"You didn't have to come and find me," Harry said. The arm Ron had slung over his shoulders tightened, looking to Ginny like it was as much a headlock as a gesture of comfort, but Harry didn't seem to mind; for all the words sounded like a protest, there was something in his tone and in his fond expression that made it clear there was an unspoken but I'm glad you did at the end of it. Hermione had obviously heard it too; she paused in her curious, somewhat grim examination of the Shack to smile warmly at Harry. Draco - who had gone to paw through the box with a look of trepidation - just rolled his eyes, as if offended Harry could think they wouldn't have come. For her part, Ginny was glad they had; she'd managed to get herself back under control in the last little while, while - if what they'd overheard was any indication - it seemed Harry had only got himself more worked up.

"'Course we did," Ron said, then appeared have a proper look around. "Blimey, this place looks a lot like Wormtail's bit of the Room, doesn't it?" Hermione, still grim-faced, nodded without looking away from the boarded windows. Draco glanced her way, not quite concerned, but rather trying to work out if he ought to be. His gaze moved to Ron a moment later.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking stricken. "We can go back up to the-"

"It wasn't a hint, mate," Ron said. He released Harry with a pat on the shoulder and went to join Hermione at the window. Ginny saw him lean into her, and saw Hermione lean into him a moment later. Ron turned to look at Harry over his shoulder. "Just trying to make conversation without bringing up… You know."

"I think we should talk about it," Ginny said.

"Only if Harry wants to," Hermione said.

"Seemed like he had a fair bit to say to Black and Lupin," Draco muttered, and Hermione shot him a chiding look.

"You heard the gist of it," Harry said, not looking sure if he wanted to laugh or be annoyed. "I don't think there's much point going over it all again."

"You said they didn't understand?" Hermione offered, hesitant. Harry didn't say anything, but he let out a breath and his mouth turned down. "We might?"

"I- don't think you can," Harry said. Ginny's eyes narrowed. "It's not- I don't think I can explain it any better than I did, and even if I could I don't know if you'd get it." The look he gave Hermione was miserable and almost apologetic, and she swallowed and gave a small nod in return. Draco looked troubled, and Ron was silent, eyes sad.

"No?" Ginny asked. The word came out sharp - and not unintentionally so - and Ron, Hermione, and Draco all gave her wary looks, but Harry didn't seem bothered by it.

"Maybe you," Harry said, and the look he gave her was their usual one of understanding and commiseration. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw the other three take a sudden interest in their surroundings; they'd be listening, but were making a token effort not to look like they were.

"Maybe?" Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow.

"As much as anyone can," he said, and it sounded more martyred than placating. Ginny folded her arms, unimpressed.

"You're including yourself in that anyone, right?" She knew he wasn't, and he knew she knew that; he looked away, shoulders hunching. "Harry." She reached for his arm and tugged him back around to face her. He gave her a grim look and shook her off. "Go on," she said, letting him. "What don't we understand? What can't I understand?"

"You just- it's not the same, all right? You get it better than anyone can, but you can't know… this." He waved a hand that seemed to encompass himself and the box.

"The only thing I know is that you couldn't make Sirius understand and so now you're feeling sorry for yourself and assuming that no one else can."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Harry grumbled.

"Aren't you?" She lifted her chin; she didn't want to pick a fight with him, not really, but she'd had anger bubbling inside her since she'd seen Tom's handwriting - not because of it, but because she still hadn't been able to stop the sight of it from affecting her - and it felt good to stop trying to choke it down and instead just let it out. "Because it certainly sounds like it and-"

"Maybe I am, then," Harry snapped, before she could finish: having been there, I wouldn't blame you. "Because he's using me-"

"Mmm," Ginny said, "wonder what that's like."

Ginny had never had Harry's anger directed at her before, but it was now; his eyes flashed and his voice took on a hard edge.

"He's not just using me because I'm there and convenient," Harry said. That stung, and she was sure he knew it. She doubted he knew that it set Tom off though, set him to laughing and murmuring that yes, she had been incredibly convenient.

Until I wasn't and you lost, Ginny retorted. Ginny saw the others shift anxiously, not even pretending not to listen now, and perhaps trying to decide whether they ought to do something.

"This is deliberate, and planned. He's claiming me, he's controlling my title, my mind, my dreams, my clothes, where I go, and he's doing it to make a point and because he can." Harry's jaw clenched. "It's different." His expression all but dared Ginny to argue.

"I suppose," Ginny said coolly. The others winced at her tone. Harry just watched her. "For one, you've actually got control of yourself, even if he is in your head. He might be forcing you into clothes and tournaments, but at least he's not wearing you. So yes, I think you might be right. It's very different." Ginny glowered at Harry who scowled back.

"You've had worse, so I should just get over it, is that your point?" Harry asked darkly.

"Harry," Hermione said nervously, "I'm sure Ginny only meant-"

"No, my point is you're not the only one, so you should just get over yourself-"

"Ginny!" Hermione moaned. Ron looked horrified and Draco looked stunned.

"- because the longer you stand there feeling sorry for yourself and like no one understands, the more he'll feel like he's won." Harry looked grim rather than angry now and rather than settle her down, that only incensed her; her next words came out harsh and loud: "It's awful what he's doing and what he's planning, but you're not alone. Not in feeling like this, or in being used. Not at all. And even if people don't understand perfectly, you're still not alone because they'll be looking out for you anyway." She paused to scowl up at him. "As long as you're not stupid enough to push-" She shoved him, softer than she felt like, but harder than was strictly friendly and Harry, unprepared for it, stumbled back a few steps, blinking in surprise. She felt a mean little curl of satisfaction, even as Hermione made a shocked sound and Ron let out a disbelieving "Ginny!". "-them all away!"

"Stop it!" Hermione said. "We have enough problems right now without you two shouting at each other!" Ginny thought she'd have put herself between them, except Ron caugh her arm and kept her where she was, shaking his head. When he looked at Ginny, red-eared, it was clear from the look on his face that he thought she'd gone too far; she'd thrown her ingredients into the cauldron and Ron was leaving her to deal with any explosions herself. He thought she'd overstepped, and if Ron thought so, she probably had, had let her frustration and anger get the better of her, had gone past brutal honesty and just been brutal. That, more than Hermione's obvious displeasure, and Draco's wary, darting eyes, sent the anger flooding out of Ginny so quickly that she was left feeling cold and empty.

"Harry," she said hoarsely, "I-"

"Guess I should be grateful my friends aren't stupid enough to let me be stupid," Harry said, and his hand jumped up to mess with his hair almost sheepishly.

"I-" Ginny blinked and then tried to look and sound unsurprised. "Yes. You should be." Harry cracked a grin and then he was hugging her.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Sorry I pushed you," she mumbled.

"I probably needed it," he said, releasing her with a shrug. The corners of his mouth turned down. "Sorry about the- convenient-"

"It's all right."

"You're perfectly entitled to be upset, Harry," Hermione said, and gave Ginny a sharp look that warned her against disagreeing. "And you don't have to explain yourself; Ginny's right, even if she could have said it differently; we're with you, regardless."

"What Hermione said," Ron said. Draco nodded.

"Yeah," he said, voice sounding a bit thick, and Hermione's expression wavered. She threw her arms around him, and rather than look embarrassed, Harry's arms tightened over her shoulders.

"Now look, Granger," Draco said, "you've upset him."

"I've-" Hermione wriggled free of Harry to glare at Draco, who sniggered. She huffed, pulling a face and Harry laughed. Draco looked rather pleased with himself. "So what now?" she asked, glancing back at Harry.

"Try not to die, I s'pose," Harry said.

"The usual, then," Draco sighed.

"Except this time we know what you're up against," Hermione said, "and we can make sure you're ready." She looked up at Harry, who smiled gratefully.

"Reckon I know just the place to do that, too," Ron said, his overly casual tone doing little to hide how pleased with himself he suddenly was. The other three's head whipped around to look at him, apparently understanding some significance to that statement that Ginny did not.

"Really?" Draco looked impressed.

"You figured it out?" Hermione's eyes were bright and interested.

"This morning," Ron said.

"Brilliant," Harry said.

"How?" Hermione wanted to know. "Did you-"

"Figured what out?" Ginny asked, feeling very left out.

"The Room," Ron said.

"You wanted to see me?" Remus asked, and Madame Maxime waved him into a golden chair with a soft cushion made of pale blue velvet.

"Sit," she said in French. Remus did.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, only half-joking; there was something in her scent and the fierce glint in her eyes that made him think it was entirely possible.

"I haven't decided yet," she replied, frowning at him. She clasped her ringed fingers together under her chin and surveyed him over the top while he sat silently and did his best not to fidget. "You knew," she said at last. "You knew the boy would be entered, that is why you were so adamant about coming to Hogwarts this year."

"Ah," Remus said, wincing slightly.

"I am not so cruel as to begrudge you your concern for your nephew-" Remus opened his mouth to correct her, then decided it didn't much matter, and shut it again. "-but I brought you here to support my students during the Tournament. This place is foreign to them, and far from their homes and families, and if they cannot be your first priority, then for their sakes, I think I need to bring in someone else."

"I have no intention of neglecting our students," Remus said, and sighed. "And I didn't know Harry would wind up in the Tournament. We only knew that Voldemort had an interest in it, was planning something around it. It… it was a big part of why I asked to come, but that it was based here rather than in France was another big factor, and I told you that from the beginning."

"You did." Madame Maxime twisted one of her rings around, clearly thinking. "You maintain that the boy is an unwilling entrant, then?"

"Yes," Remus said, voice coming out more terse than he'd intended. Madame Maxime nodded, easy in her acceptance, and Remus lowered invisible hackles.

"And you realise that unwilling or not, he will be made to compete. Hogwarts may be gentle with him, but Durmstrang will not be, and neither will Fleur."

"She told him herself last night," Remus said, with tired amusement.

"Good," Madame Maxime said, unapologetic. "The boy's circumstances are unfortunate, and you may pass on my sympathies to him and assure him we hold no animosity toward him-" Remus thought of the way Fleur had looked at Harry and wasn't quite convinced. "-but, we are not only here to compete, but to win. I will do everything in my power to support Fleur in this, and as her teacher, it is your job to do the same." She studied him. "Can you, even if it must be at your boy's expense?"

"If it's at Harry's expense, no," Remus said, and Madame Maxime's eyes narrowed, scent betrayed but not entirely surprised. "If it's at the expense of Harry winning the Tournament, then by all means." He waved a hand, and she relaxed.

"You don't want him to win?"

"If he gets out of this alive then he will have won, as far as I'm concerned." And he would make it through. Remus just had to keep telling himself that until he accepted it as the truth.

"And you are certain this Voldemort is behind it?" Remus looked at her, a little surprised she'd said the name, but then considered that, being French, she wouldn't have the same fear of it that British witches nd wizards did.

"Positive," Remus said.

"And is he the only one at risk? What are Voldemort's plans for the other Champions?"

"Much the same as the other Champions' for Harry, I'd imagine," Remus said. "Use them if he can, go through them if they're between him and what he wants."

"Then Fleur is at risk as well," Madame Maxime said.

"It's possible," Remus said, and somehow felt more worried for her, for the chance of her being at risk, than he did knowing Harry was; Fleur had no idea what - or rather who - she was up against.

"Then we must prepare her," Madame Maxime said. "You must prepare her - for Voldemort, as well as for the Tournament." She was right.

"I'll do what I can, but I'm not… really sure how." He picked a bright pink hair off his robes. "The Tournament's easy enough, that's what we've been doing, although last night they said teachers weren't supposed to help." Madame Maxime shrugged one large shoulder, apparently unbothered by that. "But Voldemort…" How did one prepare for Voldemort?

On Viktor's first night at Hogwarts, Karkaroff had pointed Harry Potter out to some of the Durmstrang contingent as a curiosity, much as he had pointed out the school's Forbidden Forest, Severus Snape, and the Slytherin table. Viktor hadn't been particularly impressed. The boy was lean - Seeker's build, Viktor had noted, though he had no idea if the boy played - but lanky in that still-growing way. He had a small group of friends, but they had sat apart from the rest of his table at the meals Viktor had also attended. He'd pegged Potter and his little group as loners, or actively disliked, and not significant.

But meeting Potter in the antechamber had been enlightening, and Viktor had been forced to revise his opinion; firstly, Potter had been indifferent to both Viktor and the veela girl. A curious thing, but Viktor had thought perhaps he didn't like Quidditch, or women. Then, though, Bagman had made his comments, and Viktor had realised that Potter's name meant a lot more here in Britain than it did at home. When Potter had spoken he'd done so quietly as if expecting to be listened to, and there'd been something about the way he held himself… Viktor had known by the time Bagman dismissed them that, if he was made to compete, Potter would not do so half-heartedly. His parting words to the boy had not been a warning, or a threat, but a prediction that that would not be enough. But, when Potter hadn't thanked him, or even grown defensive, had merely nodded - and not in agreement, but rather acknowledgement - Viktor had had to re-evaluate once again.

Diggory had the advantage of having studied with Potter, so would know what to expect of him. Delacour could charm the boy's life story out of whoever she wanted. Perhaps, if she set her mind to it, she could even have Potter himself talk her through it - she was certainly bold enough. And, failing that, she could ask her teacher, the one that had stood beside Potter and his guardian while they were in the antechamber.

Viktor had no such connections, but he had his fame, and was not above using it to get information; the on the second morning after the Goblet chose the Champions, they were pulled aside before breakfast and told that Potter had been unable to get out of competing.

Viktor had gone on to breakfast at the Slytherin table, where a casual mention of Potter's name resulted in frowns and shrugs and even winces; the reason for that became clear when a pale, pointy faced boy began to rant about how such a spectacle was very much Potter's style, and that Dumbledore adored him enough to let him get away with it, and that he rather hoped a tragic accident might befall Potter and rid them of him, but that he doubted they'd be that lucky.

Other students - ones he spoke to when they came to ask for an autograph, or to congratulate him on being made Champion - had more to say. Some were obvious, even expected for a teenage celebrity:

Potter was weirdly intense, Potter was always getting into trouble, which was why his godfather had joined the staff that year, Potter was dramatic, Potter was was the Boy Who Lived, and Potter wasn't so great.

Others rumours were slightly more interesting:

Potter had once lost fifty house points for being caught out after curfew, Potter was an excellent Seeker, though maybe not as good as Viktor, Potter was the reason they could never have a quiet year at Hogwarts, Potter was lovely, and had once helped a girl find her shoes, Potter talked in his sleep and had been known to have weird episodes in lessons, and Potter was a Parselmouth.

Others were stranger still:

Potter was always running off to meet with Dumbledore or the Aurors, Potter almost died at least three times a year, Potter was friends with werewolves and giants, Potter and his friends had formed a little cult, Potter was an incredible wizard and he was going to win the Tournament, Potter had probably saved everyone in the school several times over without them even knowing about it, Potter was always sticking his nose into something he shouldn't, Potter could resist the Imperius curse, but Potter was also weak and fainted every time he was near a Dementor.

Every single person Viktor spoke to had something to say about him, even those that admitted they didn't know him personally. And, most of them delivered their strange facts with conviction, but when Viktor looked skeptical, shrugged and told him that was what they'd heard, anyway. Viktor had never known anyone to be the object of so many rumours, and he regularly rubbed shoulders with professional athletes.

And so, here he was, holed up in the Hogwarts library at nine in the evening on a Saturday, reading about a fourteen year old boy, in the hopes that a book might be less prone to exaggeration, or at least, more certain about what was fact and what was not. He rubbed his temples and reached for Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

"Oh!" A bushy haired girl stepped out from between two bookshelves, her arms laden with books and looked at him with surprise. She wore jeans and a soft-looking blue jumper with an H on it - for Hogwarts, perhaps? Viktor sighed, waiting for the parchment and quill to appear, and the stammering to start. It didn't; after a moment, her surprise became curiosity, and then a sort of grudging approval.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"No," she said. "That's just- I usually sit here, but I'll find somewhere else-" She turned to leave but Viktor grunted and moved his pile aside to make room for her.

"Sit, then," he said.

"I don't want to bother-"

"It's no bother," he said politely, but wasn't yet sure if that would hold true. Hesitantly, she sat.

As it turned out, she was no bother at all; she pulled a book toward her and buried her nose in it, silent but for the regular turning of pages, and the occasional thoughtful hum. Viktor found himself curious, and a little nervous. He cleared his throat.

"This is a good place, away from the rest of them." He nodded back toward the busier part of the library, where he could hear a group of students being told off for making too much noise.

A pair of brown eyes peered over the top of the book.

"That's why I like it," she agreed, and then her attention drifted back to the page. Viktor smiled and returned to his own reading.

After almost an hour, he became aware of her eyes on him, and glanced up. She went pink, seeming flustered that she'd been caught.

"What?" he asked.

"I was just wondering what you were reading," she said. "Sorry."

"Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts," he said. She nodded, and her eyes went to his pile. She had a very expressive face, and he watched her go from curious, to shrewd, to thoughtful.

"I see," she said, in what he thought was a rather loaded tone, and he thought she might.

"He… was not what I expected," Viktor admitted. "It seemed prudent to try to find out about him, given we will be competing."

"What did you expect?"

"Maybe a normal boy, maybe a spoilt one. Maybe a boy still trying to cling to old fame when everyone else has forgotten what he was famous for." Viktor shrugged. "He is not any of those things." The girl absorbed this in silence.

"Have you put this much effort into reading about Cedric and Fleur Delacour?"

"They're not as hard to figure out," he said, and then smiled sheepishly. "They're also not so easy to research." He gestured at the pile beside him and a wry smile tugged at her mouth. The sight of it left him feeling rather pleased with himself. "Perhaps you can tell me about Diggory."

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged, but her smile had faded: "I haven't had much to do with him. He's a Hufflepuff, and he plays-"

"What's a Hufflepuff?" Viktor interrupted. "Someone used that word at breakfast, but when I asked them to explain, they said they were nothing worth talking about." The girl frowned at this.

"Hufflepuff's a Hogwarts House," she said. "Like Slytherin - where you've been sitting?" Viktor found himself oddly pleased that she'd noticed. "Or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"How are the Houses chosen?" She straightened in her chair.

"Godric Gryffindor - one of the school's founders - enchanted his hat to read the minds of the first year students and work out where they best fit," she said. "We call it the Sorting Hat. Slytherin's for really ambitious students, Gryffindor's for the brave ones, Ravenclaw's for the clever ones, and Hufflepuff's for the hard working ones."

"You're Ravenclaw, then," he said with confidence, and she smiled, seeming both flattered and amused. Again, he found himself rather pleased by that. She wasn't stunning the way Delacour was, but she was pretty, and more than that he liked her bright eyes, the obviously clever mind behind them, and the fact that she was talking to him rather than fawning.

"Gryffindor, actually, but it was a near thing."

"And Potter, he's…?" She narrowed her eyes, all humour gone.

"Gryffindor as well," she said.

"You know him well," he said, looking her over; she was younger than Viktor, but not by much, which surely meant she was a few years older than Potter.

"Quite," she said coolly. He nodded.

"I can count on one hand the number of people who wouldn't tell stories to reporters or other Quidditch teams about me," he said.

"That's horrible," she said, frowning.

"I meant- people like you are hard to find. Potter should be grateful." This time, her expression softened at the mention of Potter. He wondered what she was to him. Merely a friend, or something more? More to the point, what did she consider Potter? While he pondered that, she studied him with suspicious eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said. She was silent for a moment, then nodded, acknowledging that. Viktor cast around for a topic that wasn't Potter, and his eyes landed on the small mountain of books she'd brought with her. "What are you reading?" The book in front of her was some sort of Potions encyclopaedia, but the others in the pile were either spellbooks or about dragons. An odd choice, to say the least.

She was silent for a moment, then opened her mouth, but it wasn't her voice that came out; the librarian swooped in to warn them of the approaching curfew.

The girl stood and gathered her books. It was only once she'd left their table and called a soft, library-appropriate-volume good night to Viktor over her shoulder that he realised he hadn't asked her name.