonight?"

"I can't. I have plans with Holden and Hermione."

"I knew they say twins are inseparable, but this is ridiculous. You might as well bring some flowers for Holden. Where are you guys even doing at night?"

"Just doing some research for the task."

"You haven't gotten the golden egg to open without making that god awful sound? Well good luck, but I'm not sure a library is the best place to experiment with that thing. So what about you Adrik, are you busy?"

"As much fun as it would be to have a two-person party with you Kirsten, I have other plans tonight too. Some of us have this thing called 'a date'. Maybe you should get one." Adrik snorted when Kirsten sent him a death stare.

"And who is your poor victim this time?"

"The lucky girl is Ingrid."

Kirsten made a groaning sound.

"What?" Adrik asked, looking at Harry.

"Nothing. It's just that if you're not interested in her, you should stop toying with her."

"But she has such perky-"

"Stop!" Kirsten interrupted him, "We don't want to know."

"Personality. I was just talking about her perky personality." Adrik winked.

It was late when Harry made his way to the library. They had decided it was most effective to experiment with the egg in a place where they could research and at the same time had as few people as possible.

Which meant the library at night because who else would be there? Well, other than Hermione.

The halls were quiet and empty, which was a nice break from the fearful stares and quiet whispers that often followed him around nowadays.

It was peaceful. And so rarely were things ever peaceful in his life.

"Protego."

A yellow stunning spell sailed towards him and was an inch away from his face before it bounced off his shield. It was a close one and had he cast a second slower, he would have been knocked out on the floor.

"Bombarda," he instinctively shot back. He had no idea who was shooting at him and why, but he had learned when under attack, live first and ask questions later.

The hall was far too dark to see if his shot had found its target and considering he was approximating where his attacker was originally standing, he could have just accidentally destroyed an innocent wall for all he knew.

Before he could approach the direction of his assailant, footsteps came rushing towards him. Four pairs of footsteps to be exact, each coming from a different direction.

So he was surrounded then. There was nowhere he could run or hide, and he doubted they would let him go if he asked kindly.

Harry conjured a ring of fire around him, startling his approaching attackers and even managing to knock one on his back.

It seemed none of them knew the spell to disperse the dome of fire that he conjured around himself, but this was not a long-term solution. Harry couldn't keep it up forever. The firestorm was keeping his enemies at bay, but it was also draining his strength bit by bit.

It was the middle of the night which meant that there would be no one coming to his rescue. It was pointless to wait, better to get it over with.

Harry stopped the spell and as the fire slowly faded he fired a bombarda behind him, hoping to take out the attackers that were there. After all, there wasn't exactly anyone he could ask to cover his back.

And then, he ran.

He could only imagine how frightening it was for his attackers to see him rushing out from the fire at them like a demon from hell. Then again, their screams were pretty good indicators.

In front of him were two of his attackers, both he managed to quickly stun having caught them off guard.

But a body came tumbling into his from the side, knocking him flat on the floor. He was lucky that the impact didn't knock him unconscious, but maybe he would have to live with a concussion if he survived this.

He felt fists coming down at him until the air was knocked out of his lungs and he could barely breathe. His mind was no longer thinking, reverting to a flight or fight response. In this case, mostly flight. His arms were raised up in front of him in an attempt to defend, but he was struggling at best. It was no use. There was strength in numbers.

The hits came. One after another. At the same time. He couldn't tell and it didn't matter to him. All he felt was blinding pain throughout his body. He wondered how long it would be before he passed out. How much more of this could he take.

It turned out he could take a lot. Maybe he had blacked out somewhere in the middle, but he was awake when they stopped. His body was bruised and battered. The only solace he had was the cold floor that was pressed against his skin. It was soothing if he ignored everything else.

Still, they restrained him, but it was pointless really. He was too weak to run.

A pair of hands then went to his mouth, trying to pry his jaw opened.

"Fuck! He bit my fingers."

"Stop whining and hurry up."

Slowly his mouth was forced open and the touch of cool glass graced his lips.

A vial.

It was filled with some liquid. He couldn't really see it, but he felt it make its way into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but it was no use. When it was all in, they covered his mouth and pinched his nose shut. When he finally couldn't hold his breath any longer, he swallowed whatever the liquid was. Bitter and harsh against his throat, but he thought little of it as he gasped for air.

A foot came down on his left knee and he screamed, but his pain would not be heard. He was barely awake at this point, but his eyes could register a face coming up to his.

The leader.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust before he saw the mask being removed. They all wore masks. And the face that was underneath it was the face of a stranger. A boy, but that was about it.

"You don't recognize me do you?" Harry said nothing, but it seemed the stranger didn't care much for an answer. "Maybe you recognize my sister then. Latisha Randle? She's in the infirmary right now, and you will soon be there too. But I'm hoping you will die before then. You know my sister lost both her legs because of you and you here you are, still walking around as first place in the tournament."

The boy laughed in Harry's face.

"But not for long because I plan to make sure you never walk for the rest of your life."

Harry braced himself as the boy raise his foot, ready to break his other leg.

A scream, but not his own. Whoever was holding down his hand collapsed.

"What the hell-"

Harry took this distraction as an opportunity. He mustered whatever energy his body still had and reached out for his wand that had fallen nearby. With one rough motion, he stabbed the person who was holding down his other hand.

"Flipendo." It seemed the wand being buried in someone's shoulder didn't affect the spell. The body was knocked back into a wall before collapsing into a mess. Harry then pointed his wand at the last attacker, but they were already shot in the back by a spell and crumbled at Harry's feet.

He let his arm drop to the side. Any trace of his strength evaporated and the pain returned to torment him again.

Footsteps of whoever had helped him came rushing to his side. "Oh shit, this is bad. I need to take you to the hospital ward. Where is the hospital ward?"

"No." Harry croaked, his voice barely sounding like his own. Had one of his attackers kicked him in the throat?

"No? What do you mean no?"

"I need you to do something for me."

The boy that had saved his life paused at his question. He closed his eyes as if considering whether to walk away now and get a professor or agree to whatever Harry was going to ask for. The boy took a long breath and then opened his eyes. "What?"

"Make it look like they were fighting each other. Get rid of any proof we were ever here."

"You better tell me what the hell happened when this is over," was all the boy said before he started.

He moved quickly and quietly. Taking off the masks, positioning the bodies, even leaving a few bruises to cover up any spells that had left a mark. It looked like the aftermath of a fist fight, no hint of what really happened.

Harry had to admit that he was glad this boy was the person who had stumbled across him and not someone else.

"Done. You aren't planning on going to the hospital, are you?

"My room."

Harry's saviour swore. "Fine, it's your deathbed."

"Afterwards, go get a teacher and tell them about the fight that happened in the halls."

The only sign of agreement was a grunt from the boy.

Then Harry felt an arm hoisting him up and dragging him away. Despite Harry being a dead weight, they were moving quite fast, but they didn't get too far.

"Hermione?"

Harry could barely see right now. His vision was a blur and the lighting in the halls wasn't helping, but he recognized the silhouette. In all the commotion he had forgotten that he was supposed to meet Hermione and his brother. That they were waiting for him to show up when he was attacked in the halls not too far from the library.

"Harry! What happened? What did you do to him, Smith?"

Her wand was up in a flash, aimed at the boy who was carrying Harry. The boy's knuckles were still bloody from staging the fight and carrying Harry. It only made him look all the more guilty, and it didn't help that Harry looked like he was pummeled.

"Granger put the fucking wand down. Do you see him screaming for help? No? That's because I didn't do anything to him. So get out of the way or help me drag him to his room. I don't really want him dying in my arms right now."

Harry couldn't see if Hermione listened or not, but he soon felt another pair of arms begrudgingly drag him.

With the help of Hermione, it wasn't long before they came crashing through the door to his dorm. He had never been more thankful that there were only three other people who shared the Dark Arts dorm with him. Three of whom were sound asleep hopefully.

It wasn't until Harry was laid down on his bed and the door was closed behind them that they spoke a word.

"What happened?"

"He was bea-"

"I fell," Harry said, cutting the boy off. "I fell down the stairs when I was going to the library, and he found me."

They were silent for a moment, but the boy seemed to understand and played along, "And then you pointed your wand at me, ready to blow my head off."

Hermione looked doubtfully at the two of them. "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

"Even nurses need to sleep you know." The boy snapped at her, trying to distract her from asking too many questions. "Besides, how embarrassing would it be if people found out Harry Potter fell down the stairs?"

It seemed like it worked, anger or mild irritation for the boy suppressed her logic.

"Just try not to kill him." Hermione snapped back, as they began casting healing spells and doing what they could to treat the injuries, including some muggle techniques Harry didn't quite understand.

Harry could sense the animosity that existed between them, but he had to admit they worked well in tandem. It was almost like they were thinking the same thing, so they worked silently and efficiently. When they finished, Harry looked better than he felt, but it was still an improvement from the brink of death.

"I'm going to go to the potions class to see if I can raid it for something to help." the boy said, looking Harry in the eye.

Hermione showed no sign of hearing a word he said, or that he even existed. Harry could only offer a weak nod.

"Who is he?" Harry asked the moment the door closed behind the boy.

"Trouble," she muttered under her breath.

He couldn't help but smile, even though it hurt everything. So his guess was right, they did know each other.

Hermione sighed. "Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff in our year."

"Hmm, I would have pegged him as a Ravenclaw." Or even a Slytherin.

"Aside from being a snob, I can't imagine him as a Ravenclaw. I doubt he even has a brain in that head of his, only a big mouth."

Harry raised an eyebrow, the one that wasn't above the black eye.

"He is renowned for his gossip. Gossip which is somehow always true. All the secrets and whispers between people, he somehow knows them all. It's like he has ears on the wall. And that's what people assume, that he is just good at eavesdropping. But he knows a lot...far more than someone who just eavesdrops. Some people even call him psychic which is ridiculous. But the absolute worst part is that he doesn't bother to keep his information to himself."

"Where's Holden?" Harry asked, figuring Hermione couldn't stand talking about Zacharias Smith any longer.

Hermione frowned. "Holden and Ronald got into a fight with Malfoy, so they all have detention.

"What's their deal with Malfoy?"

"Long story short, Holden rejected Malfoy's handshake of friendship and ever since then, Malfoy has had a grudge."

Harry made a mental note of that. It would make sense. Holden had defeated Voldemort and Draco was the son of a notorious death eater. He didn't expect them to be best friends.

"Get some sleep, Harry. Magic can fix a lot of things, but your body still needs rest."

"Thank you, Hermione."

He didn't need to be told twice. It seemed his body was barely holding onto consciousness. Sleep engulfed him the moment he closed his eyes.