A/N: As always, I give my thanks to those who take the time to review. Term is winding down, so that combined with the fact that parts of this were a terror to write, I am sorry that it took so long. And sometimes I seem to write myself into a corner...

Largest update ever though!

Last chapter brought about a bit of a landmark. Now featuring over 500,000 hits. Hows them apples for less than four months on the site?

"English" :: ^German^ :: {French} :: |Bulgarian|

~Parseltongue~ :: *Familiar Speech*

Chapter 36: World Cup

"Good god almighty, reading these things is depressing..."

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he went over some of the postmortem files he had gotten his hands on. He was currently reading the appendixed medical history from a file about a Polish metamorph who had been a duelist.

"Generalized recovery time from injuries seems to be anywhere from thirty-two to forty-five percent faster than Healer's estimates, with the exception of those times where magical exhaustion occurs concurrently..."

Harry picked up the journal that he was using to keep his notes handy and flipped to the page where he had kept the data of this particular type. It wasn't much, only five entries, soon to be six. Four Sorcerers and a High Sorcerer. Now a Mage. He doubted that he would get any records on an Archmage, let alone an Adept.

He'd always been curious about why the hell he had always seemed to heal overnight. Now he had his answer... Apparently a metamorphs power worked on an automatic level to keep a body healthy, and the amount of magical power a person had would make it more effective.

And the fact that he would heal so damn quickly when the lion's share of his power had been stolen was a disturbing thought. He rolled his shoulders and picked up the next file. Sometimes only sleeping upwards of two hours a night really sucked.

At times it got really boring when there was no one to bother...

Harry watched as he used his, what he had finally decided to call (just for the sake of ease/laziness) telekinesis (if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and smells like a duck, it is a goddamn duck), to work on two Rubik cubes while he bounced a little red rubber ball on the back of his hand.

He was sitting in the dining room and it was roughly seven o'clock in the morning. He was idly wondering when someone would wake up, so that he would have someone to talk to. What part of his thoughts that were not one the toys, longing for conversation, and boredom were focused on some... ideas for more... destructive solutions to issues that would come up when he was to be forced (kicking and screaming, albeit in a more dignified manner) to compete in the Tri-Wizard Cup.

He was considering the various explosives he would be able to field by the time summer was over. He was idly drawing up the runic equivalents of mines and grenades, but why stop there when there are oh so ever many ways to skin a cat (and thinking of that, he started a new thought thread on ways to get Bella back for her part in the decision to keep him in the dark about there being guests in the Manor). He had enough hints that he may very well be able to field something roughly related to Greek Fire through his work with potions and then was the possibilities he had in alchemy. He idly made a note to do some research on mundane explosives.

As the door opened quietly, and before the person entering the room even stepped through, Harry said, "Good morning", before turning his head toward the door.

A blond, tallish and willowy, beautiful beyond belief (even Harry would admit to the fact no matter how little of a chance he believed he would ever have with anyone of the female persuasion), and somehow managing to affect an air of grace even when she was half asleep, walked into the room. His Mage Sense registered something that he had only noted from Hagrid and Professor Flitwick. She wasn't entirely human, and he noted that the feeling was a more active version of what he had gotten off of Gabrielle. Where Hagrid's non-human magic gave off a feeling brute physical strength and slowness of thought and Flitwick's spoke of shrewd cunning and deftness of hands, her energy, for lack of better word, sang of air, fire, and an allure that would drag men in. Harry wondered for a moment what that meant, as he had yet to have any particular reason to study up on magical beings it threw him for a complete loop.

As her magic was being felt by his senses, he felt something brush up against his Occlumency shields. The closest he would put the feeling to was what he had felt the Dementors do. But instead of the cold of pure fear, there was a warmth, bordering on heat, that seemed to whisper 'come hither'.

And all this seemed to take place in a matter of seconds for him.

She blinked for a moment and then rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and then mumbled with a thick French accent, "Morning... I didn't expect someone to actually be up..."

She then called for the elf that was in charge of the kitchen in the mornings... Flippy. She asked for a large stack of pancakes, with Harry piping in a request for fruit.

She yawned a few times, still apparently waking up. The she noticed the Rubik cubes floating in front of Harry, seemingly being solved of their own accord. She rubbed at her eyes a second time and then pinched herself on the forearm. In her shock she reverted to her native tongue and said, {I am fairly certain that it is some kind of wandless magic, but how?}

Harry smiled broadly, (slightly) happy to have someone to talk with, and deciding to practice his French, {I'm not entirely sure, it started with me practicing wandless banishers, summoners, and hover charms. Then it just kind of... mutated from there when I started wondering just how much fine control I have...}

{Until you ended up with something that roughly resembles telekinesis?}

{Yup!}

At that particular carefree comment her left eyebrow twitched in a manner that had Harry fighting down a laugh.

She then said, {You are not entirely sane, are you?}

{Is anyone?}

{It is too early in the morning to play philosophy, are you or are you not insane?}

{I claim the defenses of coping mechanism, self-incrimination, and being sane when I started living with crazy people...}

{Do you ever give a straight answer?}

Harry grinned manically as a bowl of fruit appeared in front of him and he started juggling an apple, an orange, and a pear. {Depends on the subject of the conversation.}

{And what subjects, pray tell, do you take seriously?}

{Academia subjects that are clearly not a joke (he coughed something that vaguely sounded like divination), culture that isn't ridiculous (he again coughed sounding like 'what little of it'), and life threatening situations. Everything else is fair game and a part of me really wants to go out with an off-color limerick or something as amusing on my lips, so I may very well end up joking around when my life is in danger anyway.}

She shook her head ruefully, and said, {You do not act like anyone your age that I have ever met.}

Harry caught the fruit he was juggling, and lengthened his nails to start peeling the rind from the orange. His face fell, and a look of deathly seriousness crossed his face, {That is because England's Boy-Who-Lived is a barely functioning parody of what it is to be human.}

She was brought to a full stop by his sudden change in mannerisms. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts to say, in a rather puzzled tone, {I am sorry?}

{Meh, I thought it would probably be best to get that out of the way. I figure if we were to actually become friendly, I will tell you the reasons why. Part of me is amazed I am as seemingly sane as I am.}

She had a confused look on her face for a moment, before she simply nodded at that, and said, {Well, you seem like you can at least carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation... as insane as it is. My name is Fleur, Fleur Delacour.}

{It is a pleasure to meet you, Fleur. I am Harry Potter, Fate's Bitch. Besides which, I actually find talking to crazy people quite enlightening, you never know when something brilliant will appear in the madness. So, are you actually a fan of Quidditch, or are you just along for the 'family vacation'?}

She grinned and the conversation wandered on from there.

The birthday party was much like the one that Harry had had during the summer after his first year, with the largest difference being the gifts he was now give were almost in their entirety books, with an exception or two for 'Quidditch stuff'.

The Delacours had chosen that day for a family outing to go site-seeing in muggle London. The explanation that they gave was that they did not want to impose during Harry's birthday, and so they were going to excuse themselves from the festivities.

Before leaving the twins griped to Harry about Ronald's constant complaining about his rat, Scabbers, having gone missing. The twins were of the opinion that the rat, which they believed was rather old, had simply scampered away somewhere in the castle and died of old age. Their mother had not been very pleased when Ronniekins had gone crying to her about the twins telling him his pet was dead. They swore revenge of the pranking kind for the little crybaby tattletale.

Hermione had asked to borrow one of his new books on her way out. Harry often wondered if something was wrong with her brain chemistry that made reading an addiction for her. Not that he couldn't say he read less than her, he just made the excuse he had yet to accumulate enough hobbies to remove reading as a leisure time activity.

Nev asked Harry if he had ever though of bugging Sirius into (somehow) adding a greenhouse to the manor. Neville (and his love of all growing things) had introduced Harry to a rather interesting idea, that was sadly thrown away for the fact that the only reason to do that was for homegrown potions ingredients, and Harry was no where near that badly pressed to save money.

Though he did start kicking around the idea of appropriating one of the labs to grow... something. He just wasn't sure what yet. Maybe roses (which triggered the relief that he was finally over a bit of the damage Dursleys' had done to him if he could think of gardening as something to kill time instead of torture) that would be a nice hobby... but then again, he spent about three-fourths of the year away from home...

Harry spent the few weeks split between his usual studying habits, his usual training habits, making a list of possible hobbies so that he could avoid draining the Potter library dry before Fate stopped finding him amusing and decided to put him out of his misery, and getting to know the house guests (and Bella).

Gabrielle was a bright little ray of sunshine, like almost all seven year old girls are. As long as Harry tried to be amusing in some way, she managed to be all bubbly and giggly. She was also a right little terror when she didn't get her way, so Harry kept her as distracted as possible when he was in her company for any length of time.

Jean-Paul was apparently the French equivalent of Head Auror... and when he found out Harry had a secondary shield focus, he practically dragged the Potter Heir to the sparring room. The next half an hour Harry spent either on the move or behind various shield spells. Harry could tell that the man was going easy on him (as compared to Sirius who would often add his own potshots in when he was having Harry dodge incoming spellfire from the training dummies), though when Jean-Paul finally stopped and told him he was exceptional in shielding and dodging for someone who hadn't even finished his O.W.L.s (though the man had originally mentioned the french equivalent and had to clarify).

When he asked why Harry was so skilled at those two particular skills, Jean-Paul only got four words in response.

"He is not dead."

Confusion, understanding, and a touch of fear crossed the man's features, before he finally said, "Hit me with you best non-lethal shot."

Harry snapped off a chain of ten to fourteen (he no longer kept track of how long his spell chains of this kind were) spells, consisting mainly of nuisance curses with a few low power bludgeoners and stunners. The man tried to dodge to the left to find himself boxed in by a gout of flame, and was forced to shield a trio of stunners, before yelling, "Stop!"

He continued, "Remind me never to underestimate you again Harry. Or allow you a free shot. Were those silent?"

"Sub-vocal mostly, except the stunners and a few of the nuisance curses. I've also cut all the wand movements for most of that down to half, though I've almost got my stunners down to point casting."

Jean-Paul looked at the teenager in front of him questioningly.

Harry rolled his eyebrows and said, "He'll claw his way back into a body sooner or later, and Dark Lords are known for their egos. I'll be his first and biggest target. I don't intend to go down in anything other than a great, big, spectacular mess."

The Frenchman nodded and said, "That tends to be the motto of Hit Wizards the world over."

"I'll remember that if I live long enough to have a career."

Jean-Paul then gave Harry a few dozen tips on dueling, and an invitation to bombard him with owls if the young man ever needed more advice in combat.

As for Mrs. Delacour, Apolline, Harry didn't have much contact with outside of meals and a time or two Harry spent getting to know Bella (which netted Harry a few good stories involving his mother, one of which was infinitely amusing and involved stripping Sirius of his dignity by means of a bottle of fire whiskey, ten pounds of feathers, and a potion which caused him to glow pink) and what he did learn was that what ever magical being they came from, it was not active in either of their parents. He idly wondered if it was a female trait that skipped a generation through their father. What he found out about the woman was that she was a fierce stickler for good manners at the table and had a particularly sharp tongue when it came to enforcing said manners.

As for Fleur, they spent time occasionally talking, either about academics (Fleur was at first (pleasantly) surprised that Harry though going into his fourth year could keep pace with some of the topics she brought up), both magical and mundane culture (in which Harry voiced that English wizarding culture hadn't changed in at least a century (probably more) (Fleur agreed and she pointed out it was the same for most of Europe, except it was only a few decades rather than centuries, as for the mundane, Harry was only irreverent at a few things that were called 'art' (Fleur was once more surprised at how much he knew, which Harry blew off as being a result of too much free time and wanting to read something different, and therefore digging out a magazine or book on a new subject)), and some of the things they did for enjoyment (Harry pointed out his obvious 'mad scientist' habits, Fleur apparently liked to knit (when Harry froze up in disbelief, she unshrunk a bag, and lo and behold, knitting stuff!)).

Of course the topic of the Tri-Wizard Cup eventually came up...

{I am going to at least submit my name for the competition.}

{I am going to say two things. First would be the obligatory 'good luck', and the second is going to have to be me pointing out the fact that I have yet to have what would amount to a normal school year in the magical world, and that no one who knows me is welling to match my twenty galleons on the feeling I have that somehow, someway I am going to be forced to compete.}

{And just how would you be forced to compete?}

{I've done a lot of research into the Tri-Wizard using the Potter Library...}

Harry had mentioned the Potter Library one of the times they had talked of their studies, and the young woman had gotten a far off look in her eyes at the mention of all those books. She still got that look whenever he mentioned the treasure trove of books, it unsettled him a little.

{And what I've found is that they use an object called the Goblet of Fire as an impartial judge to determine the contestants.}

{Really? And what have you found on this Goblet Harry?}

A look of distaste crossed his face, and he continued, {That a similar object makes appearances in wizarding history as early as Rome and the Colosseum. It was used to bind magical beings into the Games. It made it so that they would have to compete to the best of their abilities, or else suffer from the counter-measures installed into it.}

For a few minutes all that passed between the two were silence, and then she asked, {Has anyone in the history of the Tri-Wizard been entered against their will? And, I'm a little afraid to ask, but counter-measures?}

Harry sighed, and then said, {Unknown. There is nothing in the accounts of each of the times the Tri-Wizard took place, but it could have just been covered up... As for the counter-measures, it is quite simple. Pain. Great pain that increases until either the subject complies or dies.}

She frowned at the first fact, turned slightly green (which failed to mar her beauty), and then said, {If you don't mind me asking, do you know how the Goblet chooses the contestants.}

{It will pick whoever will give the best show. From what I've been able to dig up on studies about it, the level of intelligence and awareness that it has is actually quite frightening. It can apparently take into account skill and power level, with other variables following. During Rome's bloodsports it never failed to arrange a good show.}

{So, if someone puts your name into the Goblet...}

{I'm betting on my involvement coming out of left field as the Yanks say, so I think that a good many people are going to be... irritated with the English when the Champions are chosen.}

{You do know that you could just be paranoid.}

{Well to that I have at least two answers. The first is that if you are expecting the worst, than when it doesn't happen you can be pleasantly surprised, but if it does you are armed and ready for bear. The second is that just because you are paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't out to get you. Hell I think Fate takes joy in my suffering, I got attacked by the almost every last Dementor that was stationed at Hogwarts for no other reason than I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.}

{When you put it that way, how likely is it that you think I could win against you?}

{I've been slowly getting myself ready with the belief that Voldemort is not in the grave and that one of his primary goals will be my death. My forced competition in the Tri-Wizard will be like me waging war against however many tasks there are.}

She laughed, and he felt the energy around her brush up against his shields as she said, {Now I don't know who to feel sorry for, you, the other Champions, or the tasks themselves...}

{How about all of the above?}

A week before the World Cup was set to take place, all of the adults decided that, even though they all had seats that would entitle them to arrive the day before in order to get their seats, they would be remiss to skip the opportunity to camp among so many other wizards from around the world.

Sirius had managed to somehow snag a reservation right by one of the water spigots (he said his reasoning was that all of the maps had the water spigots marked and anyone who wanted to find them could just go to water spigot).

They set up all of one tent, but what a tent it was. Everyone had their own room, with a couple to spare, there was a three to one ratio of people to bathrooms, which a few of the womenfolk complained about, but was still viewed as 'acceptable'.

One issue was that this was technically a muggle camping ground, and so Harry's familiars (well the two that couldn't disguise themselves, as Leon was quite smug about being able to perfectly imitate a husky with a black and dark gray coat) had to be put under glamors. Isis looked like some sort of constrictor and Hedwig was back to looking like a snowy owl.

Not fifteen minutes after they had finished setting up, at around about three in the afternoon, Harry was dive-bombed by an owl. Taking the letter, he asked the owl if it would mind waiting to make a return trip. He read the letter as he stepped into the tent looking for parchment and ink, with the owl on one shoulder, and Hedwig making it known to the interloper that Harry was hers by taking up her place on the other.

Five minutes later the owl was winging away, with a reply to Ivan.

Not fifteen minutes later, as Harry was walking around the outside of tent reading a book, he put his book down, and grinned. He then caught up in a great big bear hug, and bodily lifted from the ground..

|Argh, Ivan, put me down you stinking Cossack!|

|Bah, you are just most displeased that a large person like me can life a rag doll like you.|

As his friend set him back down on the ground, Harry got a good look at his friend. He had sprouted up to somewhere in the mid five foot range, and his build resembled what Harry thought a medieval warrior would have. His dirty blond hair now reached to his shoulders and looked like a shaggy mess, while his eyes had taken on a distinctly yellow hue. Harry half closed his eyes for a moment and felt the magic around his friend.

And his eyes snapped open a moment later. |How close to controlling it are you?|

|Very close. With the 'bane the transformations do not even hurt anymore, and we've started playing with my dosage. The beast is completely in my control during even the fullest moon at only half of what I need to take.|

|Congratulations, my very large friend. Any particular reason we are speaking Bulgarian?|

|Because, I wanted to see if you speak it as well as you write it, and finally put to rest my family's disbelief that I have Harry Potter as a pen-pal.|

|Should I bring the menagerie or have them stay here?|

|If they don't mind staying...|

~I am quite comfortable lying here in the sun, Harry...~

*If it's no trouble when you gone, get me a ham. If you can't get me a ham, have the dogman that is afraid of cats or the wolfman that is afraid of bunnies get me some fresh meat... And then see about instilling a fear of mice into the catlady. That would make some of the various insanities around here at least seem balanced.*

Hedwig's answer was to come perch herself on Harry's shoulder for a moment to affectionately nibble his ear and then flew off.

|The consensus is that they are quite fine here... Though Leon seems to be hungry.|

Ivan chuckled as he placed a large arm around Harry's shoulders and half-dragged the boy-who-lived off.

A short walk, during which Harry and Ivan discussed who they felt sorry for, the muggles who were Obliviated repeatedly when they saw the wizards showing off (even Ivan found the tents with his brother's photo plastered all over them in bad taste, while Harry couldn't help but pity whoever thought making their tents look like small green hillocks was a good idea), or the Oblivators being forced to work overtime with the sheer amount of work they had ahead of them.

They eventually came to the conclusion that it was at best six of one and half a dozen of the other, so everyone was to be felt sorry for, including themselves who had to witness this travesty of people in large groups acting like complete morons.

After what both found to a be a walk that was both entertaining and despairing (Ivan said, |How the hell the non-magicals haven't figured it out yet is beyond me|), they reached the set of tents where apparently a good portion of the Bulgarian team's families had set up, including Ivan's.

As they stepped into the tent belonging to the Were's family, he gave a rather cheeky grin and yelled out, |For those of you who did not believe me about the identity of my pen-pal, may I introduced, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived...|

|And Fate's Whipping Boy!|

Ivan's mother and father were present, with Viktor having a practice session with his team. One of the first thing the pair of parents did was to apologize to their son for not believing him. The conversation from there varied from why the hell The-Boy-Who-Lived was at a werewolf retreat, Quidditch, what his studies were like and how well he did (Ivan and Harry got off on a tangent on just how many potions knives a person needed, with Harry supporting the side of the argument that you could never have enough blades, so long as each one was a different metal, Ivan debating the point that a basic potions kit included all the knives a student would need), more Quidditch, magical creatures (Harry was of the opinion that unicorns got a bad rap, when the males were well known to gore people with their horns, |Sissy my left buttock| he said, Ivan just nodded in agreement with wide eyes, never having thought to think of it that way, while the Bulgarian's parents wondered how insane the most famous teen in wizarding England was), and, of course, Quidditch.

It was an hour and a half later, with Mr. and Mrs. Krum were watching Harry and Ivan debate the effectiveness of twins as Beaters (with Harry using his good friends/partners-in-pranking Fred and George as a prime example), when a young man, taller than Ivan, thin and sallow, with dark hair and eyes, slumped into a chair.

|I would have to agree with your friend here, Ivan, those twins sound like a right terror on the pitch... So who is your friend anyway?|

Ivan grinned maliciously as he introduced his brother to the pen-pal he said did not exist. Harry lifted his bangs with a smirk on his face. Viktor just sat there for a few minutes, completely gobsmacked. He then reached into his pocket and threw a small leather bag at his brother's head, which Ivan caught, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

|Bah, don't be so pleased with yourself, it just seemed so... unlikely. So, my brother says you play Seeker for one of you school teams... What is your record?|

|Three years, three games a year, never missed a catch.|

Viktor smirked at that, and said, |Then how about...|

|No.|

The Quidditch super-star frowned and said, |But you didn't know what...|

|I am humble enough, thank you very much. I don't need an ass-kicking by a world class Seeker who made it to the Finals of the World Cup.|

Ivan just laughed at the surly look his brother got on his face, |Good god Vik, you don't have to be such a man-child about it.|

This got the younger brother a scowl and an harrumph from the elder, which only made Ivan laugh all the harder.

Harry was invited to stay for dinner, but left, saying he didn't want to impose. As he strolled through the woods, he felt something barrel into his leg. As he looked down, praying that it was not some other rare magical animal that has decided to 'adopt' him (Harry would latter swear that fate found the number of rare 'pets' it landed him with as amusing as all of the life threatening occasions), and saw what appeared to be a male lion, the size of a large house cat... with metallic fur the color of platinum.

Staring down at the animal, which was looking back with wide eyes, trying its very best to look cute, he said, "Yes yes, you are absolutely adorable, but I thought Nemean Lions were supposed to be golden in color... and much larger."

The only response that Harry got from the little blighter was a grin (which had him scratching his head at how a feline could do it so very clearly), a grin that reminded him of...

"Stop smiling that or I will name you Cheshire."

It kept on grinning at him.

"Goddamn it, you like that name don't you.

Grin.

Harry rolled his eyes, scooped up the animal, and started walking again. He absently started scratching the feline between the ears. It started purring.

"An absolutely adorable pain in my ass. And I have a feeling you are never going to tell me where the hell you came from."

When he got back to the tent, he got a few stares (almost entirely from the Delacours) and Gabrielle asked, {Where'd you get the kitty...}

{The kitty found me.}

{Why does is look like a little lion?}

{I was planning on asking it myself...}

Harry closed his eyes and then sent a message along the bonds he had with his familiars, *Isis, Leon, Hedwig, my room, right now, if you please.*

As Harry walked into the his room, Gabrielle asked him, {But how are you gonna ask him, kitties can't speak.}

{Not unless they are a person's familiar. Then they can talk to their wizard.}

She made an adorable expression of understanding. While she was processing that bit of information, he ushered her out of his room, and then set Cheshire down on his bed. It immediately changed itself into a full size lion.

Which caused his bed to collapse.

Harry started swearing in a few different dialects spoken in China.

The meeting between Harry and his familiars yield that Cheshire was indeed a bonded familiar, and was capable of communicating with Harry and the other animals, it just apparently did not have all that much to say. As for the answers of what it was and where it came from, all the answers Harry got were a 'you don't know jack about Nemean Lions' to the former and laughter to the latter.

Harry left the room, contemplating how effectively he could Obliviate himself into blissful ignorance, Cheshire on his heels, back to his 'kitty' size. Throwing himself down into a chair at the kitchen table, he addressed Sirius, who was drinking some tea, "Oh my Godfather, the man-whore, another animal has adopted me under the guise of being my familiar. Just thought I should warn you."

Padfoot gagged and started coughing, the tea obviously not agreeing with either its drinker, or what he was hearing, after he finally finished coughing, he said, "Seriously Harry? That makes four now doesn't it? Can't you start turning them away or something?"

"Not bloody likely."

"So what is it?"

"He is apparently a platinum colored Nemean Lion, and instead of being a valid threat, he actually seems to like being called Cheshire."

Sirius just stared at his godson.

"I swear, if I ever survive past twenty, I will no longer be able to tell the strange from the normal. At least how those two words are defined in the wizarding world."

The next couple of days passed quickly enough, Harry having spent most of them outside, lying in the sun reading a book. Harry also took the occasional walk with Ivan (who got introduced to all of the people occupying the same tent as Harry, though there were some language barrier issues) where there pair of the pointed out the stupidity of various wizards, and offering their sympathy to any of the overworked Oblivators.

He also spent a little time with his friend's family, who apparently took a real shine to the young (forced) hero. Viktor still seemed a little miffed at the fact that Harry had absolutely no interest in getting his ass handed to him, but otherwise, he got along decently with the only survivor of the killing curse.

They also talked about the fact that the full moon was taking place the day before the match, but Ivan's family kept a supply of the 'bane under stasis charms knowing this beforehand, so that Ivan would have a dose. Harry mentioned how Remus would be going back to the manor, to spend the night, even if he was also on the 'bane.

Harry went to bed the Friday night before the World Cup (though there were those who would call when he went to bed extremely early Saturday morning, where Harry would respond with a polite "stuff up you backside sideways, I only need, at most, two hours sleep"), and soon found himself pulled into an odder dream than normal.

He was sitting in a partially destroyed chair, in a ruined room. There was a short pudgy man there. The other details were hard to focus, and any sound seemed to be filled with static. The edges of what his eyes could were... fraying for lack of a better word.

A few snippets of a conversation were clear to him, he heard 'My Lord', 'Nagini', 'Wormtail' (a fire was lit in his mind at the mention of the traitor), 'Quidditch' 'Cup', his own name...

The conversation was interrupted when a man with whitish-yellow (platinum blond maybe) hair shoved an old looking man into the room.

It was at that time that the dream, or what ever it was, just seemingly dissolved, dropping Harry into the inner sanctum of his mind.

"That was most definitely not normal, and it was not one of those little retrospectives I think I have been treated to before..."

He started pacing back and forth, thinking. He had been planning an overhaul into how he organizes his thoughts, knowledge, and memory... Along with a few more... radical... ideas to implement in this place.

And one of those ideas could possibly give him some answers... If it worked.

He called forth a trio of chairs, and then created a two copies of himself, being careful to leave them completely untouched (internal thought-wise at least) by his conscious mind. He then stared to, ever so gently, push his instinctual mind toward one and his subconscious into the other.

He was not sure for how long he worked, with great care and gentleness, until he heard two voices speak at just about the same time. One, with harder edges than he normally had whispered out, "Damn..." while the other said, with a bit of unfocused distance in its voice, "It actually worked..."

Having closed his eyes in concentration, Harry opened them now, and saw the two... aspects of himself watching him intently. On his left, having discarded the glasses he always wore, was a Harry who kept his hair shorter, and it seemed even wilder than it used to be. His eyes were the same green he always (tried) to keep them, but the pupils were now vertically slit, like some kind of serpent... or dragon. He was grinning now, his canines were noticeably longer and sharper, and the grin itself was somewhat feral. His fingers on the armrests of the chair now ended in what looked like claws.

To his right, the changes were fewer, with hair much longer than he kept it in casual settings (let's face long hair is a liability in a fight or when doing potions (and now alchemy) work), with eyes a few shades paler and duller, and had a distant look on his face.

Harry-Prime ('I am going to drive myself even more insane' he thought) addressed his two aspects, "Well, gentlemen, we have work to do."

The pair nodded, and Subconscious-Harry said, "The dream that was not a dream correct?"

Prime nodded, and said, "Anything else?"

Subconscious closed his eyes for a moment, and then sighed say, "It originated from the lock-down, and that is all. It was already frayed from being locked away"

Instinct growled out one word, with infinite venom infused into it, "Voldemort."

Prime nodded, saying, "Probably. I... we? Should tell Padfoot at least."

Both of the aspects nodded their assent, and Prime forged on, "Now onto the second thing that has been bugging me... What the hell is our... my... Animagus form? All the mediation is giving me a positive for the ability, but jack shit on what it is."

Instinct made a thoughtful growling sound, closing his eyes for a moment. "Something draconic, that is the only read I can get on it. I think we need more information on dragons..."

Prime nodded, "Never seen one, nor had much interest in studying about them. I'll rectify that. Is there anything else either of you want to talk about?"

The aspects shook their heads, so Prime nodded, and then dissolved into thin air.

Instinct eyed Subconscious and said, "Think we should have told him that his repressing his attraction to Fleur?"

"And have it denied left, right, and center? No, no thank you."

"Think he'll make more aspects?"

"Who knows..."

Harry spent the rest of the night/early morning buried in his books, reports, and other readings. The first one up, as always, aside from him, was Fleur. She sat down in a seat across from him at the kitchen table.

{Morning, Harry. Reading anything interesting?}

Harry grunted, and said, {Didn't sleep well...}, by way of apology.

She grinned and said, {You sleep? You are usually still awake when the latest night-owl goes to bed, and still is the first up and ready to face the day.}

{I've never had my Occlumency rated, but I've been working on it since I've been eleven, and it has always been easy...}

She blinked at this bit of information. Yes, they had talked about the internal Mind Art (Harry refused to simply call it defensive when it did so much more) on occasion, and Harry had said it worked with it... {Just how little sleep do you get by on, Harry?}

He held up a pair of fingers.

{So why didn't you sleep well? Nightmare?}

A great rousing round of silence was her answer.

She looked at him for a moment, a frown on her face, and then asked, {Are there worse things in your sleep than nightmares?}

She got her answer by the sudden blanking of his face.

She closed her eyes for a few moments, at the thought of what worse things could await someone with such a hard life. She then got up, and said, {Have you eaten yet Harry?}

He shook his head.

{I'm making myself some pancakes, would like some?}

Again, a silent negative reply.

She couldn't help but worry about what could drive the mad ball of energy that Harry Potter apparently was into silence.

Sirius eventually dragged his backside out of bed, Harry grabbed him by the ear and pulled his godfather back into his bedroom. And then Harry unloaded what he had... seen... Sirius's face blanked when Harry said that he thought that Voldemort, Wormtail, and Lucy Malfoy were all together.

The two loyal Marauders and the heir to Prongs all knew well that the rat was still alive, they just didn't know where he was hiding. That he was now possibly planning with Voldemort and another Death Eater... It was not good. Even worse was that Harry was mentioned in someway in the conversation.

"So, Siri, what are we going to do about it?"

"If I know you, you've been drawing up plans for armor of all shapes and sizes."

"True."

"Whats the heaviest you've got planned?"

"Basilisk hide trench coat, boots, and gloves, with rune arrays for comfort, fit, mobility, and armor. I've got a strange brew in the works with my alchemy research that can convert leathers into textiles, with minor losses on durability and spell resistance. Still haven't gotten the mix quite right yet. It still destroys the material as often as it successfully changes it. One I get that squared away, I'll make some clothes out of it and add similar rune arrays."

"Make underlays to wear under your everyday clothes out of the cloth, give you some protection even if someone gets the drop on you. You already know not to go anywhere without your wand. If you do run into snakeface, fight to kill, because you know he will. As for other things... Be careful, don't take strange objects from strangers, and if you are in danger, curse first and ask questions later. We don't know enough to make any other plans."

Harry nodded, and said, "I think I am going to go meditate, get centered..."

Sirius grinned and said, "It isn't good to be so serious..."

"True, why in the world would we need more of you around. One is already more than enough."

"Why you...!"

Harry spent the next day and a half holed up in his room. After the first six hours spent bringing himself back to normal (for him), he went over all the notes he had on his projects, specifically anything and everything on rune arrays that provide protection, both against spells and physical damage.

After cleaning up the work and tweaking the arrays to get some more efficiency out of them, he put them onto every piece of clothing that he had. He then started working on stringing together as nasty a spell chain as he could manage, bone exploders, explosions, high level fire, and worse things.

He finally crawled out of his room the morning of the twenty-second. The Quidditch World Cup was today.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, juggling fruit. Two apples, an orange, and a pear to be exact. He'd had company from his familiars for when he holed up (Cheshire was good company, general distaste of talking aside), but he could use some human conversation.

He idly pondered on the formula that would convert leather to textiles while he waited for someone to get up. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long of a match, something going into days... He wanted to get back to his things.

Fleur dragged herself into the kitchen with more grace than the majority of humanity manages to have in the morning, slumped into a chair, noticed Harry, and then blinked several times. {Morning Harry.}

He put the fruit down and got up out of his seat, and started looking around in the cabinets and ice-chest to figure out what he was going to make for breakfast, {Good morning Fleur. I want to say how sorry I am for how I acted on Saturday morning...}

{Something had upset you, there's no need to apologize... But...}

{You want to know what had me acting so unlike myself. What do you want to eat?}

She nodded and said, {Eggs and bacon?}

Pulling out what he would need for the meal, he said, {What had me so shaken stems from the fact that not all of the things I see when I dream come from my own head...}

There was silence for several minutes, broken only by the sounds of Harry cooking up the bacon, finally the first words spoken were, {So, how do you want you eggs today?}

The rest of the day rolled on, with talk of what upset Harry (whatever it was), falling to the wayside. Fleur had challenged Harry to a game of chess out of sheer boredom, and that is how they passed most of the day, sitting in the grass using a completely mundane chess set, chatting. Then dusk came, and everyone could feel the excitement in the air, and Harry would be getting ten galleons from Ivan next time he saw the Bulgarian, who had bet that the Ministry would give up sooner (before the day of the Quidditch Cup) rather than later, in their attempts to suppress blatant use of magic (never underestimate the stubbornness of the bureaucracy).

The Delacours were firm in their support of the Bulgarians, while the majority of the English contingent were rooting for the Irish.

Harry was all for both. He just wanted to watch a good match. He didn't buy much, never having had the urge to collect trinkets, settling on a pair of omnioculars, which were basically magical binoculars with lots of special features, and a program for the festivities of the World Cup.

When a gong finally sounded, everyone headed off toward the stadium.

Up in the Top Box of the stadium Harry found himself sitting between Fleur and an empty seat, which was soon filled by Ivan jumping over into from behind.

Harry started the conversation with a solid poke to the language barrier, "I don't know if we all share a language besides English..."

Ivan grunted and said, "My English is better than it was two years ago, and the only other language I know is German..."

Fleur nodded and said, "I can speak English if the situation calls for it, but that is the only other one I speak."

Ivan grunted and said, "Just how many languages do you speak Harry..."

"Including Troll?"

Fleur face-palmed at that quip while Ivan commented, "Troll consists of pointing and grunting, everyone speaks Troll, so no, don't count it..."

Harry grinned sheepishly, and said, "More than thirty..."

Fleur blinked at that and spoke "Do you think that it is one of your magical talents to learn languages?"

Harry shook his head and said, "I think that it is just a function of perfect memory and intellect."

They both nodded, and the proceeded to start looking everywhere and anywhere, curious about the stadium. Harry saw the Weasleys and Minister Fudge, and then he proceeded to get a good look at the massive stadium, after a few minutes he finally stuck his nose into the program.

"Says here that there is going to be a pregame show with mascots. Who wants to bet that the Irish brought leprechauns?"

Ivan sighed and said, "No. I am not getting fleeced by you Harry."

Fleur shook her head and spoke, "Your probably right Harry, I however am curious as to what the Bulgarians will show..."

Ivan grinned and said, "Wait and see, wait and see..."

Soon enough the havoc of one hundred thousand people being seated had settled down, and a voice, some announcer probably, said, "Welcome one and all to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World cup. And now we will begin with the Bulgarian National Team's mascots!"

The applause were rather deafening to the kicking off of the event, and onto the field walk... women? Harry arched an eyebrow at what was going on. Yes, certainly they were beautiful women but... He saw Fleur's eyes narrow at the corner of his field of vision and he heard her his something that sounded vaguely like, {Harlots...}, before she started vanishing everything she had that showed support of the Bulgarian team. He felt a brush along his shields similar to what he sometimes felt around Fleur, but this was far stronger, and there were more of them, but the result of it was the same. Nothing.

Then the women started to dance. Harry felt a fire lit in his head... among other places, and the magic filling his being responded viciously. He clutched the sides of his head in pain and screwed his eyes shut, and then he recognized what he thought was his body countering a sudden spike in hormone and neurochemical production. He quickly sensed that the net result of the spike would focus on driving him into a frenzy to impress those of the female gender. That combined with what could have resulted from the allure touching his mind... Well it would leave him with very little dignity.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Fleur eying him. A look of surprise tinged with worry was on her face, and he offered her a weak smile before turning to look at the dancing... whatever they were with distaste. Harry didn't like it when anyone tried to play with his thought processes.

After the Bulgarian mascots at whipped the men of the crowd into a near frenzy, the Irish mascots ("And now, introducing the Irish Nation Team's mascots!"), leprechauns came out, did some rather delightful formation flying, before dumping gold onto the crowd.

Harry muttered, "Turn about is indeed fair play," as the announcer introduced the teams.

The game was vicious, Viktor managed to catch the Irish Seeker in a Wronski Feint, and Harry was fairly certain the man would be feeling it next week. The mascots of both teams got into a massive brawl, and the game ended with the Irish winning by ten points, with Viktor catching the Snitch.

Eventually they ended back at the tent, and they all spent some time talking about the game. The Delacours had changed their minds about the Bulgarian Team and were happy that they lost. Gabrielle's favorite parts were when Lynch, the Irish Seeker, ploughed himself into the ground the first time and when there was a brawl on the field.

Eventually everyone, except Harry, headed off to bed. Harry continued to sit at the table, reading about dragons and drinking a cup of tea. An hour or two later, he heard a change in the ruckus outside, followed by a scream of terror.

He ran out of the tent, and caught a glimpse of people in black cloaks... with white masks. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed out two words as he spun on his heel and ran back into the tent.

"Death Eaters..."

Moments later, everyone else was up, Sirius, Remus, Bella, and Jean-Paul looking ready for a fight. Apolline made a comment about seeing if anyone had set up first aid tents and offering her help. Harry and Fleur were told in no uncertain terms that they were to take Gabrielle and hide in the woods.

As they made to leave the tent, Sirius grabbed Harry by the shoulder and said, "If you see any Dark spells coming in your direction, respond with full lethality."

Harry nodded in response and motioned for Fleur, who was carrying her sister, to lead that way, while he called his wand forth with a snap of his fingers, "I'll cover you. Hedwig go with Sirius."

She looked Harry in the eye and nodded, though she paused for a moment when she saw his hair shortened from shoulder length to less than two inches, becoming an untameable mess in the process. Shaking her, she set off at a brisk pace that was easily matched by Harry, who followed the incantations of any of two dozen spells ready to fly from his lips. Isis was draped over his shoulders, while Leon and Cheshire strode on either side of Harry, Leon easily twice the size of any normal wolf walking the ear, and Cheshire matching him for size.

They eventually reached a clearing in the forest, where the sounds of the chaos of whatever was happening was dimmed. Fleur, Gabrielle having fallen back asleep in her arms as they were fleeing, set her sister down, laying against a tree. She then drew her own wand and glanced around the clearing.

She then turned to Harry and spoke, {You never said you were a metamorphmagus...}

He grinned sadly and said, {It is something that I have quite a bit of confusion about.}

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded before replying, {That makes sense... I suppose you have a few questions about why my family reacted so badly to the Bulgarian mascots?}

Harry gave a sad little half smirk, and said, {Only if you are comfortable with me asking.}

She blinked in surprise at that and said, {Probably easier to explain first and then have you ask whatever questions you may have...}

{Again, only if you want to. Unlike a friend of mine, I don't have a pathological need for answers.}

She sighed, but smiled brightly, saying, {Then I think I should tell you that I am not what most would consider entirely human. I am, like those... harlots... who paraded themselves around under the guise of being a mascot, a Veela.}

She closed her eyes, apparently gathering her thoughts and continued. {Veela are a race that were effected by the magics of nymphs, similar to dryads and naiads, except where they were of trees and fresh water, Veela are of air and fire.}

She took a breath, before moving on, {And the magic of this race breeds true in the female branches of the family. If a Veela has a son, that child's daughters are far more likely than not to be Veela. There are no 'part-Veela' as is so often used as a reference to how many generations removed from a Veela mother a female child is. It is only a matter of how strong the Veela magic is in the person in question.}

She sighed and finish, {So, now you know. Any questions.}

Harry shook his head, and stared off into the trees, before saying, {Thank you for sharing, it cleared up a few thinks that puzzling me... So I might as well share something of my own... The reason why my talent as a metamorphmagus confuses me so much is that it is so strong that it makes me wonder if I am entirely human anymore.}

He switched his wand into his left hand, and held up his right. Fleur watched as the flesh and bone of the extremity shifted and changed before it resembled a hairless version of the claw one might see on a Werewolf at the full moon.

She just stared Harry in the eye as he grimaced and forced his hand back to normal. They remained silent for sometime, before a there was a flash of green light in the sky, and a skull with a snake coming from it's mouth floated high in the sky.

Harry just looked at it for a few minutes before saying, {The Dark Mark flies once more... And from here it looks to be right next to Mars, which seems unnaturally bright tonight... Nothing good will come of this.}

Hedwig flashed into the clearing fifteen minutes later, telling Harry and Fleur to return to the tent. By the time they had gotten back, everything was packed up, and the two who were without apparation licenses, or the skill itself, were brought side-along back to the Manor.

The Delacour family stayed at the Marauder's Manor for two more days before they returned home to France.

Jean-Paul bid Harry goodbye with a strong handshake (and a few more whispered combat tips), while Gabrielle decided that deserved some strange combination of a flying tackle and a hug. Fleur gave him a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, the latter of which he returned, while she said, {I'll plan for the worst, and if it does not occur, I expect you to cheer for me to win the Tri-Wizard.}

{And when I am forced to compete?}

{I'll do everything in my power to give you a run for your money Harry.}

A/N2: I got really, really stuck on what to write for the birthday party. So if it sucks, it is because I had to really force it. And looky, not your standard Goblet of Fire. And Ivan has returned!

I also took a guess at when the dream occurred. My reasoning is, the Cup occurs on Monday the 22nd, the Weasleys pick Harry up the day before on Sunday, and he gets his letter on Saturday morning soon after having written the letter to Sirius, meaning it (the dream) takes place late Friday, early Saturday.

For those of you wondering just how many familiars Harry is going to have, I will say that it is a magic number, and our poor hero is not going to like it.

The sheer amount of Harry/Draco out there is deeply disturbing, I have trouble even sifting through the stories out there without a second character filter active.

I think part of the reason updates have started getting so far apart is the lack of Harry Potter fanfiction that I have been reading. My profile now has every story I have enjoyed reading favorited, so if you have read something, enjoyed it, and don't see it there, send it in with your review. Or just send the title of a good story with your review and don't check the list. Either one is good. And not Harry/Draco or Harry/any-guy-what-so-ever. The first is just plain wrong in my mind (I despise the little ferret) and the second is just not my cup of tea.

So apparently jbern has finished his latest work (I couldn't read it, second person is so hard to follow) and will be (eventually) beginning work on the sequel to "The Lie I've Lived". As a corollary to the fact I've finally populated my favorites list, I'll say that I found most of the Harry Potter stuff there from first find fic recommendations at and then just reading through the favorites of the authors of the stories I liked. I wonder how many other people do that? Could be poll worthy... I could also one day actually put something into the area where I write whatever it is I am supposed to write... something... meh.

A Happy (belated) Turkey Day. Gobble gobble.