Here's another chapter. Sorry about the delay; other than the holiday, subsequent jetlag and general demotivation of being back at Sixth Form, I've been waiting until I had all three fanfics I'm writing ready for another update. I gave up when I realised the writers block on my PJO fic isn't going away any time soon. Not that I'm abandoning it; more like pouting and staring at the screen until my annoying brain kicks back into gear.
Something I feel like I need to say here on the off chance someone makes an assumption based on the fact that Ginny's in this chapter is that there is no chance at all of her and Harry being involved; just the same as with Hermione. I didn't dislike Ginny per say, but I have a list of grievances about the way JK Rowling went with her pairing of characters that I won't add in here because I doubt any of you care all that much. But, most importantly in this story; she's what? 13? 14, tops? I don't want to write something like that. Nope! Not touching that with a ten-foot snooker cue.
On a more serious note; not that I much like being serious, people have asked why Harry's 'a bitch' in front of the girls. That's basically because I've read a lot of stories where he (or the male protagonist) is basically an alpha and treats whatever girls he ends up with like shit. I don't like that relationship-dynamic, so I'm writing a Harry more compatible with what I want to achieve. He's not going to be submissive or anything, but he's more... comfortable around the girls than around people he generally perceives as a threat. So... yeah.
Anyway, here's the chapter. It's basically preceding the first task; which will (probably) be next chapter.
-()-()-()-
What was the old cook muttering about now?
Olivander was inside the school, though Harry was wondering if they had done a thorough background check on the very, very weird man, with the champions, headmasters, and some unnerving reporter lady inside an unused classroom. He had moved past Krum and Fleur's wands easily enough; the only interesting tidbit being that Fleur's wand held the hair of a Veela... her grandmother, and had chosen to move on to the-boy-who-lived thirdly. The younger Potter was stood in front of him while Olivander held the Holly wand up to his eye level.
From the whispered snatches of English that actually escaped the bug-eyed man's mouth, instead of just being nonsensical muttering, Harry gathered that the feather in Thomas' wand was from the same phoenix that gave one to Riddle. Harry, not for the first time, found amusement in the fact that his bratty brother had, inadvertently, been named after Voldemort himself. He also wondered whether these two facts would be enough for the wizarding world to turn on Thomas once again; it almost certainly would for the school.
Even so, the fact that they shared a source of cores meant very little to the older Potter, and so he wondered why the old man would find it so interesting. Of course, the wand-maker likely knew of, if he hadn't, in fact, seen the effect itself, Priori Incantatem; but Harry did not.
With a wave of the Holly wand, producing a crystal clear jet of water, the man announced that it was in working order with a happy grin; evidently he found the process thrilling. Harry smirked at the joy the man would likely receive from his own wand, were there enough time for a proper examination, and the dissapointment Olivander would likely receive at not having time enough.
"And the elder Mr. Potter?" He half asked, waving Harry forward with an expectant expression.
As the black haired teen approached, flicking his wrist to produce the wand from its safe position inside a well-worn holster, the man's gaze predictably focused on the Ash wand hanging loosely at Harry's side. Once he was within arm's reach of the man, Harry flipped the wand over and presented it to Olivander butt first; not hesitating as he knew the frail old man, should he choose to attack, would be rendered unable with a single punch. Hell, he looked like a soft breeze would do it.
Without any word of thanks, the man set about examining the seemingly harmless stick; to any muggles, at least, in his hands. The others may have been confused by the befuddled frown on his brow, but Harry knew well why he looked so lost.
"I do not recognise this craftsmanship..." Olivander clarified, unintentionally, for the others. He looked at the tall teen, and his frown increased further when Harry gave no response. "Would you please tell me which wandmaker created it?"
"Why? Is there something the matter with my wand?" Harry asked, putting on a worried tone of voice and expression, and effectively hiding the amusement that had threatened to break across his face.
"No, no," Olivander corrected himself, hastily. Likely to avoid offending the wand, or discrediting fine work. "Not at all. It is in excellent condition. I was just wondering is all; a matter of professional curiosity."
It would be easy to simply shoot the man down, and Harry considered doing just that, but it would be so much more fun to provide himself with amusement at Olivander's, and others', expense. Nothing harmful, of course. Just a bit of misdirection.
"I'm afraid that I promised I wouldn't give away his identity. He made it personally for me, but did not want to be pestered for future services. He only made me one because a man in my family saved his life once upon a time. That is the typical cause of life-debts, I'm sure you are aware." Not a lie, technically. "I can, however, tell you that he currently resides in this very building." Again, true, though misleading.
Their were several reactions to this statement. One such, and the more annoying of them, was from Thomas, who Harry could practically see demanding to have a wand made for himself, and having a fit over the fact that his brother was the one this mystery man made a wand for. Olivander, Dumbledore and Madame Maxine, however, looked curious, while the reporter lady resembled a vulture who had stumbled across a baby's carcass. Karkaroff, Krum and the cameraman looked indifferent, while Fleur simply continued to watch the beautiful wand as Harry removed it from the man's grip.
It was certainly an odd one. While it appeared to be made primarily of the wood from an ash tree, there were darker patches, that she could not quite discern, and a single, twisting, Ivory spiral running up the length. It was not often that a wand was patterned, and even less that they seemed to be from a separate material.
"Right, well... I believe we are all done?" The wandmaker suggested, glancing at Dumbledore, who nodded; deferring to the man's expertise. It showed Olivander's, and the other people present's, distraction that he did not announce the core of Harry's wand, and seemed to forget his previous examination.
"Very well, then," Dumbledore began calmly, as he turned to the younger 4 in the room. "Champions, you are dismissed." The Hogwarts' headmaster stated, giving a smile to the students and gesturing to the door. The man with the camera shot to his feet with a panicked expression, and the vulture-woman spoke up.
"Photographs, Dumbledore! We must get photographs, and preferably interviews with the champions?" Her gaze rested on Thomas, who's chest puffed up in response, before deflating spectacularly when her gaze drifted over to Harry hungrily.
"Ah. Of course Miss Skeeter." Dumbledore accepted, reluctantly.
What followed was a tedious affair, in which the photographer and the Skeeter woman were arguing over who to put at the forefront of the exhibition. It was extremely odd, to Harry, that the only one who was not being constantly yanked forward was Krum; the famous Quiddich player. He could, however, understand the amusement that just about showed on the surly boy's face. It must be nice to be the sole champion not having his shoulder yanked out of its socket.
This was followed by a disturbing experience that Harry would not be likely to forget any time soon.
The creepy woman sauntered up to him, and batted too heavy eyelashes in what she clearly believed to be a charming manner. Worse, however, was the assault on Harry's sense of smell that accompanied her. She was wearing far too much of a far too strong perfume, and Harry felt the inside of his nose burn. The shock, however, prevented him from avoiding the woman, who looked to be old enough to have mothered him, as she leaned in close and whispered to the black haired boy.
He did not ever want to think about, let alone repeat the vulgar suggestion she whispered to him; propositioning him to follow her into the small closet for an interview and some, in her mind, fun. The woman was fortunate, to say the least, that Harry had such good control, or he may well have vomited on the disgusting reporter. As it was, Harry was fairly sure his only reaction was turning a tad green, or at least he imagined he coloured as such, before he turned and walked over to Fleur, shuddering as he heard a disappointed moan.
Needless to say, when he found a business card in his back pocket later that day, explaining the woman's inappropriate touching of his rear, Harry was appalled, and ever so slightly concerned for Thomas Potter. He doubted that she had taken him into the closet for such a reason, but Thomas was only 14, after all. Combined with his arrogant stupidity, the boy likely would not know any better.
Maybe she was the one they should have checked out before letting her in to the school. Olivander's creepiness paled in comparison to Rita Skeeter.
-()—()—
Harry needed to clear his head. For some reason Daphne, Tracy, Jasmine and Caroline were acting weirdly; sometimes talking normally, sometimes dodging him and other times being overly friendly. To varying scales, of course; there was a huge difference between an overly enthusiastic Jasmine and Daphne.
That was why the animals of the forest were in a tiff, and very, very nervous.
Hell, if you had an oversized Sabretooth tiger running rampant through your home, you'd be nervous too. Harry wasn't hungry, luckily, and instead was just letting out some steam. As he wore himself out, crashing through a particularly tough and large group of foliage seemed to do the trick, Harry let his instincts take over far more than he commonly allowed. What could he say? It was relaxing to have a so much simpler thought process.
A week later, however, Harry would regret his decision immensely. His animal half saw no reason to venture nearer to the exotic, worrying smells coming from a segment of the forest. Why would he purposefully risk a fight with dragons?
Thus, he did not find out that night that, inside the already dangerous woods, there was something he really should have known about.
-()-()-
Hmm.
It hadn't occurred to Harry before, but he seriously lacked in the friends department.
Sure, he had a lot of vague associates, but his general policy of having no trust for humans prevented gaining many new friends and, with the girls, he didn't ever need any. They were always around, and he enjoyed their company much more than that of the average human. Even before he became aware of their attractiveness.
Now, though, he was sat in an extremely uncomfortable position.
Fleur; he was becoming fine with the idea of an increased level of intimacy, just about. Even so, that was far less than the others, who he had long since become comfortable with. The same could be said for Lady Greengrass, and Astoria, who he trusted also. Gabrielle, well she was an innocent little girl. Contact with her didn't make Harry uncomfortable.
But some random Ravenclaw girl, who was wearing an abundance of foul perfume and sitting far too close to him for comfort? Almost like she wanted to climb in to his lap? He was not comfortable with that.
In fact, he was contemplating snapping the extremely promiscuous girl's neck. He wouldn't do it, of course; that would cause a scene, but Harry could fantasize.
He could, however, do something else. The raven haired teen smirked ever so slightly as he glanced down at the cauldron in front of him, and he reached for a dark green plant, a rosy red root and a long, thin knife.
Five minutes later, the classroom had been cleared thanks to a makeshift smoke bomb exploding mid lesson. From one of the most talented brewers in the school, in fact. Fortunately, Snape wouldn't think to punish one of his Slytherins and had decided that, somehow, the Weasley twins must be responsible.
Nobody would question his judgement, either. Even if he had had it out for the pair since that first talent show earlier in the year, Fred and George tended to be responsible for most everything that went wrong in regards to their year.
As Harry was weighing the odds of the two red heads pranking Snape this year; the tension was building, after all, he heard a slight chatter approach from the nearest end of the hallway, while a murmur spread from the other males in his class. Turning to check what was incoming, and wondering if the class's luck was lousy enough for Peeves to stumble upon them, Harry's eyebrows raised visibly at the sight of 20-odd Third years walking quickly towards them, with Professor Babbling leading them.
He understood well why there had been a murmur from his peers at the sight of the female Professor. She was... attractive. Not that Harry had noticed before this year, but it was now painfully obvious to him and, with the lack of guilt that came from ogling his friends and, for some reason, fiancé, Harry found her, along with Sinistra and Vector, rather distracting at times.
No wonder so many more boys had taken the courses at OWL level than NEWT.
"Oh, well this looks like a big mess." The dark haired witch commented, as Snape gave the group a look of acknowledgement. Well, a look of acknowledgement for Snape; anyone else would perceive it as a sneer.
"It is." Snape said in reply, turning his attention back to his smoke filled classroom with a look of loathing not meant for the Potions room. "Is there something you need?"
"Oh, well," Babbling took this in a way that Snape certainly did not mean, and began with a smile. "A window in our classroom was unfortunately broken in a failed runic carving. You know how it is when they become unstable." She smiled reassuringly at a girl who, evidently, was the perpetrator. "Because of this, we decided that it would be worth finding a new one to escape the breeze since we have another period after this one. Are you going to do the same?" She asked the greasy haired man, who refrained from snarling long enough to shake his head.
"Ah. I guess you only have them for the one period, hmm?" Snape nodded, and gave a grunt-dismissive noise. "Well," Her eyes roamed over the students, looking for one in particular, and locked on to Harry; inspiring a smirk in the woman. "If you're done with him, I'd love to borrow Mr Potter for a demonstration." When she received no response, the black haired beauty beckoned to Harry and walked off, the third years following in her wake as Harry shrugged and did the same.
It only took a few minutes to reach the classroom Professor Babbling had in mind, and Harry was soon stood at the front of the class as the younger students each found a seat and sat attentive. Most of them had heard of the older Potter's prowess in this subject, and all recognised the popular 6th year from the selection of champions. Especially since the challenge was drawing so near; it had become a bit of a game to see which champion would gain the most obvious, and extreme, tell of stress.
Harry, however, only recognised the one of them; a red haired girl, who sat there with an adoring expression aimed at him in, what Harry guessed, was hero worship, since she was well known to have a bit of an obsession with anyone famous or popular; key example being Thomas Potter. He had last interacted with her when he carried the girl out of the Chamber of Secrets during his 4th year.
When everyone seemed to be prepared, the professor spoke up.
"Well, class, every cloud has a silver lining. It is unfortunate that Miss White's rune went rather spectacularly wrong, but without it we would not have run in to Mr Potter this afternoon and you would not have the chance to see the true power of runes from a fellow student." A grin broke across her face; showing perfect, straight teeth and the teacher gestured to Harry. "I am going to leave the details up to Mr Potter as to how he demonstrates this, but first," She turned to him. "Would you mind showing a full, and correct, camouflaging rune for the class, Mr Potter?"
"'Happy to." Harry replied, before drawing his wand easily. The sixth year walked to the nearest student, who happened to be Ginny Weasley, and placed the tip of the wand against her forehead. "Now, hold still. It'd be a shame if something happened to that head of hair." He winked at the girl, who paled at the thought of going bald and froze.
Harry, with careful motions so as not to give the younger teens the impression that runes were easy for just anyone, moved his wand in a kite shape, and drew what seemed to be little more than a squiggle going vertical inside it. He removed the wand, then tapped the rune with the stick once more.
Before her fellows' eyes, Ginny Weasley changed colour; the individual colours depending on what height that part of her body was currently resting at. Most of her midsection was the brown of her desk, her head and tied back hair the yellow of the wall next to her, and her feet and legs the grey of the stone floor.
"And there we go. Not particularly impressive, but useful in the right situation. Imagine how hard it would be to find someone with this rune if they were hidden in the forest."
Next, he waved his wand over the girl and she faded back in to the black of her uniform and the clashing red hair; still frozen stiff.
"So my choice?" He asked Professor Babbling, who nodded. Harry, a slightly sadistic grin spreading across his face, cracked his neck. The class, as a collective, gulped nervously.
Five minutes later, the third years were all frozen in various contortionist-like poses that they certainly would not have been able to achieve ordinarily; each with a single rune drawn on to the floor beneath them. It was no easy feat making such a specific ward scheme but, since Harry had invented them, it was far easier for him than it would be for any other.
-()-()-
This was beginning to really annoy Harry.
Were they angry with him or not? He could not figure it out.
He would frequently catch the girls, Daphne especially, glaring over at where he sat with Fleur, only for the expression to be replaced with an obviously fake, pleasant smile when they saw him looking.
Maybe they were annoyed that he wasn't sat with them, but what was he supposed to do? Fleur was his betrothed; he wanted to get to know her better and, preferably, her family too. The only family she had with her at Hogwarts was her cousin, and her cousin was, rightly, intimidated by Daphne's reputation and so it was best not to overwhelm her. Not to mention the fact that two Veela and Harry attracted plenty of attention without four of the most attractive girls in the three schools combined.
The black haired lad put it out of his mind, for the moment, and turned back to the situation at hand.
The girl, her name escaped him for the moment, was staring at Harry with an astonished expression. Fleur had just broken the news to her, and Harry supposed that this was a fair reaction. The situation was very strange, and clearly she had not expected her cousin to tell her that she was to marry the boy who had saved her, and her classmates, not a month previously.
He wondered how Fleur's cousin would react, once she recovered from the surprise.
"Congratulations!" She squealed, in the two cousins' native tongue, surprising Harry greatly; he had not expected that to be the response. She even looked happy, sounding genuine as she wished them well. Fleur, too, seemed to be smiling about the situation. Maybe she was just placating her cousin. Yes, that would make sense. Harry was certain, after all, that the situation must be truly upsetting to Fleur.
The two began conversing, in the time that Harry had been zoned out with a slight frown, in rapid French. While he should have been able to follow once he zoned back in to the conversation, Harry's confusion was still present and the two had, somehow, moved on to dresses in that time; it was an inherent trait in Veela to wish to flaunt their beauty, and a bride had a free pass to do just that. The lone male in this part of the table was rendered even more baffled; he'd yet to see the silver-blonde looking anything less than gorgeous, yet it sounded like she was going to be preparing for their… wedding for months on end to look even more perfect. Should he appreciate that? Or was it more for her own benefit?
Jesus... he was getting married. What a strange thought that was.
If Harry was to be honest, he really wanted out of this contract. Fleur was great, and all, but this was not something Harry wanted. He was neither interested in the idea of marriage at this time, nor did he like the idea of his freedom being stripped from him.
But a male being forced in to marriage was far less serious than a girl. If it was a choice between Harry not being free to... to... actually, he didn't lose a lot. He wouldn't be allowed to attack any of his wife's family without provocation; an old law to solidify alliances and treaties, or to 'intentionally deprive her of an heir', but that was a lot less serious than forcing the girl to become a slave, and as a Veela that was what she would be, to a disgusting little boy.
Bored, Harry reminisced about Dinner the night before, and a grin spread across his face for the same reason that laughs had been echoing across the hall at frequent intervals today. Also why his bratty little brother had skipped breakfast, lunch and this evening's meal.
-()-()-()-
A red faced boy, whether from anger or embarrassment was unclear, walked at a slow pace, with his head down, towards the far end of the Slythering table. Harry, and the girls next to him watched with varying expressions, all of which conveyed amusement. Harry's, in particular, brought even more attention to the scene; it was rare that he displayed emotion to such a degree in public, and the face splitting grin was very eye-catching. Not that the-boy-who-lived making a beeline towards his arch-nemisis had a lack of attention in the first place.
As Thomas approached, Draco and his two overweight, pet trolls watched with suspicious expressions... Okay, Crabbe and Goyle just looked dumb, but Harry was pretty sure they were suspicious too. It was a shame that the clamour was far too loud for Harry to hear the two's confrontation.
Nonetheless, Harry found it extremely amusing without audio. Thomas, reluctant, mumbled at the start and Malfoy sneered at him and said something obviously upsetting, as Thomas barked something back. The two morons were on their feet surprisingly quickly, and gave 'threatening' looks to the smaller 4th year. Malfoy hissed something at them and, after glancing at the head table, the two dropped back in to their seats.
Thomas scowled, and opened his mouth to continue before something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and managed to spot Harry raising his eyebrow; silently asking why it was taking so long for a simple apology.
In response, Thomas gritted his teeth and his face, if possible, reddened further. He seemingly snarled something at the blonde boy and Harry chuckled to himself as Malfoy's surprise was visible. Who'd have thought the idiot would do it first try? The older Potter had been sure that stalling would be guaranteed and Thomas would almost certainly chicken out.
The laughter was plenty loud enough for Harry to hear. Every Slytherin within earshot had skipped a beat, with a look of shock on their face at the arrogant champion actually apologising for anything to anyone, let alone to Draco Malfoy; in his terms 'the slimiest snake'. Some of them waited the few extra seconds to tell their neighbours, who spread it down the table and, eventually, to the rest of the hall.
Eventually, fact was distorted, and Harry was in no rush to correct the rumours. Apparently, Thomas Potter all but dropped to one knee as he serenaded Draco Malfoy in an attempt to woo the blonde. It almost inspired sympathy in the girls and Harry to know the sorrowful story of how Draco spurned the boy; Thomas nearly cried for christ sake. Poor, poor asshole.
-()-()-
Don't get the wrong impression, though. Harry and the Malfoy Scion were certainly not friends. While they had a mutual dislike of the boy-who-lived, the elder Slytherin found the 4th year extremely annoying, and made it clear more than once that, unless his father enrolled in Hogwarts once again, there was no point in believing the power Lucius held had any sway over the running of Slytherin. Especially since Draco would be crucified, figuratively, if he ran to his daddy and tattled on a fellow snake.
Harry's strong dislike was shown rather publically when he was wandering the castle during one of his frees; Daphne, Tracy, Caroline, Jasmine and Fleur all having gone off... somewhere. He could find them on the map, but had a feeling doing that would result in pain being inflicted on him via some of the sensitive parts of his anatomy. For no particular reason, Harry was walking a corridor in the third floor; quite close to the one that used to be restricted because there was a massive cerberus in it, when he heard a snotty voice exclaim something that inspired a reaction in the black haired teen.
"What did I tell you? She's loony!" Draco Malfoy yelled, probably to his fellow fourth years. Based on the snickering that followed, his entire entourage was with the blonde boy as they found a target to bully; one that Harry quite soon deduced the identity of. There was only one girl that was regularly dubbed loony. Before Harry had quite figured out where the echoes came from, he was surprised by a voice speaking up.
"Back off, Malfoy!" A voice Harry knew well ordered the Malfoy heir. "Leave her alone!"
"Hah! And what if I don't?" Harry rounded the corner, and found a sight that had the beasts inside him snarling. Malfoy's thugs had grips on the 'savior', and had her lifted off the ground as she kicked at the pair. "Are you going to stop me?!
Ordinarily, Harry would have interjected at this point with something along the lines of 'No… But I am', simply because he had a slight fondness of theatrics, and because it would have been fun to see the 4th years squirm before breaking off and leaving Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle behind. Currently, however, the 6th year's witty sentence came out… wrong. In fact, it was a deep, rumbling growl that rang through the corridor as, without conscious thought, the black haired lad moved.
It was a testament to Harry's self-control, which had briefly failed him that day, that Lucius Malfoy did not have to organise funeral arrangements for his son. Or maybe it just showed where the teen's priorities lay. Harry preferred to think the latter for the simple fact that it made him feel better about himself; that he would prefer saving a quirky, but kind, 3rd year and, more importantly, Astoria; the girl he saw much like a little sister, and that he would do most anything to protect.
Nevertheless, there were three 4th year Slytherins in the hospital wing half an hour later, and Madame Pomphrey was a little frustrated that they would not tell her what had caused such injuries; since this would greatly help her in the healing process. Well, two of them used what little brain power they could muster to decide telling the nurse would be a bad idea, and their ringleader was physically incapable, since his lower jaw was shattered spectacularly.
-()-()-()-
The next few days were rather uneventful for Harry; he went to classes, laughed at his brother and did something, though he had no idea what, to get forgiveness from Daphne, Tracy, Caroline and Jasmine. He wasn't going to question why they'd forgiven him; it was far more pleasant for them to be on good terms, especially since he knew even less about why they were upset with him in the first place. He had thought there was a Hogsmeade weekend but, evidently, was mistaken. He needed to figure out if that meant he had missed it by a week, or what.
Now, however, the 6th year was getting excited. The opposite reaction to that of the other three champions, each of whom were obviously nervous; bordering on hysterical at times. That was suspicious to Harry, but it was certainly possible that they were not aware of what they were afraid of, just the idea of the first challenge and whatever it was that was meant to test their metal. Harry was probably being paranoid because he knew that, in all the recorded tourneys, cheating had run rampant. Surely Dumbledore would have taken steps in this one to avoid a repeat.
He had a few questions, of course; the most mundane of these being 'Why would they hold the first task on a Monday?' Surely a weekend would be preferable... For some last minute preparation if the champions needed it? Yes. Harry would go with that.
The Champions would have to be there for 09:00am. This meant that Harry had to head to bed earlier than normal, or he may not provide any entertainment to the crowds; a sleepy Harry would be a grumpy Harry. A grumpy Harry would not be inclined to prolong whatever this first challenge would be.
The only worry he had was in context to Fleur. Next Saturday was a Hogsmeade trip, and he was sure that she would be upset with him for thinking she would do poorly; not that he did, but Harry had been spending more time with her recently and the idea of sitting there, twiddling his thumbs while she was in danger didn't sit right with him. He would have to, however. Those were the rules.
To be honest, he wouldn't care that they were the rules, since they were so moronic, had the punishment been less severe and had Fleur not chosen to enter this tournament of her own free will.
Dropping in to his bed, Harry's last thought was what was to be expected. For him, at least. At the same time tomorrow, he would be well aware of the fact that the others had known far more than him going in to this first task.
'I wonder what I'll be facing tomorrow.'
The answer would truly have surprised Harry Potter; champion of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
-(_)(_)(_)-(_)(_)(_)-
There ya go. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Any of you catch that I'm not a Skeeter fan? Or was I too subtle?
No ferrets were harmed in the making of this chapter.
