Chapter 21
Gareth groaned when the door of his office opened. It was six am, he hadn't slept a wink all night, his body ached as if he'd been hit by a wall (which he had), and he could still smell blood and smoke even after showering for a full half hour. But he recognised Dumbledore's knock and Dumbledore's footsteps and he knew the headmaster well enough to know he wouldn't go away even if Gareth pretended to be asleep at his desk.
"Your new Master is Gabriel Valentine."
Gareth considered denying this, but decided he was too tired and sore. He nodded without lifting his head off the desk or opening his eyes.
"What happened last night?"
"Wha'd'you know?" Gareth asked wearily.
"Only that there was some kind of explosion at the Valentine home last night. Three casualties, but not, fortunately, Lord and Lady Valentine."
"'bout right."
"Gareth, you are clearly tired and injured, but if you expect any allowances for it then I expect a better explanation," Dumbledore demanded. "What caused it? How badly are you injured? Were the Valentines injured?"
Gareth sighed and, with what seemed excessive effort, lifted his head up and slumped back in his chair, looking up at the headmaster. "You ever heard of the Living Bomb potion?"
Dumbledore sat down abruptly in one of the chairs opposite Gareth's desk. "Good heavens. Who?"
"I don't know. She was a rival vampire, captured of her own free will." Fortunately, the Valentines didn't blame him for bringing her into the house in the first place.
"A suicide bomber for the vampire war. Were you nearby when it happened? How bad are your injuries?"
"Close enough. Nothing that won't heal; I'll just be sore for days."
"And the Valentines?"
"Scrapes and bruises. Lord Valentine was healed enough to be in a raging fit by the time I left. Most of the damage was to the house."
"At least we can reassure Harry and Tori their parents are unharmed."
Gareth grunted.
"Do they know you're Bound to their father?"
He shook his head. "Lord Valentine doesn't want them to."
"I can understand that." He paused, looking Gareth over. "Do you want the day off? I can cover your classes."
It was tempting, but... "No. The Prophet already reported me standing up for Lord Valentine during the World Cup. We don't need them finding out I'm taking a day off after their house explodes and getting curious. Don't want the kids getting curious."
"Very well. You realise you'll need to inform Harry about what occurred before breakfast? We can't have them finding out about it from the papers."
"I've already asked the Bloody Baron to send him to me as soon as he's awake."
"Good; I shall go and inform Filius." Dumbledore stood and headed for the door, and Gareth almost let himself relax, but at the door the headmaster paused. "And we'll discuss your new Master when you're feeling better."
He left and Gareth slumped forward again with a groan, head hitting the desk with a light thump.
Despite the reassurances from their respective Heads of House, Harry and Tori didn't relax about the explosion until they received letters from home. They sat at the Slytherin table discussing it in Italian so as not to be bothered by their fellow students. The attack at the World Cup had been unsettling enough, but they were shaken by the thought of the vampire war hitting their home. Unfortunately there was little they could do about it, especially while they were stuck at Hogwarts, and eventually Tori changed the topic to the one that everyone had been fixated on again since the announcement of the imminent arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
"Are you entering your name for the Tournament? I am. I probably won't get picked, but it still looks good just to enter, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" Harry said, surprised. "What if you do get picked?"
She scoffed. "It'll never happen. Sarah Cashore is entering. Even if it was just me and her, why would the judge ever pick me over her? She's a seventh year and Head Girl. They're not going to pick a bog standard fourth year over that, are they?"
"You're in the top five of our year group," Harry said kindly.
"Yeah, but that's still not seventh year standards. Even the sixth years would be better than me, and loads of them are applying—Roger Davies, Matilda Redgrave, Cedric Diggory, Fred and George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Nina—"
"How do you know all this?" Harry interrupted, amazed.
"Oh, I hear things," she said with a smile. "So, are you applying?"
"I'm not sure."
"Why wouldn't you? You get to prove to everyone how amazing you are and everyone will love you."
"I'm not sure I want everyone to love me. What do I get out of that? People already fawn all over me for being the Boy Who Lived."
"If you won the tournament they'd have a real reason," she pointed out, accurately focusing on the fact that the fawning wouldn't be quite so awful if it was for something respectable as opposed to a stupid nickname and a scar on his forehead. He wasn't even allowed to tell people that he'd genuinely killed Voldemort this summer, because the Ministry didn't want it getting out that Voldemort had been resurrected for even half an hour. "You could actually show off all those spells you know instead of people just hearing that you'd passed your NEWTs."
He couldn't deny there was a certain appeal to that. He didn't get nearly enough chances to do magic, in his opinion, and he did have a bit of a thing for showing it off. After all, what was the point in knowing every spell ever made if he didn't get chance to use them and show people?
On the afternoon of the thirtieth, all the students lined up on the front steps before dinner, rubbing their hands together to keep warm and peering around them for the coming parties, whose method of arrival was unknown.
The Beauxbatons students arrived first in a great big horse-drawn carriage flying down out of the sky. In the row in front of Harry, Cid Villiers exclaimed, "Fucking cool," and got scolded by Gareth for his language. The Beauxbatons headmistress was the biggest woman any of them had seen and put Harry in mind of the old Hogwarts groundskeeper, Hagrid. He wondered briefly if the man was still in Azkaban; what was the sentence for possession of illegal dragon eggs?
Just a few minutes after the Beauxbatons students arrived, those from Durmstrang turned up—in a ship that sprung out of the lake, which Harry found pretty impressive. The Durmstrang headmaster greeted Dumbledore as if they were old friends, but most of the Hogwarts students' attention was on the Durmstrang students. Or rather, one student in particular: Viktor Krum. In front of Harry, Cid Villiers gave a weak sort of moan that made Harry genuinely concerned the boy was about to faint. He made it back into the castle, however, but when the Durmstrang students decided to sit at the Slytherin table he almost fell out of his seat with joy.
"Can you fucking believe this? Viktor Krum! Sitting right there! Merlin, this is fucking cool!"
"Chill out," Tyler Swift told him. "He's just a—"
Cid slapped a hand over Tyler's mouth, glaring at him. "Don't. Finish. That. Viktor Krum is the definition of awesome, okay? He's the best seeker ever and if you say anything against him, I will put worms in your bed."
Tyler was smiling when Cid pulled his hand away. "Whatever you say."
Harry almost wished he couldn't hear the exchange, if only because through sheer chance he ended up sitting directly opposite Krum, who obviously also heard and made no efforts to hide his mixed embarrassment and irritation. Next to Harry, Theo seemed to be restraining himself from turning into the same flailing fanboy as Cid, whilst on his other side Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were doing a poor job of hiding their own interest.
The Beauxbatons students were seated at the Ravenclaw table, which Harry had his back to as he usually did, but he looked around when they all leapt to the feet when their headmistress entered the hall. A few Hogwarts students laughed, but they showed no sign of embarrassment and didn't sit down again until Madame Maxime had. In the ensuing silence prompted by Dumbledore calling for attention, Harry heard one of them mutter in French, «Englishmen! They have no respect for their superiors, but laugh at us because we do!»
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
He sat and conversation sprung up around the hall as food appeared on the table and everyone helped themselves. The Durmstrang students turned out to be friendly enough, happy to make conversation with the Slytherins, with the exception of Krum who only spoke when directly addressed and answered in monosyllables. At the Ravenclaw table, Harry heard the Beauxbatons students chattering primarily to one another in French, switching to English only when someone from Hogwarts spoke to them.
After the meal, Dumbledore stood and introduced Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman, who were closely involved in the organisation of the Tournament and made up two of the five judges alongside the head teachers of each school, then unveiled the Goblet of Fire, the unexpected 'impartial judge' that would decide who each of the three champions would be. It would be placed in the Entrance Hall for students to add their name to over the next twenty-four hours, and the three champions would be revealed at the Hallowe'en feast the following night.
Theo and several of his housemates asked Harry if he was planning to apply, and Harry answered them all with 'maybe' and 'I don't know', but late that night when everyone else was asleep, he admitted to himself that yes, he did want to apply. He also didn't want everyone watching him do it, so he slipped out of bed, found some parchment to scribble his name on, and left Slytherin under the security of his Invisibility Cloak.
He wasn't that surprised to reach the Entrance Hall and discover that other people had the same idea. He watched a couple of Gryffindors he didn't know toss their names into the flaming goblet and hurry away then stepped forward himself, glancing around just in case there was anyone else coming up or watching, and quickly reached out and dropped his bit of parchment into the flames. A stupid grin spread over his face afterwards and he hurried back to Slytherin, heart racing a little. He'd done it now. Tomorrow he'd find out if he was considered worthy.
The weather was good the next day, even in Godric's Hollow, and Harry found it a little strange to kneel at his parents' grave in bright if chilly morning sunlight instead of the dim twilight of the evening. The village pub was also notably busier, it being a Saturday afternoon, and the landlord expressed surprise at seeing Harry and Gareth in so early.
Back at Hogwarts Harry spent the afternoon hanging out by the lake with Anita, who confessed that she'd entered her name for the Tournament as well.
"I reckon I've got a good shot at it," she said confidently. "Me and you are probably the only fourth years who do."
Harry couldn't argue with that. He threw a stone out across the lake and Anita pointed her wand and made it explode at the apex of its arc. The wand was just for show; she was exploding them through her demon powers and just didn't want to be seen by anyone who passed or happened to look out a window or by the Durmstrang students on their ship.
"By the way, is it true you're gay?"
Harry dropped his pebbles and spun to look at her. "Where'd you hear that? No, I'm not."
"I dunno, I just heard it somewhere. Someone said you're going out with Nott."
"I'm not," he told her firmly. "Theo isn't gay either. It was Daphne Greengrass, wasn't it? I'm going to hex her for this."
She shot him an amused look. "Why do you think it's her?"
"She wanted to go on a date with me last year," he explained. "When I told her I didn't fancy her she decided it must mean I was gay."
"How did she figure that out?"
He shrugged, scooping up his pebbles again and throwing one for Anita to explode. "Apparently everyone fancies Daphne and if you don't then you're gay. She's a bit self-involved, to be honest."
"No kidding."
They fell into companionable silence for a while, blowing up stones or making them bounce across the surface of the water. When the giant squid stuck out a tentacle and started knocking them away, they exchanged a look then transfigured the stones to golf balls for him to slap away instead.
"Harry, can I ask something?" Anita asked after five minutes of this.
He glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed on the giant squid. "Sure."
"I've been getting the impression from people that wizards don't care about... about things like... sexuality. Not like Muggles do."
"They don't," Harry agreed. "There's none of that prejudice rubbish. They're too bothered by blood status to worry about sexuality. I mean, it's not perfect," he admitted, recalling the attitudes of some of the pureblood Slytherins. "Some people think it's something that should only happen behind closed doors. Like they think gay people should have straight marriages so they can have babies and stuff, and just have a gay lover on the side."
She looked at him then, startled. "But that's cheating!"
"I don't think it's cheating if everyone agrees to it. A lot of pureblood marriages are arranged or only done to mix certain bloodlines or for politics or whatever. They don't marry for love."
"But that's ridiculous! No one should marry someone they don't love."
"I thought... I mean, don't... um..."
"What?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
She scrutinized him. "You think Indian people arrange marriages, don't you?"
"Don't they?"
"Well... yes, sometimes," she admitted. "But not all of us, and if someone doesn't like the person then they don't have to do it. And it's not all 'oh you have to marry this person', it's more like 'this is a good person and if you like each other then we really want you to get married'."
"Are you in one?" he couldn't resist asking. Fortunately she didn't seem offended.
"I was, but the boy's family broke it off when my brother was arrested and nothing else was arranged while his trial was happening, and then I was in therapy for ages and Mum said I needed time to recover before we started looking for another match, but then my Hogwarts letter came and now I think she's a bit reluctant to look for possible matches in case they're a Muggle that doesn't like magic."
It was only then that Harry realised he'd never found out what happened with her brother's trial, nor the details of her father's death. It was just something that never came up between them, a silent agreement that, despite the bond garnered from their shared childhood, they never actually discussed their lives in Little Whinging. Now Harry decided to break it.
"What happened with your brother's trial? Was he found guilty?"
She nodded and threw a golf ball viciously towards the centre of the lake, a burst of magic giving it an extra boost of speed. The squid, rather than bat it away, whipped its tentacle down and disappeared from view, apparently offended by such high-speed projectiles. The ball hit the water hard, disappearing below the surface briefly before bobbing up again.
"Fourteen years imprisonment," she said with a grim smile. "He was killed by a shanking a couple of years ago. Even other prisoners don't like people who hurt kids."
She sounded positively delighted by this fact.
"What's a shanking?"
"That's what they call it when you're stabbed in prison."
"Oh." He didn't know what to say. Sorry didn't seem right when she seemed so pleased at her brother's demise. He wondered just how badly her brother had hurt her, but he wasn't quite willing to ask in case she didn't want to talk about that. She'd always been extremely unwilling to discuss the issue when they were kids.
"Anyway," she said, taking a deep breath and summoning back the golf ball she'd thrown, as well as the rest they'd been tossing at the giant squid; she did this with normal magic, practising the charm that the fourth years were learning that week, "I wanted to ask about the gay thing because, well... I think I might be a lesbian."
"Oh!" Harry said. "Um... that's nice. You're not sure?"
"I don't know. I mean, I think I have a crush on a girl but it might be nothing."
"I... can't really help you. I've never had a crush on anyone. My sister seems to know a lot about that stuff, you could talk to her about it. Or..." He hesitated. He wasn't sure if Lisa's bisexuality was common knowledge and she might not appreciate him telling people. He settled for finishing, "Or another lesbian."
"Oh, what, just put up a notice in the common room, shall I?" she said sarcastically. "'Questioning girl seeking lesbian to discuss sexuality with'?"
Fighting the urge to scowl, he shrugged and affected a nonchalant tone. "Never know, it might work."
She snorted. "Yeah, sure."
"Who do you think you've got a crush on then?"
She appeared suddenly embarrassed. "No one. Anyway, I'm not allowed to be a lesbian."
Harry frowned at her. "What do you mean not allowed? I'm pretty sure it's not something you need permission for. Either you are or you aren't."
"Sikhs don't like it."
"I thought they were meant to be accepting of everyone. You said they don't even care if you come to the temples when you're not a Sikh."
"They don't, but family life is really important and lesbians can't have babies. Not that I'll be having children before I die anyway, but the point is they don't like it much. Mum and my aunt and her family would never like it."
"You can't help it if you are though."
"I know," she said, but looked a bit miserable now. "But I'd have to keep it secret from them."
"You already keep the demon deal secret from them."
"True." She sighed. "Let's go in, it's almost dinner."
Everyone was eager for the meal to end that evening. As they ate, Harry listened to the excited chatter of his housemates and wondered how many of the lower years who admitted to entering their names really thought they'd be picked over the far more experienced sixth and seventh years. Or him. He had to admit that he agreed with everything Tori had said a few days ago and he was quietly hoping he was picked. He wasn't bothered by the fame or money awarded to the winner, but he wanted a chance to show off his skills in magic.
Every eye in the Hall fixed on the Goblet of Fire when the feast finally finished and Dumbledore dimmed the candles normally lighting the hall, leaving the bright blue flame of the Goblet as the only light. Some people seemed to be vibrating in their seats with anticipation; others held their breath.
The flame flared red, a slip of parchment shot out, and Dumbledore caught it from midair.
"The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!"
Roaring cheers and applause filled the hall as Krum stood up and headed up to the front of the hall, turned left and passed the staff table, and disappeared through to the side room. The applause died down and attention focused on the Goblet as it turned red again.
"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"
A very pretty girl rose from the Ravenclaw table and headed up to the staff table amidst cheers. A few of the other Beauxbatons students burst into tears, which struck Harry as a bit excessive, but he looked back to the Goblet as it turned red for a third time. All the Hogwarts students stared now with unconcealed anticipation and Harry crossed his fingers in his lap, staring at the slip of paper that came out as if he could tell whether it was his even from this distance. Then:
"The champion for Hogwarts is Harry Potter-Valentine!"
It took a moment for the words to penetrate Harry's head, by which time the Slytherins were roaring their approval around him, banging fists and goblets on the table, stamping the floor with their feet. Next to Harry, Theo grabbed his arm and shook him vigorously, grinning uncharacteristically, and Harry practically had to drag himself away from them. He couldn't keep the grin from his face as he walked up to the staff table and turned down. Dumbledore and Gareth both winked when he caught their eyes and he grinned harder, hurrying past and moving through to the side room.
Krum and Fleur looked over when he entered and his confidence wavered for a moment. Krum stood with one arm on the mantlepiece, the picturesque brooding hero, and Fleur's hair almost seemed to sparkle in the firelight, and they both looked far more impressive than him, who was suddenly conscious that his hair was reaching that terrible greasy stage and there were splashes of mud around the bottoms of his trousers. It didn't help that Fleur ran her eyes over him and said in a clearly unimpressed tone, "You're ze Hogwarts champion?"
Harry straightened his back. "Yes, I am."
She gave a derisive little laugh. "Zis will not be much of a challenge."
"Nous verrons," Harry said. She looked surprised but didn't get chance to respond. The door opened and Dumbledore, Maxime, Karkaroff, Crouch, and Bagman entered. Bagman beamed happily at the three champions, while Karkaroff and Maxime gave Harry looks that said they, too, didn't think he would be much of a challenge for their own champions. Dumbledore gave Harry a warm smile, and only Crouch seemed untouched by the emotion of the day.
"Wonderful!" Bagman greeted. "Our three champions! Shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?"
Mr Crouch nodded stiffly. Harry couldn't help feeling that he must have been absent on the day good cheer was handed out. "Yes, the first task... The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harry, Fleur and Krum, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard... very important... It will take place at dusk on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.
"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempt from end-of-year tests. Is that all, Albus?"
Dumbledore nodded, smiling at the three students. "We all look forward to seeing how you do and I wish you all the best of luck. I'm sure your fellow students are eager to celebrate, so off you go. Madam Maxime, Professor Karkaroff—would you care to join me for a nightcap?"
As the adults agreed to go off for a drink, the three champions left. Fleur gave Harry another supercilious smile before she swept out the castle doors and Krum looked him over calculatingly then they parted ways and Harry headed down to Slytherin, where the whole house greeted him with cheers. Someone had got Butterbeers and snack foods and they stayed up late into the night partying.
Despite the Slytherins' support, the whole school was not in his favour as Hogwarts Champion—or rather, they were not in favour of having a Slytherin champion. Most of them were fine, especially the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but a few Gryffindors made unpleasant comments suggesting he'd cheated his way into getting picked over people they considered more worthy. Seamus Finnigan was among the loudest of those expressing this opinion.
Two weeks after the selection of the champions, Colin Creevey turned up five minutes into Harry's afternoon Potions lesson to fetch him, saying the champions were wanted for photographs. Harry left with him reluctantly. Happy as he was to be champion, he didn't see why that meant he had to have his picture splashed across the Daily Prophet. Maybe it wouldn't be, he mused. Gabriel owned the paper, after all; he might order them not to print it. He wasn't particularly impressed with Harry's participation as it was; the last letter from home had been written by Lorna, who congratulated him but noted that Gabriel was concerned about the danger Harry had put himself in.
At the room Colin led him to, Krum and Fleur were already there with Ludo Bagman, a witch in magenta robes, and a paunchy man with a camera. Bagman informed Harry they were having a wand weighing in which the champions wands would be examined to ensure they were working properly, and then introduced the witch in magenta as Rita Skeeter, whose name sounded familiar to Harry though he couldn't place where. She looked Harry over like a hunter watched a prize tiger.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is—if Harry has no objection?"
"I do," Harry said quickly. "I don't want an interview, thanks."
"Oh, come now, Harry!" Bagman cajoled. "Good press—"
"I don't care about good press. I don't think Miss Skeeter wants to try and publish anything about me."
Skeeter laughed. "Harry, of course I do. The Boy Who Lived—everyone wants—"
"The son of Gabriel Valentine," Harry interrupted. "You know, the man who owns the Daily Prophet." Skeeter faltered. Harry smiled. "I would hate to have to write home and tell my father that one of the Prophet's reporters is harassing me. He can get so overprotective sometimes; I dread to think what he might do."
He left Skeeter silently fuming and moved to stand by a window, hoping his nerves of the wand examination didn't show. What did it mean exactly that they would be checking to make sure the wands worked alright? Bagman mentioned a specialist; would they want to know what his wand was made of? He remembered well the Ministry of Magic's security guard's reaction to finding out what his wand was made of; he didn't really want all these people to know about it.
He watched Fleur as he waited. She was definitely one of the prettiest people he'd ever seen. He enjoyed watching good looking people, but there was something else about her that drew Harry in, something different, and he found himself wondering if this was what it felt like to have a crush. He found himself oddly unhappy about it. He was happy not fancying people and after his parents' reassurances that it didn't mean there was something wrong with him, he didn't like the idea of suddenly being changed by the presence of one particularly attractive girl.
His attention was distracted by the arrival of Dumbledore and the other judges—with Ollivander the wandmaker in tow. It was almost enough to make Harry want to flee or quit the tournament, but he knew that wasn't allowed and running away would only delay things. He just crossed his fingers and hoped for the best. He uncrossed them again and slumped against the wall when Ollivander called Fleur forward and said quietly, but still loud enough for all the room to hear, "Hm, nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
Harry felt a sudden wash of relief. He didn't have a crush on her, it was just the diluted veela powers that made him feel differently about her than every other attractive person. Now he knew about it, he could ignore it easier.
Ollivander produced a bunch of flowers and declared the wand in good working form then called forward Krum. His wand was inspected, produced a flock of birds, and pronounced fine, and then it was Harry's turn. He detached his wand from its strap and, extremely reluctantly, handed it over. Ollivander took it, turned it over in his hands once, and stiffened. He had his back to the judges, sitting at table opposite the champions, and his eyes flicked from the wand to meet Harry's.
"This is... an unusual wand, Mr Potter-Valentine," he remarked even more quietly than he'd spoken before. Harry saw Skeeter leaning forwards to hear him better. "Very unusual. Might I ask where you got it?"
Harry hesitated, mind whirring. Maybe... it wasn't like the name was unique at all or particularly demonic...
"Crowley," he said cautiously. No flicker of understanding or shock came over Ollivander's face.
"Not someone I'm familiar with," the old man noted. "And it works well for you?"
Harry nodded.
"Hmm." He lowered his gaze to the wand again, inspecting it closely and for quite a while. Harry noticed Dumbledore watching with a slightly narrowed gaze. Eventually Ollivander flicked the wand and conjured a single large, black butterfly that made him frown but nevertheless declare the wand in good working order. Harry gladly took it back and reattached it to the strap.
They stood for photographs afterwards, which took an irritatingly long time as they tried to figure out how to fit Madame Maxime into the shot, whilst Rita kept trying to get Harry front and centre and the photographer did the same with Fleur. When they were finally dismissed, it was time for dinner and Harry was glad to get away.
The article the next day focused a little more on Harry than Krum and Fleur, but on the whole there was nothing to really object to. A week later, the first Hogsmeade trip of the year finally came. It was only a few days before the first task and Harry found himself growing apprehensive. He didn't like not knowing what he was meant to face and had to reassure himself that whatever it was, there would be a spell to defeat it.
His popularity since being declared champion had soared somewhat, so he found himself accompanied to Hogsmeade not only by Theo but also all the Slytherin girls in their year group and Blaise. It was weird, but not bothersome until he wanted to go buy cigarettes.
After spending the last couple of months doing homework in exchange for them, he had to admit to himself that he was, maybe, developing a habit. It made him feel oddly guilty, knowing that if his parents found out he'd be in serious trouble, but not enough to make him stop and there was a certain thrill to doing something his parents disapproved of. Besides, he'd made good relationships with the other smokers who tended to congregate behind the greenhouses at break- and lunchtime, and it was a good place to hear all the latest gossip.
He and Theo eventually managed to get away from the group in the Three Broomsticks. As they left, Harry heard laughter and a muttered comment about snogging that made him want to go back and hex them. The rumour that he and Theo were going out seemed to have gone through the whole school and accepted by most as truth even when he and Theo denied it. Harry worried for a bit that Theo might want to stop hanging out together so much to make the rumour desist, but he just rolled his eyes whenever he heard it.
Theo led the way to a little shop down past the Hog's Head pub where the owner sold tobacco and cigarettes to Hogwarts students. It was illegal to sell to under-seventeens and he charged them one and a half times the price, knowing they could hardly complain about it without admitting to what they were doing, but he was the only person who would sell it to them, Theo told Harry, so they didn't have much choice. Not that price was really an issue for Harry, which was good because while he'd smoke what he could get, he favoured the pre-rolled magical cigarettes that gave off blue smoke, which were more expensive than Theo's preference for normal tobacco and rolling papers.
On the twenty-fourth, Harry struggled to concentrate in all his lessons. He completely messed up his Arithmancy calculations, and in Ancient Runes he somehow managed to accidentally write out a runic spell that turned his parchment into ash. He spent the afternoon's History class paying so little attention that he never even noticed when Binns mentioned his father as an instigator of the 1799 Giants' War.
He hardly touched his dinner that night and his stomach was a bottle of nerves when Gareth fetched him and led him out the castle, down towards the Quidditch pitch and to the student changing rooms.
"You ready?" Gareth asked as they walked. Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "You'll do fine, Harry. There are wizards ready to step in at a moment's notice if something does go wrong, but I have faith in you. You've taken three NEWTs and killed Lord Voldemort. I think you can manage what's in there."
Harry gave him a weak smile and headed through the door of the changing rooms. Krum and Fleur were already there, looking as nervous as he was, a sharp contrast to Ludo Bagman, who greeted Harry cheerfully and gathered the three around to explain the task.
"Your primary target is to retrieve the silver box, but there are certain—ah—obstacles, shall we say, that you must neutralise in order to reach it. Points are awarded based on how fast you retrieve your box and how well you handle the obstacles. Now, in order to keep the spectators from offering help, a covering with a one-way See Through Spell has been placed over the pitch, as well as sound-proofing charms. These—" he reached into his pocket and withdrew three rose quartz crystals on short necklace chains "—will enable us to hear you, however, and if you find yourself overwhelmed then speak the world 'bubblegum' and you may forfeit the task."
Harry took his and clasped it around his throat. The quartz sat just below his collarbone.
"Mr Krum, you're first," Bagman said. "Miss Delacour second. Just go out into the pitch when you hear a whistle, all right? Now... Harry... could I have a quick word? Outside?"
Harry looked at him, surprised, but nodded and followed him out the tent, walking a short way and stopping when Bagman turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face.
"Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?"
"What?" said Harry. "I—no, nothing."
"Got a plan?" said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd like them, you know. I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, "you're the youngest here, Harry... bit of an underdog, going up against far more experienced competitors... anything I can do to help..."
"Mr Bagman, you don't know much about me, do you?" Harry said, somewhat amused. Bagman looked startled momentarily, then grinned, eyes flicking to the lightning bolt scar.
"No, I suppose not. Boy Who Lived, I suppose you are—"
"That's not what I meant," Harry interrupted before Bagman started praising him for that rubbish. "I just meant I've passed three NEWTs before my thirteenth birthday, so I don't think I need to worry about facing up against a world famous Quidditch player and a part-Veela unless the challenges include a broomstick race and a beauty contest. I don't need any help."
Bagman's grin faltered. "Right. Yes. Good. Well—"
A whistle blew and Bagman jumped.
"Good Lord, I've got to run!"
He hurried off and Harry returned to the changing room, passing Krum as he headed out. The sound-proofing charm clearly didn't extend this far because he heard the crowd roar their approval when Krum entered the pitch and he could hear Bagman commentating. He didn't say anything that really gave away what he was facing, but Harry started to think that whatever the 'obstacles' were, they were alive.
Fleur was next and Harry spent the time alone restlessly pacing the changing room, fists clenching and unclenching at this sides, half-wishing he had a cigarette if only because it would give him something to do while he waited.
And then, finally, it was his turn. He gripped his wand tightly in his right hand as he headed out to the pitch. Silence fell over him as he did, the sudden loss of noise unnerving. The ground of the pitch had been covered with rocks and trees, the turf torn up to make it uneven, and his first thought was that they'd better put it all back to normal afterwards. There was a dim light, but he couldn't really tell where it came from.
The biggest thing he noticed, however, was the bone deep cold that swept over him as soon as he entered, a cold that was painfully familiar and brought with it the echo of a werewolf's roar and a woman's scream. Almost against his will, his eyes moved upwards and fixed on the three Dementors circling the air above him.
Harry forced himself to ignore the approaching sound of a werewolf and raised his wand, thinking of home and family, and said firmly, "Expecto Patronum!"
The silver crow burst from the end of his wand and he immediately felt better as it flew around his head and then settled on shoulder. There was no point sending it directly after the Dementors; there was nowhere to drive them away to, so he just needed to protect himself from the effect of them as they hovered nearby.
He looked around. He couldn't see a silver box anywhere, but then he had the whole pitch to look through. Figuring he'd get the simplest possibility out the way, he tried summoning it but wasn't surprised when nothing came whizzing towards him. They would have protected the box from something like that or it'd be too easy.
Knowing there would be more than just the Dementors, he started moving around in search of the silver box, ears perked for noises within the area. He could hear a slight snuffling, the padded noise of something walking across the ground, and a soft snarling. Not a werewolf, he didn't think, but definitely something not entirely human.
A light appeared on his left and he spun towards it, wand held out. A small light flitted around behind a tree. Wondering if the box could move, he cautiously made his way towards it. It kept darting about in the dark, never quite letting him get close enough to see it properly, and only when he was shin deep in bog did he realise he'd been tricked by a hinkypunk. He pulled himself out and looked around, scowling. How was he meant to find the silver box in this darkness? It was probably at the centre, but after following the hinkypunk he wasn't sure where the centre was.
He started in a random direction, but after just a few yards found himself facing a wall. He turned, thinking. The pitch was standard size—180 by 500 feet. He could use a spell to find out the distance between two points, but that was no good when there were trees and rocks between him and the other side of the pitch.
He turned, looking at the wall behind him. Normally the sides of the base of the pitch were just the wood posts of the stands with the various coloured hangings over them, but something had been done to make it solid wood now, which actually worked in his favour. He prodded the wall with his wand and muttered a spell, and hand holds appeared. He hauled himself up until he reached the top of the covered area, above the line of the trees as far as he could see. It put him closer to the Dementors gliding about, but the crow flew around him and held them back.
Carefully holding on with one hand, he pressed the tip of his wand to the corner where the temporary roof met the sides then dragged it sharply across the roof as if he was striking a match, so he ended with the wand held directly opposite him towards the other end of the pitch. "Espentnos."
A white line appeared along the roof. When he touched his wand to it, numbers showed up just above the line: 179.3/180.
So he was against one of the longer sides. Now he needed to figure out how far he was from each end, but it wouldn't work from here because of the oval shape of the pitch. He needed to get to the midway point between this side and the other first, then he would have to levitate himself up and check the distance between him and the far ends, and from that he could work out how far and in which direction the centre of the pitch was.
He headed back to the ground and, checking the roof occasionally to be sure he stayed level with the line still painted across the ceiling, he started towards the other side of the pitch. He counted his footsteps and paced each one about a foot apart so he'd have a rough idea of when he was near the centre point.
So focused on keeping count and staying on track, he didn't notice the sound of something creeping up on him until it leapt from behind a tree and sent him crashing to the ground. His concentration lost, his Patronus faded away and he felt the Dementors' despair wash over him as a mouth latched onto his throat, teeth sinking into his skin. He jerked his wand up and over his shoulder, jabbing it into the creature's face and silently using a Blasting Curse to knock it off him.
"FUCK!"
He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly conjuring his Patronus again, and driving back the Dementor that had taken the chance to swoop lower, then cautiously approached the person getting to their feet. Between swearing in English and biting him, he'd figured out what it was.
"What's a vampire doing in here?" he asked.
"Attacking you," a feminine voice snarled, and they leapt at him.
"Protego!"
The vampire hit the shield and was thrown off, but they managed to turn into a somersault and land on their feet. They started to move again and he called out, "I'm Gabriel Valentine's son!"
The vampire froze. "Are you?"
"Yes. Who are you? Who's your nest master?" He approached and the glow of his Patronus lit up a woman's face, watching him warily now.
"I don't have a nest," she told him. "Why do you think I agreed to do this stupid thing for the tuppence they offered me? Are you really Gabriel Valentine's son? You'll mention that I'm getting paid for this, right?" she said nervously when he nodded. "Make sure he knows I didn't just attack you for the hell of it? It's just part of this Tournament you're in, and they made it clear I wasn't allowed to do more than nibble a bit anyway."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure he knows," he reassured her. "Do you know where the silver box is?"
"Yes."
"How much are they paying you?"
"Not enough to deal with Valentine's son."
"So if I offered to, say, put a good word in with Gabriel for the chance to join his nest, would you show me where the box is and help me reach it without anything else stopping me?"
She considered him. "How much influence have you got on nest matters?"
"Enough," he said boldly, hoping it was true. "He is looking for new members at the moment."
"New members or new soldiers?" the vampire asked sharply. "I haven't been living under a rock; I know about the war."
"You'd probably have to fight," he admitted, "but you'd also have my parents' protection the rest of the time, and Dad doesn't just sends people off to battle for him. He and Mum fight as well."
"It's tempting... you really think you can get me in?"
He nodded.
"Alright, I'll show you to the box. I'm Ravella, by the way."
"Harry. Nice to meet you."
"The box is this way," she said, heading in what to Harry seemed like a random direction, away from the line he painted on the ceiling which was no good to him now anyway. He lost track of how far he moved when she attacked him. "Sorry about the bite."
"It's fine, don't worry about it. Do you know what else is in here? I've met a hinkypunk already, and obviously the Dementors."
"Some minor creatures," Ravella said dismissively. "Dogbogs, imps and pixies, jarveys, pogrebins. There's one following us now, so watch yourself; it won't bother me. A couple of acromantulas, occamies, and runespoors and other basic snakes. Oh, and a Quintaped."
"What's that? I don't think we've covered those in Care of Magical Creatures."
"Big, hairy thing. Five legs. Likes to eat people. It was guarding the box last I saw of it."
"Crap. Do you know how to deal with them?"
"I usually find making things bleed to death is effective."
"Me too," he muttered, but he wasn't sure if he might get in trouble for killing something in here.
He almost walked into Ravella when she stopped and he edged sideways to see why. Ahead of them was a pedestal holding the silver box about the size of a Muggle Rubik's Cube, lit from below so that it shone eerily.
The Quintaped sat at the base, chewing on the remains of what Harry thought was probably a hinkypunk. Whether it saw or smelled them, it looked up and spat out the food, getting to its feet and snarling. Obviously it thought Harry would make a better meal than the hinkypunk.
They may not have covered them in Care of Magical Creatures, but Harry had learnt enough by now to know that any magical creature of this size was immune to stunning spells from a single wizard, so he didn't waste time trying. Often magical creatures were immune to a lot of other spells as well so rather than try to defeat it he used Incarcerous to conjures ropes and tie it to a tree. It roared its disapproval, but Harry couldn't help laughing at how ridiculous it looked with its five legs sticking out from between the ropes, waving helplessly as it tried to get free.
Grinning, he approached the pedestal and took the silver box.
Light burst across the pitch, making him shut his eyes with a wince while Ravella snarled. Shading his eyes, he opened them to slits and looked around. The temporary roof had vanished and Harry saw several figures on broomsticks immediately move in to round up the three Dementors. The sound-proofing spells vanished with the roof and the roaring cheers of the spectators filled his ears, conjured orbs now filling the pitch with light.
"Harry!"
He looked around, squinting through the light. A pathway had cleared between the false landscape and he could see an opening at the edge of the pitch, Gareth standing there gesturing to him.
"Don't forget what you promised me," Ravella said.
"I won't," Harry assured her. "I'll write home tomorrow morning, you have my word. See you!"
He let his Patronus vanish and made his way over to Gareth, accepting his congratulations and then getting hustled into a tent that'd been erected for Madam Pomfrey to work in. She cleaned and bandaged his vampire bite and then, while she went to check on Krum who had been bit by the Quintaped, Tori turned up.
"Harry, it's great that you were the fastest, but I don't think you can recruit vampires for the nest."
"How did—" he began, then remembered the quartz that Bagman gave him. He started to take it off, but was surprised when Bagman's voice came out of it.
"Mr Potter-Valentine?"
He exchanged a startled look with Tori, who shrugged. "Um, yes?" he said, chin down to aim his voice towards it.
"The judges wish to know the purpose of the distance marker before they decide on your score. Please explain."
"Oh, um... I figured the box was in the middle of the pitch so I was trying to work out where the middle of the pitch was. I knew the distance, so I was working from that."
Bagman's voice sounded amused and impressed. "Thank you. Your score will be awarded momentarily."
"That's pretty clever," Tori said as he removed the quartz, hoping the communication charm would turn inactive when he wasn't wearing it. "Come on, lets see what you got."
Picking up his silver box, he accompanied her out of the tent to see his score being given. He was given points out of ten from each judge, getting two nines, an eight, a ten, and (from Karkaroff) a six.
"Scumbag," Tori said when she saw it. "He gave Krum a ten. You're still in first place though!"
"Who's second?"
"Fleur. You were the fastest, but she reached her box without getting hurt, although she didn't conjure a Patronus and it was obvious that the Dementors bothered her."
"How did she find the box?"
"Dunno," Tori admitted. "She just seemed to home in on it. Like a pigeon."
Harry laughed. "Maybe it's something to do with being part-veela."
Gareth came up to them, congratulating Harry again and saying he needed to go back to the changing room to meet with Bagman. He sent Tori up to the castle without him and went to the changing room himself, feeling pleased. Fleur and Krum joined him shortly after, Krum limping, and then Bagman turned up.
"Well done all of you! Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth—but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those silver boxes you're all holding, you will notice that they twist and turn... yes, see," he said when Harry idly twisted his, surprised when parts of it changed from silver to various shades of grey. "You need to solve the puzzle which will give you the clue as to what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, hand in the quartz crystals and off you go, then!"
Harry kept his word to Ravella and wrote to Gabriel the next morning, also detailing how he'd done in the first task. He still had classes that day and he hardly slept the night before, full of adrenaline from the task, so he was tired and didn't examine his silver box until the weekend.
It worked exactly like a Rubik's Cube, only instead of six different colours the silver squares shifted through shades of grey depending on how close it was to its correct position, and went pure black when it was in the right place. It was tricky to do, sometimes losing black squares he'd had before, but almost addictive at the same time. After getting told off for playing with it in Muggles Studies, he had to start leaving it in Slytherin so he wouldn't keep taking it from his bag to try and figure out.
The beginning of December brought a new challenge for him, however. Gareth held the Slytherins back at the end of a Potions class one Friday to announce that a Yule Ball was held on Christmas, as part of the tournament, and specified to Harry that, as champion, he would take the first dance with his partner. He wasn't worried about the dancing, as his parents had made sure he and Tori knew how, but that partner part was proving problematic.
Initially he expected finding a partner to be hard because no one would want to have a date whose face had been mauled by a werewolf, but after being asked by two different girls and a boy in the first day after the announcement, none of whom he even knew the name of, he realised that this was apparently not a problem for people. He could only assume that, after four years at Hogwarts, people had got used to his scars.
But aside from not wanting to go with someone he didn't know, he didn't want whoever he did go with to get the wrong idea. He found plenty of the students attractive and nice to look at, but the last thing he wanted was one of them thinking that because he asked them to the Yule Ball it meant he actually fancied them.
«What about Theo?» Tori asked in Italian when he expressed this problem to her in the last Herbology class of the term. «You could go as friends.»
Harry shook his head, trying to surreptitiously rub his calves without drawing attention. The cold made his scars ache and it was bad enough that he was probably going to go ask Madam Pomfrey for a pain reliever when class let out. He wouldn't have to go back to taking one regularly again, but between the cold and the regular walking to get around the castle, it was getting too bad to go completely without.
«Theo's refusing to go with anyone,» he explained, also in Italian. He preferred other people not to hear his dating troubles. «He said he wants to make a point of not having a partner. He's like me, he doesn't fancy people, but at least he can refuse to go with anyone. I don't have a choice.»
«Anita already has a date, and you don't really have any other close friends, do you?» she mused.
«I have friends. I hang out with other people,» he muttered defensively. He knew about Anita; he'd gone to her with the friends only idea, but she was going with Lisa Turpin. She was still trying to figure out the lesbian thing and Harry supposed going to the ball with a girl was part of that.
«Like who? The other smokers?» He glanced at her and she smiled. «Yeah, I know about that. Don't worry, I won't tell Mum and Dad. It's not good for you though. Remember all those gross pictures Jennifer showed us in health classes of lungs turned black and stuff?»
Harry generally tried not to. «I'm fine. Well, what about you? Have you got a date?» It would probably be a bit pathetic to attend a ball with his sister, but if push came to shove...
But Tori nodded. «Tyler Swift.»
«What? Him? Why are you going with him?»
«He's very attractive.»
«Well, yeah, but he's...»
«What?»
«I don't know. He's a bit of a player, isn't he? I heard he's kissed half the school.»
«So what? Just because you're not interested in snogging people doesn't mean others aren't. Maybe all the interest in that sort of stuff that you were meant to get ended up with him.»
Harry frowned. «I... don't think it works like that.»
She rolled her eyes. «I'm teasing you, Harry. Anyway, who I go to the ball with is none of your concern. It's you you've got to worry about. Michelle Parker's one of the smokers, isn't she? The Ravenclaw fifth year? Do you like her?»
He shrugged, thinking of the girl he'd seen hanging around the greenhouses sometimes. «She's alright, I guess.»
«Logan Sparrow?»
Logan was nice, Harry thought, and attractive and was more likely to give up a cigarette to Harry for minimal repayment than anyone else. Harry also suspected he might be Snape's unknown child; Logan made no secret of the fact that he'd been orphaned in the war against Voldemort and adopted and he had the dark hair and pale skin. It was a tenuous connection and Harry had no way of finding out for sure, but he struck Harry as a possibility. There was just the problem that Harry was pretty sure he was straight, so no good as a Yule Ball partner.
«Don't see why that matters,» Tori said when he told her this, «seeing as you're... is there a word for people who don't fancy people?»
«If there is, I don't know it.»
«Padma doesn't have a date. You could ask her.»
Harry considered that. Padma was Tori's friend and after the time they spent together over the summer, she would probably accept the 'friends only' requirement and not take things the wrong way.
«Doesn't she have anyone she wants to go with?» he asked.
«I think she's hoping Viktor Krum will ask her actually, but I have it on good authority that he's going with Hermione Granger.»
Harry gaped. «Seriously?»
She nodded, grinning the smile of someone who knows they possess valuable information. «He asked her out in the library on Tuesday. I thought he might; he's been hanging out there a lot ever since he arrived and I noticed him watching her over his books sometimes. She never did.»
«Anita said she wouldn't notice a freighter if she's got an interesting book to look at instead,» Harry remarked. «I don't mind going with Padma, but I don't want her to go with me if there's someone else she'd prefer.»
«I'll ask her for you.»
«Alri- wait, shouldn't I ask her myself? I don't want her thinking I'm some loser who can't even ask someone to the ball.»
She shot him an amused look. «I'm pretty sure she doesn't think you're a loser, but whatever works for you.»
«I'll ask her,» he decided.
It was lunch after Herbology and he managed to catch Padma on the way up to the castle, getting Tori to tug her away from the rest of the class and then slip away while Harry nervously flattened his hair and asked with lots of 'ums' and 'ers' if she would go to the ball with him. She instantly beamed at him.
"Just as friends," he repeated, in case she'd missed that bit amidst the rest of his haphazard sentence.
Her smile didn't fade, but it took on a bit of a mocking lilt. "Still haven't kissed anyone yet, then?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
She shrugged, still smiling. "Alright, I'll go with you as just friends. You're dancing with me, though. I don't want you showing me up just because we're not a real date."
He relaxed. "Of course I'll dance with you. We have to to open the ball, anyway."
"Are you any good?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty decent."
"Alright then," she said, and her smile softened. "See you at Christmas, Harry."
He watched her walk off, feeling relieved to have got it over and done with. He felt even better later that evening after a pain reliever for his legs and seeing Ron Weasley ask out Fleur Delacour in the Entrance Hall at dinner time. Although 'ask' was not entirely accurate. He sort of screamed it at her, and then promptly ran off, embarrassed. It cheered Harry up to know that other people had even more trouble getting dates than he did.