A/N: As always, my thanks goes out to those who are kind enough to review. Thank you.

The Sorting Hat's song from this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, pages 176 and 177 specifically. (And as a gentle reminder, I do not own Harry Potter.)

Rant for this week: Mpreg. Verdict: You sorry sods who write and read it, fail at understanding the basic concepts of human reproduction FOREVER. Personally I don't know whether to blame Arnold Schwarzenegger and the movie 'Junior' or Rabid Yaoi Fangirls... I wonder how many of the writers of Mpreg fanfics have even seen 'Junior'?

Anywho, on with the show.

Chapter 37: The Tri-Wizard Tournament

Late into the night of August thirty-first/early into the morning of September first, Harry paced back and forth in one of his rooms, mentally going over his packed bags. He was doing this because, while he rarely lacked for things to do, most of his belongings were stored away. It hadn't helped matters (that pertained to his boredom) that since he had started working with his aspects, and taking the concept further, the amount of sleep he needed had dropped beneath had dropped to under and hour and a quarter.

Back to packing, Harry grinned at how much he was able to bring with him. Everyone with half a brain knew that, for the most part, you could not store an expanded space within an expanded space. There were exceptions for everything, but the amount of work required made Harry loath to put the effort forth... For one simple reason: Space expanded trucks can be shrunk at a ratio of thirty-six to one without any ill effects.

Granted there were a few materials (consisting mostly of a plant and animal products) that did not travel well... and most British wizards were happy to remain ignorant of the fact that muggles could ship anything around the world.

Idiots.

'Multi-compartment, space expanded trunk with school and linking books, journals, clothing both mundane and magical, and sundry supplies. Check. Multitude of shrunken space expanded trunks stored in a perfectly normal box the size of a The Lord of the Rings omnibus, containing my ever-growing collection of... stuff. Check. Sanity... Haven't seen it for more than a decade.'

He laughed ruefully at that, wondering at how he had so easily accepted being a broken shadow of a human being. Granted it wasn't so bad that he couldn't enjoy life, but he sometimes (albeit rarely) mourned the fact that he could never be normal...

He took a seat in one of the more comfortable chairs in his room, and dropped himself into the fortress that was his mind.

A few days ago, he had... moved... what he considered the absolute center of his mind. Now instead of a library (which was connected with this area by a spiral staircase, both of which he had started to booby-trap), he was now somewhere that was a cross of a throne room and council chamber. It was a circular room with lecterns lining the gray stone walls, the books on the lecterns having titles such as 'Transfiguration', 'Physics', and 'Psychology', to name a few. A few feet away from the walls were three seats which could more accurately be defined as thrones. One was a rather plain seat of a dark stone, another looked to be made of animal bones and furs, and the last was an ethereal construct of fumes and vapor.

The latter two thrones were occupied. Upon the Bone Throne sat the Harry who had been imbued with his instinctual self, who had for the sake of ease of reference Harry had named Beast, and he had also been made into a repository for his knowledge of human and animal biology (both magical and mundane) alongside everything he knew about both the Animagus transformation and his Metamorphmagus abilities. He was no longer dress identically to Harry Prime, instead he wore a pair of forest camouflage cargo pants, a black shirt, and a red dragon leather trenchcoat with matching boots, while abstaining from the glasses Harry usually wore. He was sitting with his back against one armrest of the throne with his legs over the other, reading a book. Why the that book was the Magical Creatures and Beings allbook (that being the name he had come up with for the tomes that served as one of the primary containers for all his knowledge as divided into different areas of study) was a bit odd, but Harry shrugged it off. The manifestation of Harry's subconscious (who had been filled with all of Harry's knowledge of the Mind Arts, psychology, and history, while being named Morpheus) sat upon the Ethereal Throne, he was dressed in a set of soft looking silver robes and had ditched the glasses like Beast, and was playing with a Rubik's Cube.

The Alchemy allbook flew from its lectern and into Harry's hand as he set himself down onto the third throne, which had changed itself into a comfy looking recliner moments before his backside hit it. He idly flipped a few pages as he immersed himself into the knowledge the tome contained.

After a few moments, he said, "So, Beast, do we go back to the meditative exercises to find out what our Animagus form is, or do we go to the next step and start brewing one of the potions that gives the vision of it?"

Beast and Morpheus shared a silent conversation for a few minutes while Harry kept flipping through the Alchemy book, until Morpheus broke the silence by saying, "We feel that using one of the mid-strength hallucinogenic form revealing potions would be the most efficient."

Beast went on to explain, "What most of the meditation methods do is get you conscious mind to discover one's form is to use the subconscious as a lens for one's instincts, and all the two of us can agree on is that it is a dragon of some kind. The particular series of potions we're thinking of using have very few risks, are reasonably easy to brew, and any one of them could be ready before the end of the calender year."

"I'll need to figure out which one to make... Do you think we should create an aspect for potions knowledge?"

Morpheus's forehead furrowed in concentration, and he looked at Beast who had a wiseass grin on his face, and said, "Potions should be last. It would be best paired with chemistry, alchemy, and the more... energetic uses of physics, and I want more of us in here before we give our inner pyro a body."

Beast cackled and said, "I say, with the Tri-Wizard on the horizon, we manifest our inner badass. We give him all our combat magics, defensive and offensive ranging from the nuisance crap like the tickling charm to our lethal very lethal high power piercers. Then we load him with what we know of martial arts, weapons combat, and tactics."

Harry nodded, and went back to his 'reading'.

Sometime later (time being extremely relative in a mindscape), Harry grunted in anger and tossed the book away, which dissolved in midair to reappear on its lectern. He growled in frustration while running a hand through his hair.

"Why do I insist on torturing myself like this? Alchemists far more proficient than I have spent their lives trying to make a Stone, and here I am banging my head against the proverbial wall trying to save two people who have accepted their deaths..."

Morpheus snorted and said, "Well there wouldn't be this issue if Dumbles had used the real bait in his trap, or only gave the illusion of a baited trap..."

Beast growled while speaking, "I'm just glad that after Grindelwald was brought down the Yanks ignored the old man and executed his Lieutenants, otherwise there would be more reasons we could not deal with him."

Harry cursed under his breath, but then said, "I agree with you. I would be worried if the only think keeping a group of Dark Lords in their spheres of influence was a meddlesome old man with a god complex."

Morpheus sighed, and tried to put everything in perspective,"Could be worse, Dumbledore could actually be acting with malicious intent instead of being extremely misguided."

At breakfast before leaving for platform 9 and ¾, Harry voiced a concern that had been rattling around in his head since he had heard that Hogwarts was undergoing renovations for the upcoming event.

"Padfoot, Moony, with whatever is has or is going to happen to the castle, what is going to happen with the Marauder's Map?"

Sirius's face scrunched up in thought and then he said, "I have a few vague notions, but Remus was the one who did the bulk of the work on the map..."

Lupin nodded, and said, "The very last version of the Map was made to take readings from the wards of Hogwarts. Everything it did, it got the raw information from my map of the wards."

"Doesn't that mean you had get access to the central wardstone?"

"Yes, but if you are a student, and you look hard enough, it is not that hard to find or gain access to. I had already mapped the majority of the wards, with few dozen feet of notes that made next to no sense. I already knew where the rest of the wardstones were. Just getting some readings off of it let me finish my wardmap. But, I digress, the Map, if it is one of the four copies of the final version, it should be self updating."

"Okay, but how can I tell whether or not it is a final version?"

"What level of commands have you been using?"

Harry sat there in puzzled silence.

"You have been using some of the commands, haven't you?"

The-Boy-Who-Was-Confused nodded.

Remus closed his eyes for a minute, obviously thinking, and then said, "Tell me how you got your hands on the Map you use..."

As Harry told the tale of how he had first started sharing the map with Fred and George, Sirius let off a quick, surreptitious summoning charm. As Harry finished his story, a bit of parchment came zooming into the room. Sirius snatched it out of the air and tossed it at his godson as Remus explained how to query a Map for its version.

Sirius then finished, "Though I am fairly certain that we made sure to destroy all the previous versions, so there may not be any of the old ones hanging about, but just in case, the is my copy of the final Map. That way, if the one you do have is a final, you don't have to share anymore."

As always, Harry had arrived at the platform about an hour early, and claimed the last compartment in the last car. He had been killing time by running theories and calculations on how to make bigger booms. Leo and Cheshire were the size of smallish house cats, Isis was draped around Harry's neck, and Hedwig was perched up in the luggage rack.

Eventually Hermione eventually walked in as Harry muttered to himself, "Bloody hell."

She responded, almost automatically, "Harry, language!"

He muttered a quick apology combined with a greeting, and started murmuring under his breath, flipping through the pages of the journal he had been making notes in. Hermione eyed him before taking a seat and pulling out a thick book, and began reading. Fifteen minutes later, Neville came in, greeted his two friends, and pulled out a Herbology magazine of his own to read.

A few minutes before the train was to leave, the twins popped in and said their hellos before they went off to do what ever it was they did on the train. No one who knew them ever really wanted to know, but Harry had always assumed that they pranked all of the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. But that was just his guess.

A half an hour into the train ride, Harry started cursing in Russian. He grabbed his wand and conjured a steel bucket at his feet. Having drawn the attention of Hermione and Neville, they watched as he started ripping pages from the journal he was reading, tossing the papers into the bucket.

Hermione, having never seen Harry destroy his notes, asked, "What are you doing?"

"Too big of a boom. Taking it to the grave with me."

Hermione blinked several times while Neville said, "Blasphemy! There is no such thing as too big of a boom."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Neville, before she said, "Harry, I've never seen you actually destroy your notes..."

"Doesn't mean I haven't. I've had a few rune arrays that I have obliterated from my notes. At one point as I was trying to make something to store large amounts of light and heat, I saw a line of reasoning that brought me to an array that would, if my theory was correct, drain the life force of anyone who walks over or under it. And that is just one example. I occasionally scare myself, and my answer to doing that is usually to lock away what scared me in some of the deeper corners of my mind. I've occasionally considered destroying the memories."

Hermione frowned and replied, "If some of them scare you that badly, why don't you?"

"Because of a man who styles himself 'Lord Flight-from-Death'."

A puzzled look crosses Hermione's face, and one of outright confusion was on Neville's.

Harry sighed and palmed his forehead, "A Dark Lord who most of Magical Britain refuses to speak the name of."

Both of them had the most amusing looks of realization on their faces that Harry was hard pressed to bite back a laugh.

"Any way, how was the rest of your summers? Letters are nice, but somethings can only be conveyed face to face."

They about what they had done for the summer, with Harry's part of the conversation revolved around the house guests and the World Cup, with an explanation of how Cheshire had reared his head and then said next to nothing.

Eventually Neville asked, a clear attempt at a joke, "But I have been wondering just what life threatening situation is going to be set loose in the school."

But it did not have the humorous effect he was looking for, because instead, Harry paled and stilled.

Neville, cursed under his breath (in English, to which Hermione responded "Neville, language!"), and said, "What do you know Harry?"

"Ever heard of the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

Dumbledore paced in his office, waiting for the Express to arrive. He had worked hard at getting the Tri-Wizard re-instated. He had managed to get some of his ideas for tasks put in. With Voldemort rearing his head again, international cooperation was vitally important, and hopefully this would be a wonderful beginning.

As for the perpetual issue of the D.A.D.A. post, he had managed to get Alastor Moody to promise to curb his more manic traits, and Minerva and the portraits of the Founders had accepted the man to the position.

There was of course the ever present issue that Harry had long been out of his influence. There was little he could do to remedy this, but what he saw of the boy warmed his old heart. Maybe he would do what was needed without what the old man had believed were necessary manipulations. Even harmed as he was by his... relations... He still had a heart of gold.

He believed it was such a pity that such a bright young life would have to end for Tom to be destroyed

Severus Snape paced about his dungeon office, deep in thought. Ever since four years ago when his teaching methods (he conceded the point by now that calling is prior methods 'teaching' was generous at best and would be considered an outright lie by any normal person) were forcibly altered, that the dunderheads who attended his classes were not quite as stupid as he thought they were. Considering that he had deviated greatly from how he had learned potions under Horace Slughorn, he was actually surprised there weren't more explosions in the potions lab.

So, after four years of a student body that actually improved their potion-making abilities, Snape had to admit (if only to himself) if given the choice he would continue teaching the way he had been forced to.

But that was only part of what was causing him to pace. He was thinking most on... he was not entirely sure on how to address the boy. If he called him Potter that reminded him of exactly who his father was, but aside from formerly looking like the man in miniature, the boy had little in common with the man that Severus despised the memory of. The only subject that he had been any good at was Transfiguration, which the boy admittedly had a talent at.

Everything else about him reminded him of Lily. From the way he held himself, to how good he was at his studies. Then there was the issue that he had his mothers eyes, and the fact that he used his metamorphmagus abilities to look less like his father and more like his mother.

Of course there was the... issue of the pranks the he had pulled on the school. None of them were in truly malicious as some of the things his father and his cronies did were, and he never singled out any one person (though he had at times focused on his Slytherins, but he had to admit that no matter what he had done as the Head of House the more visible members of his once great House continued to act like gits rather than proper witches and wizards, and so while not excusable the boy's predisposition to pranking his Snakes en masse once or twice a year was understandable).

More over, he had to admit that the theme song that the boy had jokingly given him was quite nice.

So as Snape left his office to get to the feast, he hummed a few bars of 'The Imperial March'.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, in between his two best friends, idly twiddling his thumbs waiting for the feast to get started. As they had taken the carriages up to the castle, through a storm that made him glad that this wasn't his first year, he hadn't noticed any differences on the exterior, and as the Entrance and Great Halls were one after the other upon entering the castle, Harry had yet to notice any changes at all in the school. Hermione and Neville had agreed with his belief that somehow, someway, his name was going be chosen as one the champions, and that it would probably be easier on his tentative hold of his sanity if he just resigned himself to the fact.

He watched as McGonagall led the new first years into the hall, and set Alistair onto his stool. One of the first years bore a resemblance to an annoyance a year younger than him. Creevy. Bugger all. There was another Creevey in the school... Hopefully Colin could keep his relative (a brother most likely, though also possibly a cousin) out of Harry's hair unless he needed help with his class work... which if things went as pear-shaped as Harry thought they would this year, his helping of the years below him would be less frequent. Which was mildly upsetting, he enjoyed working with the wee ones. His lips the twitched into a semi-grin as the first years had various awed looks as the hat started to sing.

A thousand years or more ago
when I was newly sewn,
there lived four wizards of renown,
whose names are still well known:
bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
they hatched a daring plan
to educate young sorcerers
thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
formed their own house, for each
did value different virtues
in the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide
Their favorites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!

Harry applauded along with the rest of the school as the song ended and, as per usual, made sure to commit the names and faces of those being sorted to memory. Part of him just found it highly amusing when people were so surprised that he could greet anyone in the castle his year or younger by name.

Which, now that he thought about it, as a fourth year, that represented over half of the student body. Now that was something of an accomplishment. Harry idly watched as the last of the new students was sorted, and Dumbledore began the feast in his usual unusual form ("Tuck in." Harry shook his head, couldn't the man decide whether or not that he was sane?) and conversation started all around the hall. Harry picked at his food, as per usual

Hermione was chatting with her one dorm-mate that she actually saw eye to eye with (she called Parvati and Lavender gigglish and condemned their interest in Divination even though it was no longer on the Hogwarts curriculum) Sally-Anne Perks. Neville was chatting with the other two fourth year Gryffindor boys, Seamus and Dean.

There was no one new up at the Staff table, so Harry couldn't help bu wonder who was going to teach the D.A.D.A class. He was really starting to wonder whether or not that particular job was cursed or not.

Of course, this all went south when Hermione had heard that Hogwarts kept house-elves. Harry wondered how much detention he would get if he sent Nearly-Headless Nick onto the afterlife. After five minutes of ranting, in additional to (however infrequent) comments about the Manor having elves, Harry had had enough.

"Hermione, do you know what happens to house-elves when they are not bound to a family?"

"Yes, they are free to do what ever they wish with their lives."

"Wrong. They slowly go insane and then die."

She just stared at him for a minute as though, and then said, "Well that is just what people who enslave..."

Harry grunted, pulled his wand, and put up privacy spells encompassing the two of them"Hermione. Not only is it well documented, but I know first hand from my Mage Sense that house-elves produce no magic of their own. They draw if from the home they live in and the family they serve."

Hermione's eyes watered as she was told this. She knew that slavery was wrong... but this was a choice between freedom and death or servitude and life.

Harry sighed and said, "You have to understand Hermione, part of the adaptations house-elves have made is that when they are obeying orders their magic rewards them with feelings of pleasure. There is also the fact that it is only among traditionally Dark families that house-elves are even mistreated. In most other cases they are treated as either how well to do mundanes would treat the help or, in the best case, as a member of the family."

Hermione looked down at the table in a combination of consternation and shame. "I just wanted to help..."

"I know Hermione. Quite frankly there should be some safeguards in place to protect him. We got Dobby when Sirius pauperized the Malfoys and he was in terrible shape. Don't think I don't know how bad they can have it. Hell, comparing notes with Dobby, I don't know who had the worst decade from '81 to '91, me or him."

Finally most of the school had stuffed itself to bursting, and the Headmaster stood to make his beginning of the year speech, which included the usual notice about Filch's ever-expanding list of banned items (Harry had actually read it once in second year out of boredom, and had wondered what rubber duckies had ever done to the man), and then went on to make an announcement that upset a good deal of the student population.

"Unfortunately, the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year."

This statement caused a general uproar among school population, many of whom were quite fond of their Quidditch. Dumbledore however ignored this and pressed on.

"This is due to an event that will be taking up a great deal of the faculty's time and energy. It is with that said, I am pleased to announce..."

The old man didn't quite manage to finish his announcement as at this point the doors to the Entrance Hall were flung open and a man leaning on a traveling staff, covered by black traveling cloak made his way into the Great Hall. Every other step he made was accompanied by a load thunk that Harry attributed to a prosthetic leg of some kind, a peg leg if the wizarding world reverted to form. As he drew back the hood of his cloak, it was seen that his face was a patchwork of scars, with a large chunk of his nose missing. One of his eyes was whirling around, and Harry recognized it as one of the more expensive magical replacements for a lost eye, while the man's hair was grizzled and dark.

Dumbledore soon recovered from the interruption and said, "Ah, I would like to introduce all of you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Alastor Moody."

The Hall dissolved into chattering whispers as everyone discussed the fact that one of the more famous (and paranoid) Aurors of the War was teaching at Hogwarts. After a minute a two, the Headmaster brought things back on track.

"As I was saying. It is my pleasure to announce that the Tri-Wizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. For those of you who are not aware of the history involved in this event, I will give a short explanation, for those that do, please allow your attention to wander.

"The Tournament was first established about seven hundred years ago as a means of promoting friendly competition between the top three European schools of magic. A champion is selected to represent each of the school, and the champions then compete in a number of tasks. Traditionally there are three, but those running the event this time believe that with its attempted reintroduction a larger spectacle should be made, and the tasks have been upped from three to seven. The Tournament was initially discontinued due to a rising death toll, and attempts have been made over the centuries to bring it back, and out Ministry's departments of International Cooperation and Games and Sports believe the time is ripe for another try.

"Those involved have done their best to assure that none of the champions will find themselves in mortal danger, and further more, to insure that each of the champions are well equipped to deal with any danger there may be, no one who is under age, that is to say younger than seventeen, may submit themselves for consideration as champion.

"Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with the majority of their student bodies next Saturday, when names will then begin to be taken from those who wish to participate. Hogwarts has just under gone its once a century maintenance, and the East and West wings have been enlarged to ensure that they will be able to sufficiently accommodate our guests. I ask that the student body treats our foreign guests with proper courtesy and for Hogwarts to support our champion when he or she is selected. Now, it is time for all of us to get some sleep, so off you go to your warm beds."

The weekend was longer than normal (and Harry took the chance to get started on the potion he wanted done by Christmas), due to the first being on a Thursday, and then it was Monday and Gryffindor (or at least those that had taken Care of Magical Creatures as an elective, spent the morning outdoors. First Herbology, where they squeezed bubotubers for pus, and learned that someone had tried to curse her pimples off. Harry shook his head. Nothing is ever solved by firing spells at point blank range at your own face. It was perfectly alright way for dealing with enemies, but pimples? He shuddered at the lack of thought involved in pulling something like that.

Then they were introduced to Hagrid's newest pets at Care of Magical Creatures, the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry kept quiet about his concerns that someone had broken a number of international magical animal cross breeding laws when these... things were brought into existence. And he sure as hell didn't mention that he thought Professor Grubbly-Plank had lost her mind by allowing Hagrid a chance to teach the class. They were ugly, their magics convoluted and muddled, and ill-tempered. Harry paled as Hagrid made an off hand comment about making the raising of these abominations a year long project. Hermione defended Hagrid's choice in creatures, referencing how useful dragon blood is, but how few would want to own one as a pet, to study when Draco bad mouthed the Skrewts.

As the Gryffindors made their way back inside for lunch, and Hermione huffed at Neville when he commented on her defending the little beasts, and commented that it would be better to kill all of the Skrewts now before Hagrid figured out what made them thrive. Harry was already planning his first deliberate rule breaking of the year, long before Hermione had made her comment. Tonight after curfew he was sneaking out here and killing every last single Blast-Ended Skrewt he could set his wand on. Hopefully his Runes class this afternoon would make up for this dismal Care of Magical Creatures.

As Harry and his friends queued up to get into the Great Hall for dinner, they saw Malfoy and Ronald having some sort of argument. It wasn't too surprising, after all it was a week that started on an odd numbered day.

But what was surprising was that when Ronald stalked off in his usual angry huff, and Malfoy aimed his standard nuisance of a spell at the Weasley's retreating back, there was a yell of, "Oh no, you don't laddie!", followed by an extremely loud bang. And as Moody came limping into view, Harry saw that there was a pure white ferret where Malfoy was standing.

He had no clue what happened in the next five minutes, as he was far too busy laughing himself hoarse from the fact that someone besides himself thought that Malfoy would make a pretty decent ferret.

Of course the next day, when Hagrid sent him a tear stained letter mourning the fate of his precious new pets, all of which had been horrifically killed during the night, the half-giant asked Harry and his friends down for tea so that he could have someone to speak to. Of course Harry went to see the man when he had some free time, even if he was the one that murdered his beloved pets. He had known how Hagrid would react, and had figured that as one of Hagrid's favorite people at the castle, that he would seek out Harry. Besides, he knew he would feel a little sorry about how Hagrid would feel about losing some of his pets, even if Harry felt no guilt what-so-ever about exterminating the beasts.

Of course, the easiest way to distract Hagrid from anything is to show the man something rare and deadly, which is why, after a half an hour of listening to Hagrid wail about how the Skrewts were 'far too young to go', he hauled Cheshire in from outside the hut, and left the smart aleck lion to be cooed over by the half-giant.

As Cheshire gave his wizard a dirty looks as Harry walked out of the hut, and surprisingly said something...

*I am going to get you for this Harry...*

*Would you settle for a swordfish?*

*Do you bribe all of you familiars to do what you want them to do?*

*Yup.*

The next day or two after that passed without incident, except there was a general consensus among the population of the castle that there was an improvement in the quality of Snape's teaching (This was generally left unsaid by the Gryffindors, though Hermione did mention it in passing to Harry that she had talked about it with a few of the girls she was friendly with in Ravenclaw. Harry had had a chat with a few of the Hufflepuffs he spent time with about it).

But then came the class that everyone who had already taken raved about, and those that had heard even one story about the legendary Master Auror waited for.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As everyone chattered, waiting for the man of the hour to show up, Harry thought back to what his magical senses told him about the man. All of nothing, at least directly. He had layered himself in so much protective and concealing magic that nothing about him could be felt, and with out the glasses that blocked his Mage Sight, the air around the man made it difficult to see him.

And what that told him is that Mad-Eye Moody was paranoid to the point of insanity, which was to be expected. Aurors don't have careers in the field that last until forced retirement, unless they are have a good deal of power, a great deal of skill, and enough paranoia to make conspiracy theorists jealous.

And then he slumped into the room, his eye whirling about.

"Put those books away, you won't need them today. I've a letter from Professor Black, who has relayed to me what he and your previous teachers have taught you. I've notice that you are dangerously behind on curses. I intend to rectify that in the year I will be teaching."

Neville interrupted with, "You're not staying?"

The old man turned to face Neville, and his face twisted into something that on any other person would be a smile, and said, "You're Frank and Alice's kid, aren't you?" Neville nodded, and Moody continued, "No laddie. I've come out of retirement for just one year, as a favor to an old friend. Then I am going back to the peace and quiet."

He turned back to the class and asked, "Now, the Ministry says I am supposed to just teach you the counters for the most commonly used Dark curses and leave it at that. They think you all are too fragile to see the curses themselves until you are NEWTs level. But it is my firm believe that you need to know exactly what you are up against in order to combat it. So, that being said, what are the most heavily punished curses in Wizarding Britain?"

Hermione of course was the first hand up, though there were a few others. Moody eventually called on Dean.

"Um... there are always complaints from my mum about how some many Death Eaters got off by claiming the Imperius."

"Correct laddie. The Imperius curse gave the Ministry a lot of problems during the war, and even more after it."

At this, he pulled a jar with three spiders inside it out from within his desk, and pulled one out. He held it in the palm of his hand so that the class could see it, before he muttered, "Imperio!"

He then made the spider do a minute of two of acrobatics before it broke into a tap dance. The entire classroom broke into laughter, all save Moody and Harry.

"You lot think that this is hilarious? How about I do that to you?"

The laughter died as quickly as it had begun.

"I could make this spider do anything I wanted it to do. Total control over the target is what this curse gives it caster. And Mr. Finnigan's mum is correct in that a lot of suspected Death Eaters claimed Imperius to get out of time in Azkaban. But it can be fought, though it takes real strength of character and will. Best just to get out of the way. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Now, anyone else know one?"

This time Neville was among those who raised their hands, Hermione's hand being up was a given however. Now Neville was not a shy and withdrawn as he might have been, but right now he was rather pale as he waited to see who Moody would call upon.

"Longbottom?"

"The Cruciatus Curse."

Moody simply nodded, and fished the next spider out of the jar. He enlarged the spider before he softly incanted, "Crucio!"

The spider writhed in what was obviously a great deal of pain, as what looked like a small lightening bolt of orange energy connected it and Moody's wand, but Harry was too busy watching Neville who was gripping his desk with white knuckles...

Harry coughed and said, delicately, "I think we all understand why this curse is such bad news, sir."

Moody took a glance at Neville and ceased the curse. He returned the spider to its normal size before turning to address the class.

"Pain. You do not need any other implements to torture someone if you can cast this spell... Now there is one more spell that ranks up with the first two in terms of how badly it is punished. Anyone know what it is?"

The entirety of the class were paler than normal, wondering what would be as bad as the other two. Hermione was the only one to raise their hand this time and it was shaking this time, but not in excitement as is so often the case, but rather in feat. Harry took off his glasses and extended his senses to take in the entirety of the classroom, knowing what would come next.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse."

"Correct. The last, and by many considered the worst." Harry snorted at the mention of that.

The man dumped the last spider out onto the desk, and it immediately took off, like it somehow knew what was coming next. Moody leveled his wand, and rather than softly casting the spell as with the last two, he roared out, "Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of sickly green energy leaped from the ex-Auror's wand and closed the distance to the spider in frightening speed. When it hit, the spider just stopped, dying instantly.

Harry took in what the spell looked like, on both the mundane and magical levels, and how the magic of it felt. He pushed the thoughts of this happening to his parents down. He kept those memories locked away, though he idly noted that he didn't include any storage for memories relating to people in the new center of his mindscape, and reminded himself to fix that sooner rather than later.

Moody broke the oppressive silence by saying, "Neither nice nor pretty. There is no countercurse or a shield that is capable of blocking it. It needs a powerful bit of magic behind it, along with a great deal of hate, in order to cast it. I am willing to bet the lot of you could point your wands at me and try to cast the spell, and I wouldn't even get a nosebleed. Doesn't matter though, I am not trying to teach this spell to you. But you are probably asking why I am telling and showing you this if there isn't a countercurse or shield to learn? It is because I believe you need to know. You have to realize what the absolute worst is. CONSTANT VIGIALANCE!

"Now, these three curses are collectively known as the Unforgivable Curses, and the use of anyone of them on a fellow human being is enough to net you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. That is what you will have to fight, and that is what I'll teach you. But you must learn to practice constant, never-ending vigilance. Now get out your quills and paper and copy the following down..."

They finish the lesson by taking notes on each of the Unforgivables, but no one spoke until the bell rang. As the Lions left the class room, they broke into excited chatter, but Harry kept a close eye on Neville. He was still a little pale, and Harry was just about to say something before Moody said, "Longbottom, I'd like a word with you in my office."

Harry raised a brow and sent his friend a questioning look, who shook his head and said, "I'll catch up with you at lunch Harry."

As the hallway emptied, and Harry took one of the more roundabout ways to the Great Hall, he held one of his hands out in front of him. It was shaking rather badly.

The days passed until Saturday came, and the impending arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The entire population of the school had been ordered to be in the Entrance Hall by half past five so that they could all be out in front of the castle for when the other two schools would arrive at six.

After lunch, the Great Hall was sealed, and no one would be allowed in until the feast that evening with the other schools. Harry had to spend most of his day with his potion, it having been seven days and seven hours since he had started the brewing, and there were a series of crucial steps that took place at this juncture, so thankfully he didn't have to use any of the rather potent stasis charms to move the window he had to do the work on it.

Finished, and with potion set to stew for three months and three days, and a stirring rod that had been charmed to stir counter-clockwise seven times ever twelve hours, he went to go clean up.

Professor McGonagall had arranged the students on the steps leading up to the doors, with first years on the lowest steps, and the students getting older as the steps went higher. It also meant that you could generally see over the row in front of you.

Everyone was chatting, killing time waiting for the competing schools to arrive when one of the first years pointed to a speck in the sky and promptly screamed in terror, obviously losing her head completely, yelling, "Look, its a dragon!"

Dennis Creevey scoffed and said, "Don't be stupid, its a flying house."

As the object closed in, it became obvious that, though closer in his guess, Dennis was still quite wrong. In reality it was a trio of powder blue very large carriages being drawn by massive flying horses, that were golden in color.

Harry blinked several times before recognizing the breed as Abraxans, shortly before the train of carriages rolled to a stop a short ways from the students. The door was flung open, and a boy in pale blue robes hopped out. He reached under the carriage and drew a set of golden steps out from under the door. He stepped back respectfully as a women, one of the largest that anyone present had ever, or would ever, see came out of the carriage.

The size of both the vehicle and the horses that carried it, made some sense to most of the students. Except for those who, like Harry, had made studies in space expansion and weight reduction. In Harry's own estimation, the carriages probably weighed only slightly more than they appeared to with out much alteration, and even then the weight could be further reduced during flight.

As the half-giantess stepped onto the ground, the boy went to the next carriage, lowered its steps, and opened the door. He then did the same for the last of the three carriages. The students of Beauxbatons filed out of their transportation, Dumbledore started to clap, which lead to a round of applause from the entire student body.

The woman stepped over to the Headmaster and held out her hand. The old man barely had to bend in order to kiss the back of it.

"Greetings Madame Maxime and welcome to Hogwarts."

"It is a pleasure Dumbly-dorr, I hope you are well..."

"I am in quite good form, thank you."

She gestured behind her, rather carelessly and said, "My students and staff..."

The majority of the Beauxbatons students had disembarked, and Harry thought that they were probably grateful that it was still September and not later in the year, as their robes were made out of fine silk, as were many of the robes that the accompanying staff were wearing.

But as Harry was about to turn his attention back to the school Heads, he felt a pulse of magic from the lake. He whipped his head to stare intently at the water, and those who knew him, and knew some of what he was capable of, turned their attention to the lake.

Harry was vaguely aware of the the Beauxbatons students, their staff, and Headmistress heading into the school. He soon hear a muffled rumbling, accompanied by the sound of suction. Eventually Lee Jordan yelled out, while pointing at the object of his exclamation, "The lake!"

They watched as a whirlpool formed out in the waters of the Black Lake, and eventually something was seen to begin rising from the watery depths. It was the first and tallest of four masts. When the ship was finally in full view, it became apparent that it was a rather large ship. As it reached as close to shore as it would likely get, a pair of gangplanks, almost impossibly long, extended from the ship to the shore. People began disembarking, and from this distance it looked like they were all built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle, though as they drew closer, it became apparent that they were just wearing thick fur cloaks, that looked shaggy and matted. The man leading the procession had silver hair, and was wearing furs that matched his hair.

He greeted the Dumbledore in and unctuous fruity voice, "Ah, Dumbledore, my good fellow, how have you been?"

"Just smashing, Professor Karkaroff, and you?"

"Fantastic, just fantastic. Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said as he smiled, though his teeth were yellow and the smile was only apparent around his mouth. "It is great to be here... Viktor come along now, let us get into the warmth... Viktor has a bit of a head cold..."

Karkaroff gestured for one of his students to come forward, and Harry saw someone he recognized, who was looking even more surly than when Harry had encountered him at the World Cup. Of course, he was dragging his brother forward by the scruff of his neck.

A few voices in the crowd muttered as the recognized the world class Seeker, Viktor Krum. And Harry heard a good many people wonder if they could get an autograph.

Dumbledore lead the three schools into the Great Hall, throwing the large doors open with a gesture of his wand. The room was easily triple the size it had been during lunch, though the enchanted section of the ceiling as still the same size as always. There were thirteen tables in the room, one ran along the back of the hall, on a raised dais, with all of the seats facing into the room, obviously the Head table. The other twelve were scattered about.

Dumbledore turned around and faced the mass of students and said, "Sit where you will, we will not be dining by House or school, so do try to make friends..."

As the throng started to file into the Hall, a hand clapped Harry heavily on the shoulder, and a voice, with a moderately thick Bulgarian accent said, "Ah, Harry. I knew I smelled you around here somewhere. I have some friends I want to introduce you to..."

Harry then interrupted Ivan by saying, while he turned around, "You mean you have some bets to win?"

"Yes that too. But they deserve it for not believing me."

Five minutes later, and about twenty galleons for Ivan, the pair found themselves sitting at a table near a few Hufflepuffs, a handful of Ivan's friends, and a few Lions. Harry felt someone... familiar... nearby with his Sense. Shaking his head, without he turning around, said to a familiar looking head of blond hair, "Good evening Fleur."

She jumped, ever so slightly, let out a rather quiet, "Eep!" and turned around to see Harry's back was still to her.

"You know, it is really disturbing to do something like that!"

"But it is so fun, and considering those books that, before I sued the author into a goblin execution, were out there, it is what many people would assume The-Boy-Who-Lived would be capable of."

"I believe you have mentioned how much you dislike those expectations..."

"True, but my father was a prankster, so I get their hopes up... And then I act like the atypical person that I am. It is so very amusing to see the looks on their faces."

"You are quite incorrigible, Harry..."

The meal that followed was louder than usual, and there were foods from France and the countries that Durmstrang represented. Harry watched with amusement as Fleur's allure sent many of the males with twenty feet of her into a dazed state. He also saw a few representatives from the Ministry at the Head table, not the least of all, the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

Eventually the meal was brought to a close, and Dumbledore stood forth, and began to speak.

"The time has come. The Tri-Wizard Tournament is about to begin. Before we bring in the casket," there were a few muttered wonderings at the use of this particular word, "I would like to take a moment to make a few explanations about the procedures that the Tournament will be following this year. Though I think a few introductions are in order. For you who do not know them, these two gentlemen are Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," there were a few applause with this introduction, "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." The applause for the former Beater were much louder than those for Crouch.

"Mr Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked many late nights with their counterparts in the other Ministries involved to organize this Tournament. And one them will be joining myself, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff on the judges' panel for the Tournament as a representative from the British Ministry. There will also be representatives from the German and French Ministries on the panel. Without further ado, Mr. Filch, the casket if you please."

There were mutterings as the caretaker carried in a large wooden chest adorned with jewels. Whispers flooded the hall as a few of the shorter students stood on their chairs to get a better look. Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop into the floor when the casket entered into the room. He hated being right.

"The details for each task have already been overlooked by those who have worked so make this Tournament a reality, and the necessary arrangements for each as already been made for each of the seven tasks. There shall be one champion from each school, they shall be given scores according to how well they perform on each task. And the champion with the highest total by the end of the competition shall be the winner. And the champions shall be chosen by our impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

With that said, Dumbledore tapped his wand on top of the casket three times. The lid opened slowly, which Dumbledore then lifted, pulling out a large, roughly hewn wooden goblet. It would have been a perfectly normal cup if it wasn't filled to the brim with blue-white fire.

"Those who wish to be champions only need to place their name and school onto a slip of parchment and place it into the Goblet, which will be placed in Entrance Hall, then tomorrow after dinner this artifact shall determine just who the champions shall be. But to prevent those who are underage from entering themselves I shall draw an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire to prevent below the age of seventeen from crossing.

"Now be aware that entering your name into the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding, magical contract (Harry snorted in disbelief that the fairly well documented (at least in certain circles) history of the object was being covered up) so you should be absolutely certain that you desire to compete.

"On a lighter note, I would like to say that three balls will be taking place this year, and all students fourth year or higher are automatically granted attendance, with those younger will require that they be asked to attend by an older student.

"Now I would like to bid you all good night. Durmstrang, the Head Boy shall show you where your quarters are located in the castle, Beauxbatons shall be shown the same by the Head Girl."

Harry stayed in his seat, staring in the direction of the Goblet of Fire, a sense of impending doom hanging over his head.

As the next day was Sunday, people would have tended to rise later in the day than normal, but by and large people were up bright and early. Mostly so that they could watch and see who would put their name into the Goblet. Harry, who was normally the first student awake in the castle, had conjured himself a seat bright and early.

He had a clipboard with a list of names nearby, keeping track of all the Hogwarts students that had entered... and all those who had ran afoul of the Age Line. It seemed that whenever a person who wasn't old enough tried to cross it they simply were blocked. Later there were two pairs of students, the first set was a girl from Ravenclaw, and a boy from Hufflepuff. The second two were of course Fred and George Weasley. All four had apparently tried to use an aging potion to cheat the line. The result was that they did indeed get over the line, but were tossed back over it in short order.

Heavy a foot long white beard in the style of Dumbledore.

Harry had needed the laugh that had come from that. He had gotten bored of taking names down (usually their Housemates or Yearmates would congratulate them, so even if he didn't know the name before, he did after), he went out to the grounds and decided to take a nap by the lake.

Harry had taken to the air at about midday, his nerves and boredom starting to make him extremely twitchy. Eventually it was about an hour until the evening meal, so he went back to the tower to wash up.

Ten minutes before the feast was set to start, Fleur found Harry pacing restlessly in one of the corners of the Entrance Hall. {Harry, my friend, you need to calm down.}

{How can I be calm when that blasted magical object is sitting there like a ticking time bomb?}

{And why is this seeming to make you more of a basket-case than you said you were in your second year?}

{Because at least during the damn basilisk incident, I was doing something. I may not have been making any progress but I was still doing something! Here I am just alternately twiddling my thumbs and sitting on my hands!}

He had not stopped his pacing for a moment during the conversation, and Fleur now stood there, one foot tapping on the floor trying to think of a way to distract a person she considered a friend, or at least something close to it.

{Ah, tell me Harry, what do you think of Mozart?}

Well he had once confessed that if he was incapable of using magic, he would not be able to make anything that would even loosely pass for art of any kind, be it picture in any medium, a sculpture, or music, he still enjoyed the arts. It took until the doors to the Great Hall were opened for the feast, but Fleur had managed to drag Harry into a conversation about classical composers.

Fleur was at least glad that the subject of distraction that she choose was a topic she enjoyed.

As they took a seat at one of the tables, they were shortly joined by Neville and Hermione, and then a little while later by Ivan, and surprisingly his brother. As everyone present was a little surprised by the fact that Harry and Fleur were talking animatedly in French about something (Hermione knew what, and the topic of the conversation was what surprised her) they did not notice that Cedric Diggory and a number of other sixth year Hufflepuffs had taken a seat.

For everyone who wasn't being distracted by a beautiful blonde, the meal seemed to drag on as the population of the Hall kept throwing glances at the Goblet that was sitting on a small plinth in front of where Dumbledore sat. Eventually the meal came to an end and many present grew quiet as he rose from his seat.

Fleur, noticing that the Hall had grown quiet said, {It is time, Harry.}

{Huh? What do you... Oh...} He looked around a little dazedly, before turning back to Fleur and saying, {Thank you so very much Fleur.}

{The conversation was quiet nice, even if it only started as a distraction...}

Harry, to keep himself at least moderately distracted, looked at who was sitting near him. Fleur was obvious and so were his friends from his own school. Of course then there was Ivan, but that his brother had chosen to sit with them was odd. Then there was the Hufflepuffs and Cedric...

Harry grabbed his head in both hands as he felt a spike of pain at the base of his skull and vertigo overcame him. When the pain and spinning stopped, he was overlooking the Great Hall as it normally looked, though it seemed a little fuller than a normal school year. Then he saw the crimson robes of Durmstrang, the pale blue silk of Beauxbatons, and most importantly the Goblet of Fire. One by one four names were called out of the Goblet by Dumbledore, and then the whirling and pain came back.

Harry found himself back where he had begun, as Dumbledore made his way to the Goblet. Harry looked at the Hufflepuff team Seeker and asked, "When is your birthday, Cedric?"

"September seventh, why?"

"Just curious, just curious."

Dumbledore then cleared his throat quite audibly, and said to the Hall, "I believe that the Goblet of Fire is just about ready to render its decision. Those who are chosen, please go through the door behind and to the left of the Head table."

With that said, he swept his wand, and all the candles and lamps that lit the Hall dimmed until the chief source of illumination was the Goblet's blue-white flames, which moments later flared red. The cup then spit out a scrap of parchment that Dumbledore grabbed from midair.

"The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

The students from that school, and a great many Quidditch fans from the other two, started cheer. Harry however started laughing, though it was not a good kind of laughter. It was intermixed with sobs, and there was a note of barely restrained madness in it. Those present who knew him looked at him with worry in their eyes.

The Goblet flared red again.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour."

The French Champion gave her friend a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and went to the door where the Champions were to enter, as he schoolmates applauded her. Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore and the Goblet, as the latter flashed into red fire for a third time.

"And the champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

The population of the third and final school burst into applause.

"Now that all of the champions have been choose, I hope that all of you can support the your school's representative. By cheering your – "

Dumbledore was cut off as the flames of the Goblet changed to red one last time. On reflex he caught the parchment that was launched from it. The entire Hall was silent as he simply stared at the piece of paper in front of him. He then said two words that Harry had hoped he wouldn't say.

"Harry Potter."

A/N2: This chapter took me forever to write, but I think it turned out okay. Merry belated Christmas (or whatever holiday you celebrate) and a early Happy New Year.

Cedric's canon age is seventeen as of Oct 31 1994, during which he is in his sixth year. I am going to say that he is indeed old enough, just for the sake of ease.

And, I said it once, I'll say it again, wading through the sheer volume of Harry/Draco when looking from stories through the centeral list is really disturbing. (And it seems to be a chief source of the Mpreg... If there weren't a goodly number of great stories on this site that I can actually stomach I'd be yelling 'kill the servers with fire'.)

A/N(OOPS): I forgot this upon the initial upload, but I have some acknowledgments I wish to make.

First a list of those that gave me suggestions of stories to read (If I missed your name I apologize):

rusty1874
OutlawKnight
jpotterNY
Airene
Blazer-Of-Heat
Grim (unsigned review)
Victoria Noble
Love wind
godzillahomer
Book-Smart-Fox
Quincy80
LordArchanon
Hedwig Edwiges
loot
IwishIknew (unsigned review) (by the way do you know just how many stories there are with the title 'Realizations'?)

And secondly I wish to give a very special thanks to the following person for a long, long string of reviews that point out my abuse of the english language (I promise I'll make use of the things you've pointed out... eventually):

alix33