"Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy."

-Aristotle

14

Fist to Face

Hiding his mirror under his pillow, Harry grabbed his robes from the hook and went to find his dear old friends, Ron and Hermione.

He went into the Interchangeable Room, but immediately saw that neither of them were there, so he began circling the castle, hoping they were outside. They weren't near the Ezero Slivi, the Plum Lake, which is a small lake towards the back of the castle that turns a plum color during its sunrise and sunset. Further back, behind the castle, was a massive Quidditch pitch, larger than Hogwarts', with tall, metal hoops and lofty blood red stands. And that was where he found them walking.

Seeing his destination in sight, Harry instinctively started to quicken. When he was right behind them, he yelled, "You bastard!" Weasley turned toward him, his expression of surprise and confusion, and Harry couldn't stop himself from lifting his right arm and punching Weasley straight in the face. The force was so strong that Weasley was knocked to the ground, bright red blood seeping from his nostrils.

Granger screamed loudly, and then reached for her wand, but Harry was faster. His wand was in his hand before she could get her fingers into her robe pocket. He pointed it at her, but only said, "Don't make me hex you, Granger."

But before Harry could even turn his head, Weasley was slamming into him, pushing them both roughly to the cold, hard ground, his wand flying off into the grass. Harry's back collided with the earth and then Weasley was on top of him, and the air was knocked from his lungs. He looked up and saw Weasley's fist growing larger in size as it aimed for his face. He turned away and tightly shut his eyes, but the initial impact was still painful, a rough stinging on the left side of his face.

Harry tasted metal, a kind of copper flavor, and knew that his gums were bleeding. His face was already growing sore. In the background, he barely heard Granger yelling at them. "Stop it, both of you! Stop it now!"

Although Weasley was straddling him, pressing uncomfortably on his stomach, both of his arms were free. He tried punching Weasley in the face again, but the red-haired boy moved his head away quickly. Harry tried once more, and ended up pummeling him near the mouth, as Weasley grunted in pain.

"Stop it! Petrificus Totalus!" Granger screamed. Harry was preoccupied, but it was clear that she had missed because neither of them was frozen. Although he didn't hear the words of her next spell – because Weasley grunted as he clenched his fist – he saw Granger point her wand up and he saw blue sparks fly into the sky. Then he was nearly blinded when another punch landed harshly near his right eye. He let out a groan, one hand going to his face.

Once the initial pain vanished, Harry, jaw clenched, attempted to hit Weasley again, but their arms were too entangled, and he ended up striking Weasley in the shoulder. The red-haired boy slammed a fist against Harry's chest, thumping some air from his lungs and causing his legs to jerk in response. He coughed slightly, trying to regain his breath, as Granger continued shouting.

When he had a clear shot, Harry got as much momentum as he could and socked Weasley straight in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards on Harry's legs. But while the red-haired and red-faced Weasley held his stomach, coughing, Harry wiggled his legs free and stood up. He spat a disgusting glob of saliva and blood onto the ground. The back of his robes and his hair were filthy, covered in pieces of grass and dirt that fell after getting to his feet. As he stood there, he could feel his overused right hand starting to swell in size and turn ugly shades of purple and blue.

Weasley, still lying on the ground, asked, "That all you got?"

Harry stepped forward about to pounce on Weasley again, his right arm raised threateningly in the air, when someone grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with a strong tug of his robes and wrapping an arm around his middle to further hold him back. He tried to break free, but the man was too strong.

"What is going on here?" McGonagall exclaimed stridently from somewhere behind him. He heard her light footsteps on the grass.

But Harry didn't care that there were professors here. He wouldn't care if the entire school showed up. Let them come. He wasn't finished with Ron Weasley yet.

"How dare you send a letter to Sirius! He has nothing to do with our disagreements! If I didn't want my godfather to know about me being a champion, then it was my bloody decision, not yours, you git!"

pHolding a hand against his bleeding nose, Weasley retorted, "Maybe talking to a imurderer/i has rubbed of on you, Potter! First you cheat to get into the Triwizard Tournament and now you're punching people in the face! You're mad, you know that?! iYou're a bloody lunatic!/i"/p

"Oh, I'm a lunatic? When you sent—"

"Stop it!" Granger interjected. "We send that letter to Black because Ron heard you talking to him like you were friends, and from what you said to him it was clear that you hadn't told him that you are a champion. And I thought he should know what you've been doing lately, so that maybe he could do something about your behavior, Harry. We simply wanted him to help you."

"It was my decision! Mine and mine alone! And don't call me Harry, you have no right!"

"It was to help you—"

"I don't care that you wanted to help me! You don't get it! You don't know anything about me and my decisions! I didn't want Sirius to know because I didn't want him to worry about me, and I know he will," Harry shouted, feeling the heat rising in his face. "And I didn't put my name in the bleeding Goblet! You think I want more attention? I wasn't even sure I wanted to come here in the first place! So don't talk about things you don't understand! Don't you even dare think that you had a right to go into my personal life and mess around with it when you stopped being my friend!"

Harry stopped, out of breath, his eyes filling with tears until he blinked and they trickled down his bruised cheeks. The man holding him back softened his grip, as if he didn't want to be physically touching a tearing boy.

"Enough!" McGonagall said, stepping forward into Harry's view. "This is completely unacceptable! We do not resolve problems by resorting to fist fights! Potter, Weasley, you will both have detention everyday for the next two weeks." Stern-faced, she turned to Harry. "I'll leave your punishment to be decided by Professor Snape, Mr. Potter." Then she looked down at Weasley, who was still on the ground. "Mr. Weasley, follow me to the bolnitza, the hospital wing, while I decide what to do with you. Miss Granger, if you could accompany me."

Weasley got up slowly from his sitting position. His face and ears were red, the blood on his skin barely darker than the color of his face. He glared at Harry as he followed McGonagall towards the castle. Granger had taken a few steps, but now she was looking back at Harry.

"Just know that it was done to help you." The dead grass crunched underfoot as she walked away.

The arm around his chest and the hand grasping the back of his robes hesitantly released him. But the man's grip had been the only thing holding him up because his legs felt shaky and unstable beneath him, and he let himself fall to the ground, unable to care if the knees of his trousers got dirty. He was filthy already.

His right hand and the muscles in his face were beginning to throb rhythmically in pain, as the blood on his damaged skin started to dry and encrust. The tears coming down his cheeks felt hot, as if they might burn him and make more scars for him to bear.

Harry was made aware of the other person's presence when the man cleared his throat. He didn't care that the man was seeing him cry, but when he heard the light footfalls of the man coming around to stand in front of him, he quickly wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. Glancing up, he saw instantly that it was greasy-haired Snape, that he had been the one keeping him from hitting Weasley. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or angry.

But something about the situation made him want to laugh: The fact that Snape, a man he hated and who hated him back, was seeing him at one of his weakest moments was both cruel and comical.

Snape knelt down about a foot away from him, clearly not wanting to get too close. "You have to get up, Potter. We are going to the hospital wing. You cannot stay out here all afternoon and night."

"What d'you care? You think I'm a terrible person – that I'm arrogant and selfish – and today has only proven that you were right about me all along. You might as well just leave me here to be eaten by something in the middle of the night."

Snape said nothing. Harry looked up at him, unable to read his expression. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched. At seeing his professor's brooding appearance, he remembered his own fears, and muttered, "Now that you know I've been talking to Sirius, I just…Promise you won't say anything to the Ministry. He's the only one I have left." Harry looked down at the floor, realizing who he was talking to. "Forget it, you don't care anyway."

"I won't say anything, just get up and get inside the castle."

"Fine." Using both hands to get up, he unintentionally made the pain worse. He placed his unhurt hand over his no doubt blackened left eye. Any momentary touch made him cringe in pain.

Harry picked up his wand from the ground and followed Snape into the castle, neither speaking a word to the other as they made their way to the hospital wing on the third floor. Through double doors, Harry entered a large room, much like the one at Hogwarts, with metal cots covered in white sheets and white pillows with simple bedside tables and closable curtains. He saw that Weasley was lying down in a bed at the opposite end of the room, with Granger sitting next to him. McGonagall was speaking to Dumbledore.

An older man, after seeing him, quickly rushed over, and motioned for him to take the bed closest to the door – the one farthest from Ron Weasley. He took off his shoes and climbed in, as the white-haired man asked, "Kak se kazvash?"

"Sorry? I don't speak Bulgarian."

"Oh. I forgot," the man said, smiling lightly. "Vat is your name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Ah, a pleasure. Now vat of you is injured?"

"Err, my left eye…well, the left side of my face in general, really, and my right hand."

"Fist-fights. Not the best vay to make friends, yes?" The man's heavily wrinkled eyes seemed to smile as his mouth did.

"No, not really."

"I'll bring you Bruise-Healing Paste. It vill help heal your bruises faster. And some Deflating Draught for that eye, yes?"

After Harry nodded, the man strolled away, and came back a few minutes later with two vials and a roll of gauze. He gently placed a generous amount of thick, yellow paste on Harry's knuckles, and then wrapped some white gauze around his hand to hold the potion in place. The old man wiped the Deflating Draught, a purple potion, onto the skin around his eye. It felt cold and tingly on his skin, and he liked the feeling.

The old man, whose name was Healer Nikolai, closed the curtains around Harry's bed to give him privacy. But almost immediately after, Snape came through, staying near the foot of his bed. He folded his arms over his chest. "You're detention will start tomorrow night at seven pm. Come to my room – third from the main door – and I will explain your punishment then." He glanced at Harry and then left quickly.

Staring straight ahead at the slightly swaying blue curtain, he listened to the sounds of people's footsteps on the marble floor. He could hear a few distinct sets. One in particular – light, spaced apart footfalls – were drawing close to his curtained space.

The draping was pulled aside and Professor Dumbledore slowly walked in. Although he didn't look pleased about the situation, there was still composure and understanding in his blue eyes. He stood beside Harry's bed, looking down at him through his glasses.

"Professor McGonagall, and just now Professor Snape, explained to me what happened," his headmaster began. "Let me first state that I understand where you were coming from – what Weasley and Granger did was a breach of privacy – but now you must understand that what you did was uncalled for and unacceptable. Harry, we do not resolve our problems by physically hurting someone, neither with a wand nor a fist.

"That said, I worry that your being a champion has caused some unfortunate…side effects. You cannot avoid participating in the tournament, but I see how the other students react in your presence, and it has come to my attention that you're not on friendly terms with Mr. Malfoy at the moment. I know that telling the school, or even telling the world, that you did not place your name in the fires of the Goblet would not change their minds, despite it being the truth."

"You believe me?"

"Of course. Not only would you not be able to get past my Age Line – might I add, that I always took pleasure in knowing that no one could – but I could tell from how shocked you were and from the worry I saw in your eyes that you hadn't done it," Dumbledore explained. "Although I believe you, you should not give everyone else a reason to suspect that you cheated. Give them a reason to believe in you, to trust you. You are a Hogwarts champion, Harry, and therefore you should act like one."

Harry nodded. "I understand, Professor. I'll do my best."

Dumbledore nodded as Healer Nikolai came in and handed Harry a vial of Sleeping Draught. "For a good night's sleep."

"Thank you." The men left and Harry could hear Weasley's snores coming from the other side of the room. He downed it quickly, one hand holding his nose, and placed the vial on his bedside table. The pillows felt soft and cloud-like underneath his head. So much in the room was pale and white – the blankets, the walls, the ceiling – that he started to lose track of where exactly he was, as things started getting blurry, and soon he was in a deep sleep.

* * *

Eyes weary and head groggy, Harry awoke late the next morning, his hand still bandaged and the draught still around his eye. The curtains were drawn, but above his head light was streaming in through high windows, causing the white walls to be bright and intense. He looked away, the light hurting his eyes so early, and saw Healer Nikolai pushing aside part of his curtain.

"Good morning," the man said cheerfully in his thick accent.

"Good morning."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Vell, vhy don't ve look at your eye, then." He leaned over and took off Harry's round glasses, placing them on the bedside table. "It is much better than yesterday. It is already starting to heal." The man dabbed on some yellow paste now that the swelling had gone down, and told him he would be back soon to check on his hand.

From the opposite end of the room, he could hear Weasley speaking. "It was that sod at the other end of the room that hit me first, if you want to know. Just came up and socked me right in the face. And I couldn't just let him get away with it, so I had to hit him back."

"Of course, of course," Healer Nikolai replied.

Git, Harry thought. He was clearly trying to get the healer on his side, and would no doubt retell the story to everyone who would listen after they got out of the hospital wing. What did he care? Let Weasley tell whomever he pleased. Everyone at the castle already thought ill of him; what was one more wide-spread rumor to him?

Harry reached over to the side table to pick up his glasses and spotted a note on top of a rolled up newspaper. Quickly sitting up in bed, he put on his glasses and grabbed the note.

The Daily Prophet is selling faster than a Muggle wildfire. Already people want to know more about famous Harry Potter, orphaned boy and now unexpected fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. If you're interested in another interview my Quick-Quotes Quill is ever poised and ready. I hope you heal fully in time for the first task – we need you bruise-free and picture-ready!

Rita Skeeter

Reporter for the Daily Prophet.

Uncurling the newspaper, he saw the thick, bolded words of the first page: HARRY POTTER, THE REMARKABLE FOUTH CHAMPION.

Harry Potter, 14, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been picked as the entirely unexpected fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament games, which had been suspended for over two-hundred years for being deemed dangerous and unsafe. Potter's name was pulled from the famous Goblet of Fire the second night of their stay at the Durmstrang Institute.

Although most believe Potter cheated, since the rules stated no one under seventeen would be allowed to participate, Potter himself has assured that he did no such thing to enter the tournament, stating that someone else must have placed his name into the flames. The young man, who bears a lightning bolt-shaped scar, said he is quite nervous about the upcoming tasks, believing that he fears one of the champions may not make it. The other champions are Cedric Diggman, 17, for Hogwarts, Viktor Krum, 17, for Durmstrang, and Fleur Delacour, 17, for Beauxbatons.

Although the three other champions are older and more experienced, Harry Potter has a brave exterior and overcomes his unease about the tournament with his unremitting motivation. No doubt he will need it throughout the year, both for the tournament and outside it, now that he is friendless and alone. It would be quite difficult for any boy of only fourteen to be the victim of a miscommunication and a possible framing that resulted in the converging animosity of students from three schools, and yet that is exactly what Potter is up against. The students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang and even his own school, Hogwarts, have been distant towards him lately, Potter said, believing he placed his own name in the Goblet. The outrage of most students was a result of his being chosen as a surprising fourth champion, and so far all fingers remained pointed at young Harry Potter.

The picture above the article contained only him, smiling widely, as the bright flash went off and he blinked repeatedly, laughing slightly. There were hints of the other champions standing next to him – a shoulder, an elbow, a long strand of hair – but they had been cut out.

And that was when it hit him, that was when he had his revelation. Before Ron Weasley could get the chance to spread his vicious rumors about Harry being the champion who cheated, who punched him, and who no one should root for, he would tell his side of the story to Rita Skeeter. He would be the poor, lonely champion that was misunderstood. She had already laid down the foundation for it in this first article. It was perfect. If it worked maybe he wouldn't be hated anymore by the other Hogwarts students, maybe they would actually believe him.

The curtain rustled and Healer Nikolai walked in. "Interesting article. So, did you put your name in Goblet?"

"No, actually I didn't."

"You are telling the truth," he replied, taking Harry's right in his own purple-veined hands to examine it.

As the healer began unrolling the yellowed gauze, Harry asked, "How do you know I'm not lying?"

"I have seen too many students lie to me about vhy they hurt themselves, and I have learned to distinguish between who is telling the truth and who is not," Healer Nikolai explained, his eyes on Harry's injured hand. "You are telling the truth."

"If only everyone else believed me, my life would be a lot easier."

"If life vas easy, then there vould be nothing to vork for, Mr. Potter. Ve have to make an effort in life or it von't mean anything." The man peeled back the layers of gauze, and Harry saw that his bruises were blue and purple any more; they were greenish and yellow, as if they had been healing for days, instead of a single night. Healer Nikolai applied more yellow paste and more gauze, and then stood up straight, picking up the half-used vial. "Okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay."

The man walked away cheerfully and Harry was left to contemplate the idea of going to Rita Skeeter more thoroughly. A couple of hours later, still in the hospital bed and still confident in his decision, he received a letter from a much unexpected individual.

Harry,

Now that I've read the article about you being a fourth champion, I've reconsidered what Draco told me about you being a cheat. You're a good person, and I don't think you would have done that behind your best friend's back. I hate to say it, but Draco is just blinded by his own pride and jealousy. It's so brave of you to go on with the tournament when you know it's dangerous and that you could die. Even if you did cheat and deceive Draco, I'll still think you're still brave and heroic.

Pansy Parkinson

P.S.—Don't tell Draco I wrote to you about this. Let's just keep it between us.

Harry finished reading the letter with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Pansy Parkinson wrote him a letter in which she thinks he's brave and heroic? What world has he been dropped into? But more importantly, why did she write the letter to him behind Draco's back? He knew that Draco and Pansy are together, so why was she telling him that he was a good person, that he was courageous, and that Draco was just jealous? It was not that he didn't want someone to be on his side, it simply confused him.

Refolding the letter, he was content believing that girls are simply crazy. He took off his glasses and rested his head on the pillow. Since he wasn't allowed to leave the hospital wing yet and since he didn't have anything else to do, he went to sleep. But an hour later he woke up to the sound of numerous owls. Startled, he jumped in his bed and grabbed his glasses. There were nearly a dozen various-colored owls, letters tied to their feet, sitting around his curtained space, gawking at him.

After reading a few of the letters, he realized that they were from the readers of the Daily Prophet, and he went on to read the others as more owls flew in. Most congratulated on him on his bravery in the face of such harsh criticism by the other students. One woman commented that she was proud of "his enduring the foolishness of the other adolescents," and she was sure that they would eventually see that he was the Hogwarts champion to support. But there were a few angry letters in the mix. A mother of a first year at Hogwarts said that he was "a horrible boy to cheat the rules of the tournament when others worked hard to get where they were today." Despite some heated letters, he felt lucky that he hadn't gotten a Howler. He especially wouldn't want Weasley to hear it.

The letters were left in an unorganized pile at the foot of his bed and the owls had all gone back to their people. Healer Nikolai pulled open the curtains, allowing him to see the whole room, and informed him that he was ready to leave. "Just be sure to come back tomorrow to have your bandages changed."

As Harry put on his robes and his shoes, sitting at the edge of his bed, the healer opened Weasley's curtains, and he saw that Granger, the Weasley twins, and Angela Johnson were standing around his bed, smiling and talking quietly. The problem with being called a cheat was that no one came to the hospital wing to see if he was doing okay. He knew he would have a friend to come see him if Draco hadn't refused to accept that he was right.

Harry grabbed his wand from the bedside table and walked out of the room, unbeknownst to him that both Granger and Weasley were watching him go, her eyes full of worry and his full of anger.

Preview of Chapter 15—First Round:

Harry gives Skeeter another interview and attends the Dueling Club's first round…