Chapter 36
And so it Begins
"I swear the mark was clear as day!" Snape exclaimed, spittle flying everywhere, as he stared earnestly into frustratingly calm blue eyes, twinkling behind half-mood spectacles.
"I believe you Severus."
"Yet you don't heed my warnings?! What're you playing at? Are you still keeping secrets from me?"
"What would you have me do?"
"Cancel the tournament and take further precautions in securing the school!"
"Please keep your voice down."
Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were standing at the top of a flight of stairs that led down to the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and some of the incoming students were shooting them puzzled glances as Snape's shouts floated echoed around the hall.
There was a nervous excitement floating about the air, as there always was during the first night of a new wizarding school year. This evening a great rainstorm raged in the night sky, welcoming the incoming student body with torrential rain and thunderous lightning – it would be a bumpy ride across the lake for the first years tonight.
Snape glared at Dumbledore and then looked down the stairs – student were slipping and sliding into the entrance hall, completely soaked to their skin. A cackling laugh drew Snape's eye up to the ceiling and he watched as Peeves soared mischievously through the air, dropping large water filled balloons on unsuspecting students. As Professor McGonagall's threats of punishment rang out over the screams of the student, Snape turned angrily back to the stoic Headmaster.
"Something's changed; it prickles every now and then."
"Let me see it."
"Not here! I implore you to again reconsider this venture!"
"Severus, I do believe you and I am taking your warning seriously, but I cannot just cancel the tournament. It took years of planning and negotiation to organize this event – it would be a foreign relations catastrophe to call it off at the last minute, a colossal insult to all those involved."
"The great Dumbledore thinks it will be a public relations catastrophe to cancel a student tournament? You're letting hubris get in the way of the students' safety, of the boy's safety!"
"You know I'm not concerned with which school comes out victorious, the tournament represents more than just crowning a worthy student champion. It's about bringing people together, forging relationships that cross country borders – the worldwide magical community needs to come together and I think this will be a great start, a vanguard event that will lead to global partnerships."
Snape grabbed his left forearm and stared hard at Dumbledore, "Something's not right – what about the commotion at the World Cup? Only a Death Eater would know how to cast that spell, only someone who had been willingly invited into the dark circle…my mark burned, I swear it…I can feel His presence."
"Then it's more important than ever that the tournament go on as scheduled."
Snape watched in hot frustration as Dumbledore started down the stairs to welcome some of the incoming students – the stubborn old man never listens!
Snape found himself seated at the staff table a few minutes later, to the left Professor Sinistra – the talented teacher of Astronomy was deep in conversation with Professor Sprout. To Snape's left was an empty seat, Professor McGonagall was tending to her opening night duties. He stared quietly out at the wet sea of students filling up the Great Hall – stupid lemmings, all oblivious to the coming dark storm. Snape glanced to his left and felt disgust as he watched Dumbledore grinning and waving at the students, as if he had not a care in the world.
Snape crossed his arms in sullen silence, playing the malcontent, as the usual opening night events took place: McGonagall called for attention as she brought out a three-legged stool and the Sorting Hat, the Sorting Hat performed its opening soliloquy and then sorted the freshman class into their respective houses (Snape could already tell this year's Slytherin class would be a bunch of idiots), Dumbledore gave his familiar refrain of "Tuck in" and the empty dishes around the hall magically filled with delicious food that Snape barely touched, earning him disapproving looks from both McGonagall and Sinistra, and then, finally, Dumbledore stood up to address the now dry and sated crowd.
The clamor of the hall died down and the Headmaster broke into his opening remarks. As Dumbledore droned on, Snape stared blankly ahead with unfocused eyes – his belly squirming with feelings of indignation, from the fact his dire warnings were once again being rebuffed by the Headmaster, and feelings of anxiousness, caused by nagging worry that the Dark Lord could be returning to power. Snape was dimly aware that Dumbledore had finally gotten around to announcing the fact that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, when there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
A wave of convulsion rippled through Snape as he gripped his chair tight and he swallowed down the urge to vomit – Alastor Moody stood in the doorway, looking every bit as hard and mean as Snape remembered. The most famous Auror of all time, the man who had killed more dark wizards than anyone else in history, the warrior responsible for filling half the cells in Azkaban. Snape had been so preoccupied this summer that his thoughts had never wandered over to the vacant DADA post.
Snape shot a sideways at Dumbledore, that bastard lied to me! To be fair, Snape had never asked Dumbledore about the teaching position, but he was too angry to think straight and his shock at seeing Moody flowed in anger directed at the Headmaster.
Moody's good eye focused on his empty seat at the staff table, but his vivid blue eye whizzed around its socket in crazy excitement. It passed over the expectant faces of the staff, the knowing faces of the older students and the scared faces of the younger children. It paused over Harry's confused look, my God! It's him, the Boy-Who-Lived! The eye moved on and came to a spinning stop on Dumbledore's smiling face, the old fool doesn't know! The eye whizzed around the hall once more and finally came to rest on a sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired man who was staring at Moody with a mix of shock and terror.
Snape's dungeon office was dark and cluttered, a true reflection of its owner. The gloomy and dimly-lit room was spacious but, as the walls were crammed with shelves of large glass jars filled with disgusting things and the floor littered with old books, it had the appearance of being much too cramped. Along a wall was a deep, dark fireplace that was alight with yellow flames and in one corner was a large cupboard containing Snape's private stores. The old cupboard and the glass jars contained inside appeared mundane, but the ingredients stored within were worth thousands of galleons, some were truly priceless if one had a discerning eye for potionry.
Snape stoked the fire with an angry poke and then strode to the stone wall opposite the fireplace. He placed his palm on a blank space of wall and then quickly removed it. The stone glowed green for a moment and then the wall swung inward. Snape stepped into a hidden room that only Dumbledore and former school potions masters knew existed. Inside was a magnificent black cauldron, which lay atop of a small fire grate, and a sparkling clean counter top made of rare white marble. The walls were lined with a few shelves upon which stood jars of the rarest and most sought after potion ingredients in the world. On one of the shelves lay a golden stirring rod, black leather gloves and a silver mortar and pestle. The immaculate brewing room stood in stark contrast to Snape's outer office.
As Snape was about to step inside, the knob on his office turned and he heard someone trying to open the door.
"Open up ya scoundrel! Whaddya got your office locked for anyways?"
Snape mood went from gloomy to irked at the sound of the gruff voice – he pressed his palm back onto the hidden stone doorway and it quickly swung shut. Snape crossed over to his office door and tried to control his emotions – an angry mind is an easy mind to read. Moody had been haunting his steps since the opening night feast and it sounded like he was in the mood for another row.
Snape took a deep breath and opened the door, steadying himself for another fight. Standing in front of Snape's office door was Moody, but the battle hardened Auror was not alone – Draco Malfoy stood sheepishly alongside him.
"What's this all about?"
"Caught one of your students misbehaving in the hallways and thought the three of us should have a little chat about bad decisions and the consequences they lead to. You'd be familiar with that, wouldn't ya Snape?"
"He turned me into a ferret!"
"What?"
"Aye, I thought it was a just punishment."
"We never use transfiguration as a means of punishment you crazy old man! Unhand Draco, now!"
Moody appeared as if he was going to refuse, but then let go of Draco. Snape reached out and pulled the boy into his office.
"I will speak with my student and find out what happened, and if it turns out you over stepped your authority, I'll make sure you never step foot inside this castle again!"
"Is that so?" barked Moody. "Now you listen here –" but Moody never got to finish his sentence as Snape slammed the door in the Auror's stunned face.
Snape locked the door with a wave of his hand and turned to look at a sullen and red faced Draco Malfoy. Moody began pounding on the office door with his staff, demanding to be let in. Snape gave another wave of his hand and the commotion outside fell away, the only sound that remained was the crackling of burning logs in the fireplace.
Snape looked down at the young Slytherin, such a damned shame! So much untapped and wasted potential in this one, a continuing disappointment to both me and his father!
Draco was a slender boy with sleek white-blond hair, light grey eyes and a stunningly pale complexion. He was a mix of his father's noble features and his mother's stunning good looks. His straw hair was long and straight, but Snape could already see the beginnings of a widow's peak on the young man's forehead.
"Speak Draco."
Draco's embarrassment and shock were wearing off now that he was safely ensconced inside his trusted teacher's private quarters, and his arrogance returned.
"That crazed old maniac turned me into a ferret! You hear me?! A goddamned ferret!"
"What exactly happened?"
"I was defending myself against Saint Potter and Moody interfered on his behalf of course! Turned me into a filthy animal in front of the whole school! You just wait till my father hears about this!"
Snape let out a long sigh and plopped himself down into a comfortable arm chair facing the blazing fire, holding out an arm to a chair seated across from him. Draco hemmed and hawed but eventually found his way into a comfy chair draped in green leather with silver trim.
"So?! Are you going to do something about this? I swear, when my father hears about –"
"That's quite enough Draco, your usual threats won't work on me."
"Taking Potter and Moody's side are you? My father will not be pleased at all!"
Snape replied with a look of annoyed disappointment.
"He'll hear about this, I'm telling you! He'll be furious you let this happen!"
"I've known you're father longer than you've breathed air, done things with him that would make your blood curl. You think Lucius would every doubt my loyalty or judgement? Do you?!"
Draco sunk back in his chair and stared at the crackling fire.
"Answer me young man."
"No."
"No what?!"
"No…sir."
Such a sensitive boy, no matter how hard he tries to show the world he's not. Snape absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm as he stared at the mini-Lucius, deciding what tack to take this time.
"What happened, really?"
"I told you! Potter attacked me and then Moody humiliated me in front of the whole school."
"Draco please take a look around," said Snape as he waved an arm around in a show of impatience. "Once again we find ourselves in my office and once again I have cast a sound charm. There is no one to hear you but me, and therefore no reason to hold back. I'm always honest with you and feel I deserve the same courtesy."
Draco looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle and then burst out, "I was giving Potter and that filthy blood traitor Weasley a good and deserved tongue thrashing and then Potter insulted my mother, the insolent git."
"And then?"
"And then I hexed him."
"Why did Moody intervene on Potter's behalf?"
"I hexed him as he was turning away from me."
None of his father's guile or cunningness, what a damned waste of good genes. He was much more like his mother – a beautiful outer shell, but soft as down on the inside.
"What have we talked about Draco? Why do you still insist on behaving like this?"
"I should do nothing, while he walks around school acting 'holier than thou'?!"
"No, I've never once told you not to stick up for yourself or protect your friends. But why do you insist on taking the cowardly path every time? I've seen flashes of courage and brilliance from you, but whenever you're around that prat you lose your composure so completely."
Snape waved his wand towards a table in the corner – a decanter magically lifted up in the air, poured small fingers of fire whiskey into two crystal glasses and set itself back down. The two crystal glasses then floated towards the pair sitting by the fire, hovering near both student and teacher.
"Potter is protected by forces unseen to you Draco, watched over by those you know not. I once again implore you to use caution around him and keep your wits about you, ok?"
"Yes sir," Draco quietly muttered. "Is this that new type of alcohol my dad was talking about?"
"The very same, he presented me with a case of it a few weeks ago," Snape replied as he took a small sip and let the liquid wind a burning path down his throat. "It is truly exquisite."
"I thought dad said it was illegal in Britain."
"No, your father was speaking about a certain type of absinthe. This is fire whiskey."
"You're letting me have some?"
"Draco, I feel you're wise beyond your years and can handle a small taste. I trust you'll only tell your father – giving a student alcohol is grounds for immediate dismissal at Hogwarts."
Draco smirked at the privilege of doing something outside the rules, loved the thought of being included in Snape and his father's antics. He took a sip, made a sour face and immediately spat out the expensive alcohol, coughing violently. Snape couldn't help allowing himself a small smile as he watched the boy struggle with the taste.
"Okay Draco, time to head back to class."
"I'm sorry sir, it actually tasted quite good. I've had whiskey loads of times, honest."
"I'm sure you have, this type of fire whiskey is an acquired taste. Now run along."
Draco got up and headed towards the door.
"And Draco?"
"Yes sir?"
"Next time you hex Potter with his back turned, make sure there no teachers around."
Snape sat quietly at the staff table, tucking into a veritable feast lying before him on a golden plate. He had to admit the Great Hall looked terrific and the food was absolutely top notch – Filch and the Hogwarts' house-elves had really outdone themselves tonight. If the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang delegations were not impressed with this welcome, Snape had no idea what would have been up to their standards.
Dumbledore had begun to address the assembled crowd and normally Snape would have let his thoughts wander as the Headmaster droned on, but the truth was the sullen potions master was just as interested in what Dumbledore had to say as anyone else. The Triwizard tournament was an ancient competition that had not been held in hundreds of years and Snape hardly knew anything about it – he felt like a student again, excited to learn something new.
Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped three times on ancient wooden chest encrusted with jewels. The lid creaked slowly open and Dumbledore reached inside and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. Dancing blue-white flames erupted from the mouth of the cup, casting the Headmaster in an eerie white glow. Dumbledore then closed the casket and placed the cup carefully on top of it, clearly visible to everyone in the Great Hall.
As Dumbledore continued on, explaining the rules of the tournament, Snape found he was unable to listen. He only had eyes for the Goblet, and the dancing flames contained within…
…An hour later Snape was still seated at the staff table, gazing happily into the mesmerizing flames. The Great Hall had mostly emptied and all that remained were a small group Hogwarts staff and key tournament personnel.
The massive Madame Maxime stood near the Goblet, dwarfing the large cup. She had a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Skulking behind her was the tall, thin frame of Igor Karkaroff – his sleek silver hair was combed straight back, his yellow teeth shone in the fire light and his cold, shrewd eyes kept darting back and forth.
Minerva McGonagall was in an animated discussion with the jovial, rotund figure of Ludo Bagman and the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the persnickety Bartemius Crouch. Professors Sprout, Hagrid and Flitwick were seated at the Hufflepuff table, loudly debating the merits of some of the potential contenders for the role of Hogwarts' champion. And standing off to the side was Dumbledore and Moody, heads bent low in quiet conversation.
Finally, Dumbledore clapped his hands, picked up the goblet, and walked to the entrance hall, placing the large cup atop a three-legged stool – the assembled wizards and witches, and two half-giants, quickly followed suit and formed a semi-circle around Dumbledore.
"I would once again like to thank everyone standing here tonight – Igor and Maxime, for putting aside the suspicion and mistrust that has grown unchecked between all our great nations – Ludo and Bartemius, for working tirelessly to organize the tournament and its countless demands – and to my staff, for their continued efforts in securing the school grounds and striving to make it safe for both the champions and the coming spectators.
"And now you shall all bear witness to the drawing of the Age Line, as we have all agreed to exclude students under 17 years of age."
Dumbledore reached into his magenta robe and withdrew an ordinary piece of white chalk. He passed it around the semi-circled group, who each held the piece and inspected it. For most it was a cursory check, but Igor spent several minutes waving his wand over the chalk and muttering inaudible incantations. Moody finally let out a throaty growl and Igor handed it back to Dumbledore, apparently satisfied the chalk held no tricks.
Dumbledore waved his wand over the chalk – it quivered in his palm and then glowed shiny and bright. When the chalk ceased to glow, Dumbledore stooped low and began to draw a long circle around the goblet, cheerily speaking in a sing-song voice:
Round and round the circle goes
Drawn amongst family and friends;
No one younger than age seventeen may pass
Until the shining golden line ends
A thin gold line glowed bright once Dumbledore had made it all the way around the cup and then burned itself into the stone floor. The assembled crowd clapped then dispersed – only Dumbledore, Moody and Snape were left in the entrance hall.
"Well, Alastor, Severus – let us retire to our warm beds and rest. I have a feeling it will be a busy year for us all."
"You two run along," replied Moody. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."
"Keep an eye on what?" Snape spat the words out. "You crazy old mug, no one's going to steal the cup."
"Hush child, the adults are talking." Moody kept his eyes on Dumbledore, not acknowledging Snape's look. Snape turned beet red and rushed up to Moody, his scowling grimace stopped mere inches from the weathered mash of skin that was Moody's face.
"That's enough!" said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, "If you two cannot work together this year as respectful colleagues, I will settle for a lack of open hostility towards one another." Dumbledore turned to Snape, "Severus perhaps you could keep watch for an hour or so and make sure no one tries anything funny, confident as I am in my line." Dumbledore then turned to Moody, "Alastor, could you accompany me to my office? I'd like a quick word."
"You want him to keep watch and not me? You trust this…Death Eater over me?"
"Alastor!"
Moody glared hard at Snape and then turned towards the great front door. "Good night Albus. I'm feeling sick and think a bit of night time air might do me some good." Moody stomped through the entrance hall and out into the night.
Snape was shaking with fury, as Moody's words still echoed in his head.
"Do not fret Severus, I shall speak with him."
Moody found himself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, smiling knowingly to himself, privy to his own private joke. He stood in the shade of a great oak, barely visible in the moonless night. He dropped his staff, unbuckled his traveling cloak and lowered his ever present hip flask. He shed his boots and painfully twisted off his wooden leg. He then reached around to the back of his head and gently removed his one-of-a-kind blue eye and stuffed it in his pocket.
Moody sat and on the ground and then lay back on the cool night grass, staring up at the great oak's long branches. After a few moments, Moody began to violently shake, uncontrollable tremors turned and twisted his body as though he were a rag doll. His scars were disappearing, his skin becoming smooth; his mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair withdrew into the scalp and turned the color of straw. There now lay on the ground a pale-skinned, slightly freckled man with a mop of straw colored hair.
Barty Crouch stood up with a wide smile, arching his back and cracking his knuckles. He breathed in the night air and gave a satisfied sigh – it was a good night to be alive. Barty put on the traveling clock and donned a large hood, covering his head so only his black eyes shone through. He then headed for the only tavern open this late at night.
Barty entered the Hog's Head and gave the tavern a quick look over. It was filled with the usual riff raff and grimy miscreants – there was a group of goblins arguing in Gobbledygook in one dark corner and two hags arm wrestling with a vampire in another. Barty kept searching the room as he slowly walked to bar and finally spotted what he was looking for. He ordered a large pitcher of swirling green liquid and carried it over to a small table near the back.
"Anyone sitting here?" Barty asked a surly looking wizard spinning a dirty glass, nursing the last few drops of his drink.
"Leave me alone, I don't need any bother."
"I don't wanna talk, just need a place to sit and drink in peace. It's crowded tonight."
"You deaf? Said no, didn't I? Leave me be or you'll wish you hadn't walked in here tonight."
"Take it easy pal. How 'bout half my pitcher for a seat?"
The sour faced wizard looked up in surprise at the offer…
…An hour later the grumpy wizard was snoring face down on the dirty bar table and Barty was headed up the back stairs of the tavern to the rooms on the second floor, a pilfered room key in his hand. Barty walked to a room at the end of a long hall, unlocked the door and walked in.
The rooms for rent at the Hog's Head were cheap and for good reason. Barty had stepped into a cramped dirty room, with cracked table tops and a tiny cot for a bed. The only furnishings were a small rocking chair and a large chest of drawers with warped wood. But the room had a tiny fireplace and that was all Barty needed this evening.
Barty crossed to the fireplace and reached into his knapsack and withdrew a handful of glittery, silver powder. He threw the powder into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire, and cried, "Riddle Manor House, Little Hangleton!"
His head began to spin like a top, though his knees remained firmly planted upon the floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash, and when the spinning stopped, he opened them to find himself looking out upon a dark room. After a moment, the shadows in the room began to move and a strange, high pitched voice rang out, "Speak."
"Yes, my Lord." Barty licked his lips in a state of nervousness and terrible excitement; it was always such a rush to have a private audience with the most powerful dark wizard of all time. "Bertha's information was correct, the tournament will officially start tomorrow evening with the selection of the three champions. The old fool is using the Goblet of Fire – it's an amazing wooden…"
"Yes I know!"
"Sorry, my Lord."
"What color were the flames?"
"What?"
"The flames from the cup, what color were they?"
"Blue-white, my Lord."
Barty watched as the dark shadow shrank back into the dark room and swept back and forth, as if in deep concentration. After what seemed like ages, the shadow approached Barty's floating head once more.
"You will confound and bewitch the Goblet, tricking it into accepting a fourth school, and submit the boy's name under the auspices of that institution."
"But my Lord, how can I confound an object?"
"You doubt my advice, doubt the one true Lord?!"
"Never my Lord, I'm sorry…"
The dark shadow flashed an angry red, causing Barty to shrink back within the grate. But when the cold voice spoke again, it carried no threat or menace.
"You've shown me true loyalty lo' these many years, never wavering in your faith of the dark – do not start to doubt Lord Voldemort now."
"Never, my Lord."
"Good, now listen close. You can confound more than just people, you can confuse any magical object that has some level of sentience. Cast the Confundus charm, pour the volcanic dust I gave you into the Goblet and submit the boy's name under a new school. And my plan will finally be put into motion."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I'm proud of you Barty. I asked you if you were ready to risk everything for me and you answered with a resounding yes. Go now and do what I ask, fulfill your true destiny. Secure Potter a place in the tournament, lead him to me and help me rise once again, and I promise that you will receive riches beyond measure, you will be rewarded above all others."
Moody limped into the entrance hall of Hogwarts at a very late hour, shaking the night dew from his hair. The hall was as still as a church mouse and Moody's magical detected no movement, not even from the ever present house-elves. The goblet lay in the center of the entrance hall, sitting majestically on a three-legged stool, protected by a thin gold line.
Severus Snape sat on a set of stairs beyond the Goblet, perched like an overgrown bat. The potions master was leaning against a stone bannister, soundly sleeping. Moody watched the sleeping man for a few moments, his blood boiling with each passing second. Filthy coward, renouncing the Dark Lord and slithering away when his help was needed most. Him, and all the other unworthy scum, would soon get their comeuppance – they would all be punished soon enough!
Moody then turned his attention to the Goblet, staring at the wooden cup like a hungry wolf, gripping a small piece of parchment in his hand. He kept repeating the Dark Lord's instructions in his mind – confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name, confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name, confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name…
"I see the covetous look in your eyes, I know what you're thinking."
The gentle voice terrified Moody as much as the Dark Lord's; he froze in a total panic. Moody's blue eye whizzed into the back of his head and he saw Dumbledore standing behind him, an unreadable expression on his face.
"I know what it is you seek and what you would do."
Moody squeezed his left hand tighter around the parchment and slowly began to move his right hand toward the wand tucked in his belt. My god, the old fool knows! The Dark Lord will be furious! Was I followed tonight? Moody grasped his wand and slowly pulled it from his belt. Maybe I can salvage the situation, maybe I can kill the old fool…
"I must ask you to trust me Alastor."
What? Moody froze, unsure whether to attack or turn around.
"Severus is not our enemy – he renounced the dark path a long time ago. I ask that you trust me, as I trust him."
Moody turned around, quickly slipping his wand up his sleeve.
"People don't change Albus, evil never leaves once it has taken hold of someone. There's a reason I survived the war, when so many others did not."
"Severus is mine Alastor. We spoke at length about this very topic in the summer and you assured me you would give him a wide berth. Have you changed your mind already, are we going to have a problem this year?"
"No Albus, you'll have no quarrel with me – I'll leave you pet Death Eater alone. But if I catch him doing anything untoward this year, I won't hesitate to act."
"I'm sure you won't," said Dumbledore as he turned to look at the sleeping Slytherin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wake Severus and then get to bed. Goodnight Alastor."
"Yes, very well. Goodnight Headmaster. I think I'll keep watch a little longer, just in case."
"Constant vigilance!" Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he walked across the hall to Snape and roused him awake. Moody watched the pair talk for a few moments and then head up the stairs together.
Only when he was sure they were gone, Moody let out a long sigh and wiped his brow. He stowed away his wand and looked down at the piece of parchment in his hand – in sloppy, scrawled handwriting was written a name.
It was the name of a boy who had led a much harder life than he ought to have in his short fourteen years on Earth.
It was the name of a boy who embodied what it meant to be a true Gryffindor, through and through.
It was the name of a boy who had unwittingly saved the entire world from a dark future.
It was the name of a boy who had survived the most powerful killing curse known to wizards.
It was the name of a boy who would help Lord Voldemort rise again, more powerful and terrible than ever before.
Harry Potter.