Order of the Otter

by x-eleven

What if Harry's upbringing by the Dursleys had been more normal and accepting? How would his relationship with Dumbledore be different?

30. The First Task

The First Task

Hogwarts: Dumbledore's Office

The whole office complex looked the same as Harry remembered it. Dumbledore had settled into his former office as if he'd never resigned. The rest of his staff returned to their former positions.

"Sit down, Harry", Dumbledore invited. "What do you mean, you will give up your magic?"

"You heard right", Harry explained. "Thanks to you, I lived most of my life as a muggle, raised by muggle foster parents. The only inkling any of us had that things weren't 'normal' (finger quotes) was the occasional eruption of incidental magic. Sometime a few years ago, I thought I might like Veterinary Medicine for a career. I see no reason why I can't go on to do that. I don't need magic to attend Uni, earn my degree, and start up a practice. I'm not saying I won't miss the hocus-pocus, it was nice while it lasted, but unlike Draco, or Luna, or Crabbe and Goyle, I can imagine life without it. I don't even have to give up the friendships I've made here in the magical world. No rules that say magi can't associate with muggles.

"You, yourself, helped write the rule that no one under seventeen can enter. We've seen what happened when Fawcett, and George and Fred tried to game the system. I don't know how my name got into that crock of shit – I certainly didn't put it there..."

"I believe you, Harry", Dumbledore interrupted.

"Then, doesn't it strike you curious that my name did get entered, and that I – of all the other students at Beaux Batons – was selected? You heard what your own Professor Moody said? That it would take some considerable magical skill to confund the Goblet? Something I can't do, certainly not without alerting either yourself, Mr Crouch or Mr Bagman. If Fred or George could have done it, they wouldn't have been fooling around with aging potions, would they?"

"I agree..."

"Then why in the name of Merlin would I enter that Tournament? You have someone here on your own campus with the ability to hoodwink the Ministry's own magical artifact – something that hasn't happened in seven centuries – and you expect me to just walk into that trap?

"Not. Gonna. Happen, Professor. I can't think of anything other than that would be suicidally stupid".

Outside, there came a sound of thunk, thunk, thunk, and a banging at the door.

"Come in, Alistair", Dumbledore called out.

Mad Eye Moody entered and climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's alcove. The electric blue "cybernetic" eye scanned Harry and Albus.

"You heard?", Dumbleddore asked.

"Aye, I heard. Mr. Potter", he turned to address Harry, "we need you to participate in the Tournament..."

"You can stop right there, Mad Eye..."

"That's Mad Eye to my friends; that's Mr. Moody to you, Sonny".

"I'm not your damn son", Harry objected. "As I was explaining to the Professor, it would be insane for me to walk right into a trap set by a wizard with the power to hoodwink the Goblet – something far exceeding my abilities. I can assure you: I am not stupid, nor insane, and certainly not suicidal. Your threats of losing my magic carry no weight with me. That's assuming the claim is true".

"I can assure you, it's the truth: the Goblet of Fire is a binding magical contract that obligates the champions it selects to compete. You will lose your magic if you are not there for the first task. You're right. Mr. Potter, it would take extraordinary magic to hoodwink the Goblet. That's why I – we, the Professor and I – need your help, to uncover the identity of this wizard..."

"That is not my responsibility! It isn't yours either as I understand you retired from the Auror Corps. Why aren't you taking this up with Madam Bones? As I recall, she is pretty sharp when it comes to cases like this".

"Mr. Potter, Madam Bones resigned soon after the World Cup", Moody explained. "Pius Thicknesse is still in the process of reorganizing the DMLE. When that damn fool Fudge ordered Madam Bones to cease with the arrests of Death Eaters, he made her an ultimatum: cease or resign. She called his bluff, and took all the best aurors with her. The DMLE can't help us, that's why we need you, Mr. Potter. We will take every precaution to see no harm comes your way..."

"You can't guarantee that, can you?"

"No, not 100%..."

"Not good enough. Gentlemen, you can forget about it. I'm not having another thing to do with this Tournament", he got up to leave. Alistair rose to stop him.

"We have a few more weeks", Dumbledore reminded.

Word got around quickly, and the next morning brought the news in the Daily Prophet:

More Favoritism for the Boy Who Lived

As if we needed any more proof that rules apply to everyone but for Harry Potter, the latest outrage is the selection of Mr. Potter as the second Triwizard Champion representing his new school: Beaux Batons. There is a reason why it is called the Triwizard Tournament, and has so been known ever since the first Tournament was held some seven centuries ago. Now, it would seem we have a Quad-Wizard Tournament, and a most unfair advantage to Beaux Batons as neither Hogwarts nor Durmstrang have two champions.

As if that were not evidence enough of an outrageous favoritism, the rules for the first of the revived Tournament are explicit: only those who are of age are allowed in. Mr. Potter is thirteen, yet he has been allowed to enter. Mr. Bartemius Crouch claims that there is nothing he can do to enforce his own rules, as he claims the decision of the Goblet of Fire is binding and final. This, I find hard to believe. It's his Department that set the rules; the Goblet of Fire is the property of the Department of International Games and Sports. Yet, somehow, Mr. Bagman, the head of that department, pleads ignorance as to how Mr. Potter was allowed to enter, and how it is that the Goblet chose four champions. This is the first time in seven centuries where this has occurred. What more proof do we need that what Harry Potter wants, Harry Potter gets. Can not even the Ministry itself say 'Enough is enough'?

What's next? Does the Boy Who Lived become the next Minister of Magic should he so desire? Will Cornelius Fudge just step aside if he demands it? Are there no limits as to how far the Ministry itself will go to accommodate Mr. Potter's every whim? This reporter leaves that for you to contemplate and decide.

– Rita Skeeter

Another hit piece from the Prophet. At least this time, Madam Maxime and Professor Dumbledore headed off the hateowls before Harry ever saw them.

Harry caught up with Draco at the first opportunity. "I guess you heard?", he asked.

"It's all over the school", Draco agreed.

Indeed, it was. The Durmstrang students had made up these badges they all wore, and which they shared freely with the Snakes and Badgers. Everyone saw: "Support the true Beaux Batons Champion: Fleur Delacourt". Harry saw: "POTTER SUX" or "POTTER THE CHEAT". He was even getting flak from Ron, Fred, and George who insisted he tell them his "secret" as to how he successfully gamed the system. Fleur apologized profusely, insisting those badges and all the nastiness surrounding them wasn't her idea.

"I'll be needing the Marauders Map", he explained. "I need to see if we have another possessed professor, or if there's an impostor. Something isn't adding up here, and Dumbledore is being his usual, disingenuous self. I knew coming back to Hogwarts was a bad idea, but Madam Maxime insisted I come with the rest of Beaux Batons".

"I can't imagine giving up magic, but you're right not to place your trust in anything Dumbledumbass says or does. I'll have it for you ASAP, and thanks, it was a big help last year. By the way, good job on your performance at the Welcome Feast..."

"Not again, Draco".

"Well, it's true, you'd make a cute girl".

Harry's return to Hogwarts was becoming most unpleasant. The Badgers, especially, resented him for stealing Cedric's glory. Hufflepuff had very little glory, as the Lions, Eagles, and especially the Snakes, considered Hufflepuff to be the House of Losers. (The Badgers were Fred's and George's favourite targets of their pranks.) Hufflepuff had long been an also-ran for the House Cup, and the Quiddich Cup. Their one hint of glory was their beating Team Slytherin on the Quiddich Pitch at the end of the last term in a surprise upset. They didn't win the Quiddich Cup, but acted as a spoiler that sent the Cup to House Gryffindor. The one and only Badger who wasn't wearing one of those badges was Hannah Abbott.

It made Herbology almost as uncomfortable as Potions. Even Professor Sprout was being decidedly cold. He used to be on pretty good terms with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Earnie McMillan, but no longer.

At least when the badges began appearing on Beaux Batons uniforms, Madam Maxime gave a speech in their airliner, ordering her students to not wear them. She explained her belief in Harry's innocence, that he could not have put his name in the Goblet, and that the school should support both their champions. Fleur backed her up, and being the official, true champion, the rest of the students had to go along.

0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Harry examined the Marauders Map carefully, looking for any dot with two names, and found none. There were no discrepancies between the names on the Map and those within Hogwarts. Every student, every member of the faculty, were who they were supposed to be. Not what he was expecting, and that made it all the more disturbing: according to Mad Eye, there were very few who could have confunded the Goblet of Fire: Dumbledore, Mad Eye himself, McGonagall, and the two officials: Bagman and Crouch, neither of whom were present, and wouldn't be until it was time for the first task.

He received an owlpost:

Dear Harry,

Meet me in the Come and Go Room

Lucius

He was expecting this, having owled Lucius as soon as he could get off an owlpost. At the earliest opportunity, Harry headed up to where the entrance was under the Invisibility Cloak.

"I need to see Lucius", he chanted as he walked back and forth in front of an apparently blank wall. The door appeared.

"Harry", Lucius greeted. "You got my message".

"Lucius, and yes, that owl got through. There's something going on here, and I don't like it one bit".

"You're referring to the Triwizard Tournament? What have you said so far?"

"I held back one thing: I didn't mention anything about how my scar's been acting up lately. I also didn't mention a word of this dream I had back at the start of the term, before we came to Hogwarts".

"Tell me about it".

"I know there was a lot more to it, but all I remember is that Wormtail was there, in a dark room some place I didn't recognize. There was a huge serpent, an old man, and a flash of green. I didn't see, but I'm certain Voldemort was there as well. It looks like he's attained a physical form of some sort. I tried remembering more, but it's just not there anymore. I'm pretty sure he killed someone, I could feel it, the way the scar burned like I've never felt it burn before.

"I just know he's involved somehow, and now something that should not be possible has happened: I was selected as a second Beaux Batons Champion even though the rules state no one under seventeen can enter. I was entered and I know I didn't do it, even if I'd been confunded, or under the Imperious, I couldn't cross Dumbledore's Age Line. The Twins couldn't do it, and neither could Fawcett, or Sommers. It had to be someone who could get past that Line, someone over seventeen. As to who hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire, it couldn't have been anyone other than Dumbledore, Professor Moody, or Bagman or Crouch, but why? Why do they want me in that Tournament? To eliminate me, make it look like an accident?"

"You were right not to mention it", Lucius agreed. "This doesn't sound like a dream, but rather something that came from Voldemort himself, which would explain why you only recall what you already knew, namely, Wormtail. As for who, I would exclude Dumbledore. We know his opposition to Voldemort is genuine, even if his methods are highly questionable. As for the rest, I can not say. I wouldn't give them your trust just yet. As to Voldemort, who knows what he's capable of? That he just might have attained some physical form is certainly well within the realm of possibility. If that's the case, then that means his diary wasn't his only Horcrux".

"Then… why? None of it makes any sense!"

"I'm sure it makes perfect sense to someone", Lucius explained, "Karkarov, the High Master of Durmstrang is a Death Eater. Sirius told me about him, as they were doing time in Azkaban".

"If he was, then how did he get out?"

"He turned states evidence for the Ministry. He named a lot of names, got a lot of Death Eaters sent to Azkaban. Once inside, they did a lot of talking. Needless to say, Igor Karkarov isn't the favourite person amoung at least half the inmate population. Given that he made good in another country, he's won a measure of respectability, though not completely. Some say that he is the reason Durmstrang has the reputation it does for the Dark Arts. I would watch out for Durmstrang's Champion, no telling what he might pull.

"It's no coincidence that the new DADA prof is none other than Mad Eye Moody – probably the best auror the DMLE has had this century. Dumbledore would want him close, if Karkarov is going to be hanging around Hogwarts. It was Moody who caught Karkarov after Voldemort's last rampage, sent him to Azkaban. He was none too pleased with the Ministry for exchanging leniency for names. He resigned over that difference of opinion.

"There is one thing that doesn't fit: Karkarov would have to be the very last person who'd want to see Voldemort's return. After the way he turned on his fellow Death Eaters, I can't see how Voldemort could be less than displeased with his former follower. Yet, we've seen the renewed activity of those followers, the attack at the World Cup, the first appearance of the Dark Mark in over a decade. Just be careful around him for now.

"There is something else: a Ministry official has gone missing, a Bertha Jorkins. Sirius remembered her from Hogwarts: she was a couple of years ahead of James and his friends. He remembered her as being very nosy, but not exactly swift on the uptake, if you know what I mean. That's a dangerous combination. She went missing while on vacation to Albania, where Voldemort is known to favour. It wouldn't be too difficult to lure her into a trap".

"You think he got to her somehow?"

"He, or more likely, Wormtail. We know Voldemort can use life force to create a material form, as we've seen with Ginny and Voldemort's diary. He would also have learned all about the Triwizard Tournament as Bertha worked under Mr Bagman..."

"All the more reason why I should decline..."

"That's the one thing you should not do..."

"Now you're sounding just like Dumbledore".

"Think about this: you don't participate, you lose your magic".

"What if I don't care?"

"You may not, but do you believe for one second Voldemort won't? You've defied him three times now: once, when you were a baby, the second time, when you chased him from Quirrel, and a third time, when you saved Ginny's life. Does Voldemort strike you as the forgiving type? Even if you no longer posed a threat because you lost your magic, do you think he'll just overlook the effrontery of your defiance? What about your family? Lose the magic, lose the wards that protect them. He just might come after Vernon, and Petunia for sure as a squib, and your brother Dudley. During his last rampage, his Death Eaters entertained themselves with muggle hunts. What surer sign of his power and vengeance than the destruction of the very one who left him powerless a decade ago and your entire family?"

Harry remembered: he wasn't the first one who thrice defied the Dark Lord.

"Then help us get out of the country. Vernon can put in for a transfer, and you could make certain he got it. Transfer to America, for example. Or Australia, that's even farther away".

"You may not have the luxury of the time. If you fail to show up for the task, you lose your magic right then and there. If Voldemort has agents inside Hogwarts, you could be rendered defenseless and an easy target for elimination the instant it happens. Since you already stated your intentions to not participate, Voldemort's minions will know soon enough, if they don't already. They will be waiting.

"Leaving the country would be only a stop gap, I'm afraid. Voldemort couldn't allow you to run away, lest some of his more reluctant followers get the same idea. How many of his Death Eaters returned to their normal lives? Do you think they will relish the idea of his return? Some may, but a whole lot of them probably don't like the idea one little bit. You can be sure he'll send hit teams after you no matter where you go. He has no choice".

"I still don't like the idea, being a sitting duck, or the bait for another of Dumbledore's traps".

"I don't blame you and neither do I, and I'll have to do some more research. If there's any way out, I'll find it".

"I'll… think it over".

"That's all I ask".

How's Sirius doing?", Harry asked.

"He's fine, other than being antsy from being indoors all the time. He's always asking to go out, but it's never a good idea. Owlery Holt isn't that far from muggle homes and businesses. Too much risk of being seen, and the muggle public was warned about him. So far, no dementors have shown up, no aurors either. So far, they haven't gotten this far north. I don't expect that'll last forever. I guess you heard: Madam Bones quit?"

"I heard all right. Took all the good aurors with her. Not too sad to see her go, at least now she won't be snooping". Amelia Bones was investigating, trying to discover the identity of Harry's associates. She'd interrogated him several times already, ever since she discovered him giving the unfortunate Professor Quirrel a beat-down.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Once she gets her hands on a mystery, she doesn't let go".

"So now what?", Harry asked.

"I'll be infiltrating the Ministry. If there's any way to get you out of that tournament, I'll find it".

"Please do".

Neville caught up with Harry: "I don't know if it means anything, but before the break, Professor Trelawney made a prediction", he explained.

"What are you on about?", Harry asked.

"It was after class, and I asked her for help with the crystal ball. That's when she zoned out, and spoke in a voice none of us heard before. It didn't make much sense, though:

'The Master lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. The Servant will begin his quest for his Master on solstice night. The Servant will reunite with his Master. The Master will rise more terrible than ever before. The Servant begins his quest on solstice night".

"I don't know if it means anything..."

"Thanks, Nev, I wish you'd told me sooner".

"What does it mean?", he asked. "Anything to do with Youknowwho?"

"It very well may", Harry explained. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"No, it's Trelawney. She's always saying strange things".

Harry remembered: solstice night was the night Pettigrew escaped from the Burrow.

"You should mention this to the Professor", Harry decided.

That the Servant had reunited with his Master was a given at this point. Where else could Pettigrew go after having his cover blown, after the whole Ministry knew he wasn't dead? The only remaining question was if the Master had become more terrible than before, or was that part of the prediction still in the future?

The expected invite to Dumbledore's office arrived.

"Harry, have a seat", Dumbledore invited.

"What's this all about?"

"Neville told you about Sybil's latest prophecy?"

"I told him he should tell you about it, yes".

"This is why it is so important that you participate. The Servant did go looking for his Master on solstice night. That was the very night that Pettigrew escaped from the Burrow. His amimagus status now known, he would have little choice. It is the second half of that prophecy that worries me, has his Master returned? Or will he?"

"Then that looks like all the more reason why I shouldn't have anything to do with that Tournament. If it has something to do with bringing Voldemort back, then it's a bad idea, almost as bad as bringing a possessed professor into the castle with a Philosopher's Stone.

"I don't know how Voldemort intends to go from that wraith-like form I saw a couple of years ago to a form with a physical presence that can return to his former power. I suspect that, however he does it, someone's gonna die in the process. Someone wants me in that contest, they put my name in the Goblet, made sure it spat my name back out. I can't help but wonder who that could be, but I have a pretty good idea as to why. Giving up my magic would be an acceptable price to pay if that ensures he doesn't come back".

"There are many things I don't understand myself, Harry. I don't know why he would want you specifically. Maybe it has something to do with how you defeated him a second time? It isn't certain that you would be his only key back to the world of the living, but what is certain is that he will come after you. Without magic, you will be defenseless against a wizard as powerful as Voldemort. That is why it is so critically important that you not allow that to happen, Harry.

"We, Professor Moody and I, also need to find out what his plans are, and for that, we need you. We will take every precaution to see no harm comes your way. Together, we can stop his return".

"Doesn't sound that way, based on what Professor Trelawney predicted..."

"You need to understand: Divination is the least precise branch of magic. The future isn't written until it happens. It's the choices we make here and now that determines the shape of the future. Your failure to participate, to lose your magic, just might be the catalyst that enables Voldemort's return to full power".

"Or participating allows it".

"That could very well be the case. We simply do not know, but we can make the best choices available to us based on what we do know. Voldemort is still out there, as you've seen for yourself".

"Is that why you brought the Stone into the castle? To see if he'd come after it?"

"In all honesty, Harry, yes. I knew for years now that if Voldemort was to make a move, it would be sometime after you started Hogwarts. It all fits, your prominence in his prophecy, that he considered Hogwarts his only true home. It is understandable why he would come to Hogwarts to make good on his promise to return. It was inevitable that you would meet. It was best for that meeting to take place on the third floor where the situation could be monitored and controlled. There's no telling what may happen had it occurred outside the wards. It is the reason Mr Longbottom came to you, as I placed a compulsion on him that sent him to the Slytherin dorms, and not to Professor McGonagall. There was really no threat to you, Harry, as we would have prevented his making the Elixir of Life".

"Tell that to Hermione..."

"It is unfortunate that Mr Weasley got involved. I wasn't anticipating that..."

"So you're going to pass the responsibility to Ron? That's pretty low..."

"Not to reassign blame, Harry, but to point out that sometimes plans don't fully work out as you'd expect. I don't need to tell you that. I take full responsibility for my miscalculations".

"What part of this new plan of yours that may not work out that gets me killed?"

"I won't deceive you into believing there is no risk, Harry. Of course there is. I can promise that you will have the best back-up available, myself, Mr Moody, Mr Bagman, and Mr Crouch – we will be looking out for you".

"I am not reassured: you do realize you just named every suspect with the ability to put one over on the Goblet?"

"Let us not forget Madam Maxime and Head Master Karkarov", Dumbledore reminded. "There is something you need to see", he said as he levitated the shallow basin from his cupboard. "Do you know what this is?"

"No", Harry lied. He'd heard about Dumbledore's Pensieve from Lucius.

"It's a Pensieve. It's used to store and view memories", he explained as it landed on Dumbledore's desk. "You just touch your wand to the surface to enter the memories".

The basin looked to be filled with something that could have been liquid, or a very heavy vapour. There was no telling. Dark, indistinct shapes looked like they were floating beneath the surface, much deeper than the Pensieve itself. As soon as he touched the surface, the image cleared. He seemed to be looking down through a skylight on a large room that was illuminated only by the torches burning in sconces along the walls, much like Hogwarts. He knew this wasn't Hogwarts, though.

It was an auditorium whose center of focus was one empty chair from which dangled chains to restrain whoever sat here. The auditorium was filled with magi, who were discussing amoung themselves. He couldn't see the entire room, being that his point of view was through a round window. As soon as his nose contacted the surface of the substance filling the basin, he was sucked in.

It was as though falling through a cold, blue nothingness, down a long shaft. He dropped into a seat right next to Dumbledore. He saw that he was sitting at a dais raised above the floor. The whole room looking more like a dungeon than a lecture hall, no pictures or other decorations on the walls, and, of course, no skylight above him, just more blank stone, so this was some sort of subterranean space somewhere.

A bailiff stood to announce: "Oy yez! Oy yez! Oy yez! All rise".

The conversations silenced as the 200 or so attendees stood.

"This special session of the Court is now in session. Bring forth the prisoner!"

There were footsteps, and a door in the corner opened. Three figures appeared: two dementors who where escorting a man. They held both arms with their dead, decaying hands as they glided towards the chair. Their prisoner took the center chair; the chains glowed with a golden light as they snaked their way up and over his arms, pinning him in place. The two dementors glided back the way they came, the door closing behind them. He could see that the power of these dementors, though they didn't affect him from inside a memory, affected those present. He'd felt it himself while at Azkaban.

Harry now saw that it was Igor Karkarov, but this time, he looked decidedly younger. His hair and goatee were black, no longer the salt and pepper he was used to. Nor was he dressed in fine robes, but rather a shabby, thin robe. He was shaking, and looked on the verge of fainting.

"Igor Karkarov", Harry looked to his left to see that Barty Crouch was addressing him. "You have been brought from Azkaban as you have given us understanding that you have important testimony".

"I do, Sir", he began and even though frightened, he still had that unctuous tone. "I'm well aware that the Ministry is seeking the Dark Lord's followers, and I wish to lend my assistance to these efforts".

There was a buzz around the room, some viewing Karakarov with interest, others with a profound distrust.

"Piece o' shit", Harry heard. He looked to his right, past Dumbledore, and saw that it was Mad Eye Moody. However, he was quite different. He still had both legs, and two normal eyes as he hadn't acquired the "cybernetic" eye yet. Harry couldn't help but wonder what the story behind that could be.

"You just watch", Moody continued his complaint, "Crouch made a plea bargain. Took me six months to track him down, and he'll walk. I say let him tell us what he knows, then ship his ass right back to Azkaban and the dementors. Let them deal with him. He's seen the light? Like hell he has!"

Dumbledore made a snort of dissension.

"I keep forgetting, you don't like dementors", Moody said.

"I certainly do not and have said for the longest time that I object to the Ministry's employment of such creatures".

"Still too good for...", Moody was interrupted.

"You claim to have names for us", Crouch was continuing, "so let's hear them".

"You have to understand that Hewhomustnotbenamed operated with the greatest secrecy. He preferred that we – I mean his followers, of which I was one, but I now greatly regret ever having anything..."

"If there's a point in there, would you kindly get to it, or are you wasting our time?"

"Only Hewhomustnotbenamed knew who all his followers were, as for the rest of us, we never knew who all of them were...", Karkarov continued his testimony.

"Good idea, too", Moody said quietly, "with the likes of you in his ranks to turn 'em in to save your ass".

"The names, Karkarov, the names!", Crouch was losing patience.

"These are the names of some important figures, followers working right here in the Ministry itself. I offer these names as a sign of my deepest remorse, and as a sign of good faith.

"There's Antonin Dolohov. I witnessed him torturing Muggles and those who refused their support to Hewhomustnotbenamed..."

"And helped him do it", Moody added.

"Who was caught and sent to Azkaban not long after yourself", Crouch told him.

"Was he now?", Karkarov said. "I am delighted to hear it!"

Karkarov certainly didn't look so delighted, as one of his names was worthless.

"Anyone else?", Crouch asked.

"Yes, there's Rosier… Evan Rosier..."

"He's dead", Crouch said, "not too long after your apprehension too. Unlike Dolohov, he decided to fight it out instead of coming peacefully".

"Yeah", Moody said, "and took a piece of me with him", indicating the part of his missing nose.

"No… no more than he deserved!", Karkarov announced as he cast an anxious glance at the door, behind which the dementors were waiting to take him back.

"Do you have anything of value to offer us?", Crouch asked, growing more impatient.

"Yes! There was Travers: he helped murder the McKinnon family! There was Mulciber: he was the specialist in the Imperious Curse. He made many people do some horrific things against their wills… There was Rookwood..."

Now there was a buzz of recognition. Karkarov took this as a good sign that not all his names were worthless.

"Are you referring to Augustus Rookwood, of the Department of Mysteries?", Crouch asked, and Karkarov could see he'd finally struck gold.

"The one and the same, the Unspeakable who was Hewhomustnotbenamed's double agent. He passed along secrets from inside the Ministry itself. I believe he used a network of trusted, well placed wizards inside the Ministry and on the outside", Karkarov explained.

"We already have Travers and Mulcibur", Crouch announced, "you will be remanded to the custody of Azkaban while we deliberate..."

"Wait!", Karkarov called out, "I have another name: Severus Snape!"

"The matter of Mr Snape has been settled", Crouch explained. "Mr. Dumbledore himself has offered exculpatory evidence".

"If I may?", Dumbledore stood.

"What is it, Albus?"

"I want to reiterate: Severus Snape has served..."

But he's a Death Eater!", Karkarov called out. "He's got the Mark!"

"Indeed, Severus may wear the Dark Mark, but I can assure you he is no more of a Death Eater than you or I. It was at great personal risk that he served as the eyes and ears of the Order within Voldemort's Inner Circle. He did this completely voluntarily in order to make amends for a very foolish, youthful mistake. I want this on the record".

"Thank you, Albus. As for Mr, Karkarov, he shall be remanded to Azkaban while we deliberate", Crouch closed the special session. Harry caught a glimpse of Mad Eye, who was looking very skeptical about Snape's reformation.

The whole chamber seemed to dissolve as smoke. For a few seconds, Harry was alone in darkness. Then something else began to form… He was once again back in the same chamber, though this time, the mood seemed a good deal more festive, the same air of anticipation and excitement Harry felt just before the World Cup match got underway. This time, he was seated to Crouch's right. Dumbledore was also here, a seat over.

This time, Crouch seemed exhausted, and at the same time, fiercer. The bailiff opened the door, and Ludo Bagman entered. However, he hadn't yet obtained that middle age spread. Nor had his nose been broken yet. He was lean and muscular, at the peak of his Quiddich playing fitness. He took the special seat, yet its chains didn't bind him. He took this as a good sign, waving to the crowd, and even managed a smile.

"Ludovic Bagman: you have been brought before the Council of Magical Law to answer charges related to Death Eater activities. We have heard the evidence against you, that you betrayed Ministry information to Voldemort's followers. Before we pass judgment, do you have anything to say in your own defense?", Crouch announced.

"Your Honour, Ladies and Gentlemen, I realize I have been an idiot...", Bagman said. There were nods of heads in agreement.

"Truest words you ever spoke", Mad Eye told himself. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he took one too many Bludgers to the noggin".

"Ludovic Bagman: you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's followers. I suggest a sentence to Azkaban of no less than..."

Pandemonium broke out, curses of foul language flew, many stood shaking their heads, some their fists, at Crouch.

"I didn't know!", Bagman shouted over the din. "How could I? Old Rookwood was a friend of my Dad's! Never crossed my mind he could ever be in with Youknowwho … thought I was collecting information for our side! Besides, Rookwood promised me a position in the Ministry once my playing days were over. You all know how limited the career of a professional athlete is!"

There was laughter around the room. Bagman knew how to work a crowd.

"We will put it to the vote", Crouch continued, "those in favour of imprisonment, light your wands", he addressed the jury box to his right. Not one wand lit. A woman juror stood.

"Yes?", barked Crouch.

"We would just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman for his splendid performance in the match with Turkey last Saturday".

The whole auditorium gave Bagman a standing ovation. Ludo stood and bowed to the crowd as if he'd won another major match on the pitch.

"For fuck's sake", Crouch said in disgust to Dumbledore. "Rookwood get him a job? The day Ludo Bagman joins the Ministry will indeed be a sad day for all of us".

"Celebrity overruling justice, despicable", Mad Eye agreed. He could do nothing as Bagman left the court room, a free man.

The scene once again dissolved, only to be replaced with the same dungeon. This time, the mood was somber. No one was talking, all eyes forward. Crouch looked the grayest, most gaunt, he'd been so far. There was a nervous twitch to his right temple. He sat next to a willowy, blond woman who was quietly weeping in a lace handkerchief. She sat on Crouch's opposite side.

"Bring them in", Crouch ordered the bailiff, who opened the side door. Six dementors led a group of four to four chairs before the bench. One was a thickset man who stared blankly ahead at nothing in particular. Another was a thinner man with a nervous disposition whose eyes flickered around the room. A younger lady with sleek, shining jet black hair and hooded eyes took her seat like a queen on her throne. The last, a boy barely older than Harry himself. His straw-coloured hair over milk white skin dotted with freckles. A cow lick hung over his right eye. He looked positively petrified.

Crouch surveyed the four with pure hatred in his eyes.

"You have been brought before the Council of Magical Law for sentencing for a crime so heinous...", he began.

"Father! Please!" the young boy called out, "I didn't..."

The willowy woman was rocking back and forth, whimpering into her handkerchief.

"...The likes of which have seldom been heard in this Chamber", Crouch called out even louder. "We have heard the evidence against you and you stand convicted of kidnapping an auror, Frank Longbottom, and using the Cruciatus Curse on him to uncover the location of Hewhomustnotbenamed after his exile..."

"Please! Father! I didn't do it! I didn't know! Please don't send me back to the dementors!", Crouch's son continued his begging.

"… Failing to extract that information from Mr. Longbottom, you then proceeded to use the same curse on his wife, Alice Longbottom. As a consequence of your crimes, a young infant boy has been deprived of his parents. It was your plan to restore your master to full power so you could resume the lives of crime and violence you presumably led. Now I ask the jury..."

"Mother! Stop him! Don't let him! I didn't do it! Please! I'm innocent… I'm inno-o-cent!"

"...For a sentence of life in Azkaban for these defendants"

The jury lit their wands, it was unanimous. The crowd began to applaud as they had for Bagman. The attitude one of savage triumph. The dementors were returning, the defendants released.

"Mother! Don't let him do this to me! I didn't do it! I didn't know! Please, don't let him send me back there!"

Crouch's son was the only one who tried fighting the dementors: "Get your hands off me!"

The draining effect of the dementors was becoming obvious. The woman defendant turned to address the bench:

"Send us to Azkaban Crouch; we will wait. When the Dark Lord rises again, he will come for us. We, the most loyal, the only ones who looked for him! Then, Crouch, you – every last one of you – will be pleading for death! The Dark Lord will return!"

"I'm your son! How can you do this? I didn't..."

"No son of mine would ever ally himself to Hewhomustnotbnamed, therefore, you aren't my son! I have no son! Now, take them away. Get them out of my sight!"

The willowy woman gasped and slumped. She had feinted.

"Father! Father! I wasn't involved!"

A second Dumbledore appeared beside Harry: "That should suffice", he said. "Let's go back", as he helped Harry to his feet. His sojourn amoung Dumbledore's memories ended with what felt like a slow motion back flip out of the Pensieve and into the office. Dumbledore looked over his half moon glasses:

"I hope this has given you some insight into those who have sworn to protect you. As you can see, Mr. Crouch has no love for the Dark Arts and those who practice them. It was a great sacrifice on his part, and the most difficult challenge of his life: sentencing his own son to life in Azkaban. As the Director of the DMLE, he authorized the Auror Corps to use every means at their disposal to end Voldemort's reign of terror, up to and including all the Unforgivable Curses. His orders were to shoot first and ask questions later.

"This incident with his son was a great scandal that cost Mr. Crouch his position, and any prospects for his winning election to the office of Minister of Magic. He lost his wife and son soon after the events you just witnessed. It was more than she could bear, and she wasted away. As for Barty Crouch Jr, his chances of survival in Azkaban, with hardened criminals and the dementors, were never good. It was, in essence, a death sentence.

"I hope you also gained insight into our Professor of Defense, Harry. You can be sure Professor Moody will take every precaution to see no harm comes your way. I hope I've been able to impress on you just how important it is to discover how you are being involved in this".

"That's assuming that wasn't just a performance for my benefit".

"Harry, Harry, Harry: I assure you, the Pensieve doesn't display fantasies. While it is possible to corrupt memories, that is quite difficult, and leaves obvious traces. Everything you have seen is how it happened, how I remember it. That's why I find the Pensieve so useful: it faithfully replays memories, including those forgotten details. Whenever I find my mind overloaded with thoughts, and that happens a lot at my age, it is most beneficial to unburden those thoughts. That way, I can view them at my leisure, and pick up patterns that would otherwise escape me".

Harry knew he'd be needing to inform Lucius, but forced that thought back before Dumbledore could pick up on it.

"There's still the matter of my godfather, Sirius. I know why you wanted him in Azkaban. He told me all about how James' and Lily's will named him and the Longbottoms my magical guardians. You also tried to deny him his day in court. When you failed, you tried to have him murdered".

"It was necessary, Harry. After the last wizarding war, no one was prepared to hear that Voldemort would be coming back, that they'd have to go through another rampage. There was no telling when that would happen, but after you survived his Killing Curse, I knew. That prophecy you somehow learned about..."

"The one that somehow slipped your mind and you neglected to tell me? That one?"

"I don't know how you found out, but yes, that one. I alerted the Ministry about it, and it was archived in the Hall of Prophecies. It was still green, still an active prophecy, so I knew Voldemort was not dead, and that he would be coming back. I could not allow you to live with a wizarding family for two reasons: the first is the blood ward protection you inherited from your mother. That required that you live with Lily's closest living relative: her sister, Petunia, your aunt. Secondly, you would be much safer with a muggle family, as that would be the last place Voldemort would come looking. Had he come back before your entry into Hogwarts, we would have enough advance warning to give you the protection you would need to survive. There was too much at stake to let you live as part of the wizarding world. I'm sure you've noticed, how much gratitude there is towards you? It would have been much worse had you been a part of this world, he would have known straight away where to find you. I didn't want you to know about Sirius, I couldn't take the chance you would prefer living with him. As for murder, I know nothing of that. There are still active Death Eaters in the Ministry, even though the Minister prefers to think otherwise. They couldn't get to him in Azkaban, but once outside, with the prospect of his release, and what he might say during a trial, I'm sure you can appreciate why they would want him eliminated. Retaliation for Regulus' betrayal of Voldemort is an additional motive.

"As for not telling you, I'm sure you can appreciate how that would be, telling an eleven year old boy about how he was marked by the most powerful dark wizard in three centuries. I believed that it would be best to tell you later, after you'd received enough of a magical education to deal with it".

"You've been manipulating me all along".

"Yes, that's true. I believe you are the one destined to put an end to Voldemort's threat once and for all. How do you explain that to a youngster fresh to Hogwarts, to the wizarding world? There is much I don't understand, even now, things I can't explain. Again, I believed it best not to lay such a heavy burden on your shoulders at this time.

"I may have been wrong to keep knowledge about your parents from you, and I ask that you forgive a foolish old man who as forgotten the resiliency of youth".

"Still believing you know best for others than they know for themselves..."

"If your meaning is that I care about you and your well being, I plead guilty as charged. I was close to your parents while they were students at Hogwarts. I was also invited to their wedding. I thought the world of them, and when we lost them, I was determined to see you safe and well cared for".

Harry decided that, for now, he would not bring up Dumbledore's attempts to raid the Potter family vaults that so alienated the goblins of Gringott's.

"Snape is a Death Eater..."

"That's Professor Snape to you", Dumbledore interrupted.

"Professor Snape is a Death Eater, so how much can I trust him?"

"Professor Snape has my full confidence. His repentance is genuine, and he won't be following Voldemort if he does return. His value as a double agent was great, the information he passed to the Order, and the disinformation he passed to Voldemort, saved many lives. Since it is personal, it isn't my place to tell you, but you can be certain: he has your best interests in mind".

"Sure has a strange way of showing it".

"Professor Snape doesn't work with kids, especially children, very well. He also takes his position as Potions Master very seriously, and is a demanding instructor. He is here at Hogwarts under my protection. He did take Voldemort's Dark Mark, and is a suspect in the extensive catalog of Death Eater crimes. He is also the one exception, the only one to have second thoughts about joining Voldemort's ranks and live to tell about it. Your godfather's brother, Regulus, also took the Dark Mark. He came to regret it, but he paid for his second thoughts with his life. I have known Severus Snape for longer than you've been alive, all the way back to when he first arrived here at Hogwarts, so you can believe me when I say he can be trusted. As for the Tournament..."

"I'm still thinking about it".

"That's all I ask, Harry".

"I have a job for you", he said to Hedwig. They were in his cabin in the Beaux Batons airliner. "Take this to Owlery Holt", as he tied the letter to the owl's outstretched leg. Hedwig rode Harry's shoulder to the open door. "Good flying weather". With a hoot, the owl took off.

All the foreign students took lessons with the Hogwartians, though Harry was finding it more difficult than usual to concentrate. Those damned badges that kept flashing "POTTER SUX" were the least of it. The 24th was coming up fast, and he still hadn't decided whether to ditch or not. He was still awaiting Lucius' return post.

"Do try to concentrate, Mr. Potter", McGonagall was saying during Transfiguration. He was the only one who had not successfully turned a guinea hen into a guinea pig. This was their cross-species transformations. Even Neville, who usually was the last in the class, had done it.

"Sorry, Professor", he apologized, "a lot on my mind lately", he didn't need to explain.

"While I can appreciate the difficulty of your situation, the lessons must go forward. Is that understood, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll do better"

"See that you do".

0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Lucius' post came after two days, requesting his presence in the Room of Requirement.

He had his computer out.

"First things first", he said. "I've been down to the Ministry, and I'm afraid it's bad news: they weren't lying. There is no way of getting out of participating in this Tournament with your magic intact".

"Then t'hellwiddit!"

"Not so fast, Harry. You will need your magic, based on what you've told me. I would like to review these memories Dumbledore showed you".

"How will you do that? Visit his Pensieve again?"

"It will be second hand, but should be adequate", he explained. "Just sit here, and slip on the headset", Lucius held the device out. Harry did so.

"Now what?"

"Just sit there and bring up the memories. I'll take care of the rest"

Harry recalled the first scene he'd seen in the courtroom, the interrogation of Karkarov. The memories just seemed to flow of their own accord, requiring no further effort on his part. Lucius saw and heard through the computer's monitor as soon as he loaded his memory thief program.

He was snapped back to reality as the program closed.

"I disagree with Dumbledore and Moody", he explained. "Their past experience has blinded them both. It's not Karkarov you need to worry about, it's Bagman".

"Why him? Wasn't he cleared?"

"Moody may have been right about his being the stereotypical dumb jock, but that's neither here nor there. Let me ask you: did he ever pay you what he owes you?"

"It was like pulling teeth, but yeah, me, Hermione, and the Twins got our winnings".

"Harry: Bagman's in some serious financial difficulties. He really fucked up with booking the World Cup. He's into some serious debt to the goblins, who are charging him their high risk loan rate. He might have gotten a batter deal from a muggle loan shark. We need to ask ourselves: what would he do to clear that debt? He has the motive and the means to enter your name in the Goblet of Fire. After all, it's his department which owns it, which knows it better than anyone".

"If it was a money issue, then how does he get paid? What does Voldemort have?"

"Besides the joint accounts at Gringott's, recall he's also the heir to the Riddle fortune. He hides behind muggle trusts and shell corporations so Gringott's isn't involved with the Riddle assets, but have no doubt: he certainly can clear Bagman's debts, for services rendered, of course".

"What does that mean for me?"

"Ludo Bagman probably has no idea as to whom he's serving, and likely doesn't care. As far as he's concerned, it's some consortium of professional gamblers fleecing the public at large again. That's what he'll assume: someone throwing the Triwizard Tournament for profit. As for how loyal to Voldemort he is, that remains an open question. He did pass information he shouldn't have, based on the history he had with Rookwood. However, his judgment was based on his celebrity status. That jury certainly wasn't reaching an objective verdict. He may be a dupe, or he may have acted knowing what he was doing, I don't know. Regardless, he will do whatever is requested of him so long as that debt is hanging over his head".

"What if it wasn't? What if his debts were paid in full? Then he'd have no incentive to do anything".

"You mean, outbid Voldemort?"

"Exactly".

"We could do it, the joint account access of Voldemort's followers", Lucius explained. "With the pass code, it would be no problem".

"Then let's do that. I'll owl Barchoke, set up an appointment. Let Voldemort's followers pay for Bagman's mistakes".

Diagon Alley: Gringott's

"Mr. Potter, it's been too long", Barchoke greeted Harry after passing the security post.

"Between Beaux Batons and summer school, doesn't leave much free time, I'm afraid".

"I understand, so you wanted to see Ragnok, and it has to do with Vault 37? Are you sure about this?"

"Quite sure".

"Very well, follow me"

Barchoke led Harry to the uppermost floor, up there just below the dome. In the outer office, Barchoke announced Harry's arrival for his appointment.

"The Director will see you now", the receptionist announced his arrival into the early 20th century switchboard.

Ragnok rose to greet Harry: "Lord Guant, to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"It concerns the contents of Vault 37. The pass code is 'Magic is might'".

"I see…", he turned to his switchboard: "Griphook, report to the Director's office", he called his senior VP.

"What business do you have with one of the bank's own vaults?"

"You made a high risk loan to one Ludovic Bagman, Director of the Magical Games and Sports Department..."

"We do not discuss our clients' business", he objected.

"I'm not asking for any details, Mr. Director", Harry explained. "I wish to pay off that loan, principle and interest. Bagman doesn't need to know who settled his debt, and I would prefer it if he didn't know".

"That is most generous, and unheard of. Of course, all your business here is confidential".

Griphook arrived with the safe deposit box.

"Open up", Harry hissed in Parseltongue. The lid opened with a click.

Inside, all the keys to the vaults of Death Eater families. Harry picked out the key with the Mulciber family crest. He also noted that there was no key with the Parkinson family crest, so Pansy's mother had taken the necessary precaution to preserve their assets.

"Take what you need from this account to settle Mr. Bagman's debts, and add another 50,000 Galleons on top. I would also like to include a message: 'Do the right thing'".

"I can neither confirm nor deny our bank's business with Mr. Bagman".

"I understand, and if Gringott's isn't handling his loan, then nothing will be removed from this account. If Gringott's is handling the loan, it will be paid in full. Is that right, Mr. Director?"

"That, I can agree with. Will there be anything else you'll be needing today?"

"That takes care of everything", Harry agreed.

"Griphook, show Lord Gaunt to the apparition parlor".

0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Hogwarts: Potions

Today was double potions. The latest series of lessons was antidotes. Snape had announced that he would be testing their antidotes on a student "volunteer", making it obvious that he intended to "volunteer" Harry.

The class was almost half over when Colin Creevey entered the classroom. He was another Lion who disliked, and was disliked by Snape.

"Mister, Professor, Sir ...", he began in that mousey tone that showed just how terrified he was to be daring to interrupt Snape's class.

"Why are you disrupting my class, Mister ..."

"Creevey. It's Harry: Mr Bagman wants him upstairs. Said something about a wand inspection for all the champions. They also want to do a photo shoot, I think".

"When class is over, you can have Mr. Pot-ter..."

"Professor, Sir, that's not what I was told. Harry is supposed to come now".

"Very well, Pot-ter, you are excused. Leave everything here..."

"Harry won't be coming back. They said he should take his things with him".

"You've disrupted my class enough", it wasn't clear just who he was addressing, Harry or Colin. "Take your things and get out".

Harry packed everything away.

"Get back to work!", Snape snapped at the class as Harry was leaving.

"It's really amazing, isn't it?", Colin said as soon as Harry closed the door behind him. "I mean, what with you being Champion and all".

"Yeah, Colin, just fucking amazing", he said. "I get entered into a contest I'm not supposed to be in, that I never wanted to be in… What's this all about, anyway?"

"It's a wand inspection, and there's a photographer here".

"Who'd be wanting photos?"

"I think it's for the Prophet", Colin explained.

"It just keeps getting better and better. The last thing I need: the Prophet printing more bullshit about me".

"Anyway, here we are", Colin announced as they arrived at a classroom. "Good luck, Harry"

It was one of the smaller classrooms, unused, the desks pushed to the walls to clear the center of the room. Five desks had been pushed together, draped with midnight blue velvet, to make a makeshift dais. Ludo Bagman was there, and so was someone he'd never seen before. She was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing in a corner, being his usual, moody, surly self, speaking to no one. Fleur and Cedric were conversing, and there was a paunchy man with a large, old fashioned black box camera.

Ludo bounded forth as soon as he saw Harry: "Come right in", he invited, "come right in. Our fourth champion. The other experts are upstairs with Dumbledore. It's nothing to worry about, just a wand inspection".

"Wand inspection?"

"Yes, to make sure your wands are in good working order. They are, after all, the most important tools of your task".

Harry wished he'd known about this before. If that were the case, he could have used his special wand to fuck up his student wand. No wand, no tournament.

"Where are my manners", Bagman continued. "Have you met Rita Skeeter, of the Daily Prophet?", was obviously referring to the woman in the magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the Tournament".

"Maybe not that small, Ludo", she said while eyeing Harry.

"Can't say I ever had the pleasure", he said. So this was Rita Skeeter who had done hit pieces about him. The last "journalist" he'd want doing articles about the Tournament. He wondered how bad it would be once that article was published.

Her golden hair was done up in strangely rigid curls that contrasted with her heavy jawed face. The fingernails at least a couple inches in length, painted crimson. She had an alligator skin handbag. She wore ridiculous bejeweled spectacles that reminded Harry of Luna's Spectrespecs.

"May I have a few words with Mr. Potter?", she asked, "Before we start".

"Certainly!", Bagman agreed enthusiastically, "that is, if Harry doesn't mind", he added as an after thought.

"Ummmm ...", Harry started, this being a most unexpected development. Nothing about interviews.

"It'll add a bit of colour, what with Harry's being the youngest Champion, and selected so surprisingly", Rita said as she made her way to Harry. Her hand took his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. He led him towards the door.

"Let's find some place quiet", she said as she led him to another door, "where we can have a pleasant conversation. Just be yourself". Inside was a broom closet. "This should do nicely".

Rita perched on an upturned bucket, and shoved Harry onto a cardboard box. The door closed, and in darkness he could hear her going through her handbag.

"Let's see… where did I put them… Ah!"

She took out a handful of candles, lit their wicks with a wave of her wand, and set them aloft to provide enough light to see. She spread out a roll of parchment over an unopened crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

"You don't mind if I use a Quick Quotes Quill? Make it easier to talk naturally", as she pulled out a long, very feathery, bright green quill. She sucked on the end, and balanced it on its sharp point. She was smiling so wide now that Harry could see she had three gold teeth.

"Testing, testing, Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet", she said and the quill began to write. Upside down, Harry read:

"The lovely, charming, Rita Skeeter of cutting wit and sharp quill that have popped many an inflated ego"

She tore that off quickly, crumpled it and put it in her handbag: "Excellent, it's working". "So, Harry, why did you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Ummmm...", he was trying to come up with a way to word it so Skeeter couldn't twist what he said into the opposite meaning. He noticed the quill writing even though he was saying nothing: Harry Potter, a handsome boy of thirteen whose charming face is disfigured by an ugly scar, a reminder of a tragic past...

"Ignore the quill", Rita ordered. She moved in closer: "What made you decide to enter the Tournament?', she asked again.

"I didn't. I don't know how my name got into that Goblet. All I know is I didn't put it there".

Rita raised an eyebrow: "Come, come, Harry: you needn't fear getting into trouble. If that were going to happen, you'd know about it by now. It's widely known you shouldn't've entered at all, but my readers love a rebel".

"It's the truth: I don't know. I didn't do it, and I'm none too happy over being placed in this situation against my will, and without my knowledge".

"How do you feel about the tasks? Are you nervous? Excited?"

"Well, who wouldn't be nervous? We have no idea what those tasks are. I suppose that's part of the ordeal: the not knowing".

"People have died in this Tournament, do you ever think about that?"

"That was over a hundred years ago. Mr. Dumbledore, Mr, Crouch, and Mr. Bagman have stated that there will be more emphasis on safety this time around".

"You trust them? Weren't these the same people who said no one under seventeen would be allowed to enter?"

"Yes, I do believe them. Why would they want to see anyone die to confirm the worst fears about the revival? If someone dies, it's a great embarrassment for the Ministry, and do you think there will ever be another Tournament? Doesn't make sense, does it?"

"You've looked death in the eye before, haven't you?', Rita watched closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"

"Ummmmm ..."

"Do you think the trauma of your past made you keen to enter out of a sense that you need to prove yourself, to live up to your name?"

"Except I didn't enter...", he was getting irritated over Skeeter's attempt to get him to admit to what she wanted.

"Do you remember your parents at all?"

"What kind of a question is that? Do you remember anything from the time you were one year old?"

"If your parents were still alive, how do you think they'd feel about your being in the Tournament? Proud? Anxious? Angry?"

"How the hell would I know! Professor Trelawney isn't teaching necromancy. Professor Dumbledore has forbidden the teaching of any of the Dark Arts. Surely you are aware of that fact? I can assure you Madam Maxime isn't teaching the Dark Arts at Beaux Batons".

He could almost feel the intensity with which Rita was scanning him. He avoided her gaze, to see what her quill had written: Those startling green eyes filled with tears as our conversation turned to the parents he barely remembers.

"I have not got tears in my eyes! You seem to have a defective Quick Quotes Quill: that one is just making shit up, not recording what was said"

Before she could answer, the door opened, dazzling Harry's eyes with the sudden increase in brightness. It was Albus Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore!", Rita called out in simulated delight. Harry couldn't help but notice the speed with which her paper and quill had disappeared, as she was now snapping closed the clasp on her handbag.

"You read my article on the International Conference of Wizards last summer?"

"Oh yes", he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "I especially liked your description of me, how did you put it, an 'obsolete old dingbat'".

"Well, you see, Dumbledore, it was just my way to convey the feeling in the street that some of your ways are a bit old fashioned", she said without a trace of embarrassment.

"I shall be delighted to discuss with you the explanation for the rudeness later, but for now, Harry's presence is required across the hall. The wand inspection, you know, the reason why we're here".

Harry was glad to get away from Skeeter as he made his way across the hall. In the classroom, the champions were seated next to the door. Harry took the last seat next to Cedric. Four of five judges had taken their places at the makeshift dais: Ludo Bgaman, Igor Karkarov, Olympe Maxime, Barty Crouch. Dumbledore announced:

"Mr. Garrick Ollivander will be doing the inspections", Dumbledore announced the one and only honest shop keeper in Diagon Alley. He took the last place at the dais.

Ollivander, the old wizard of pale eyes, stepped to the center of the room: "How about we start with you, Mademoiselle Delacourt".

Fleur came forward, handed over her wand. Ollivander twirled it between his long fingers like a miniature baton. It gave off pink and gold sparks, like a Catherine Wheel.

"Good balance… nine and a half inches long… inflexible … rosewood, and containing… Oh my!"

"Zee 'air of a veela", Fleur explained for him, "von uff my granmuzzer's".

"Veela hair makes for some very temperamental wands that don't suit very many, which is why I never used it myself"

He ran his fingers along the wand, looking for defects like cracks. Then he cast: "Orchideous!"

A bunch of flowers burst from the wand.

"In good working order", he pronounced, as he scooped up the flowers to hand them to Fleur with her wand.

"How about Mr. Diggory next?"

Fleur smiled at Cedric as they passed.

"This is one of my creations", Ollivander announced as Cedric handed it over. I remember it well. It has a hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn, must've been seventeen hands, that one. Feisty too, nearly gored me when I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches, ash, pleasantly springy. It's in good condition. You treat it well?"

"Polished it last night"

"Excellent", Ollivander congratulated.

He sent a series of smoke rings across the room.

"Your wand is in excellent shape", Ollivander rendered his judgment. "How about Mr. Krum next?"

Viktor slouched towards Ollivander and handed over his wand. He stood there, scowling, hands in pockets.

"A Gregorevitch creation, if I'm not mistaken".

Krum nodded without a word.

"A fine wand maker".

Ollivander turned the wand over and over: "The styling isn't quite the same as mine… a bit thicker… hornbeam with a dragon heartstring core … ten and a half inches, quite rigid … Avis!"

The hornbeam wand fired off a shot like a gun, and several small birds twittered, flew about the room, and out an open window.

"It's in good working order", he said as he handed it back. Krum slouched his way back to his seat.

"That leaves, Mr. Potter"

Harry handed over his student wand.

"How well I remember", he started.

Harry well remembered too, how he'd gone through damn near every wand in Ollivander's shop until he found one at least somewhat compatible. It was an OK wand that served its purpose, but not even close to his special wand – the one he dare not show here.

"Eleven inches … Cherry with a phoenix feather core … most unusual… Mr. Dumbledore's pet phoenix supplied the feather used to make the core"

That's what Ollivander said when he selected it, that it was unusual. Harry had asked what was so unusual about this particular wand. At the time, Ollivander said that this wand, though made forty or so years after another, shared the feathers from the same phoenix. That other wand belonged to one Tom Riddle. Harry never told anyone else, and he hoped Ollivander would shut up about that now as, without doubt, Skeeter's quill would burst with excitement at hearing that the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord shared wands.

Ollivander made Harry's wand pour forth wine and pronounced it in excellent condition.

"Now that the wand inspection is complete, let us be off to the Great Hall. No sense in returning to class this late", Dumbledore announced.

"Pictures!", the paunchy photographer reminded.

"How about the judges and then the champions", Rita suggested. "Then maybe some individual shots".

The classroom wasn't the ideal setting for photos. Madam Maxime cast everyone else in shadow no matter where she stood. Even though he should have been used to group photos, Viktor insisted in skulking as far out of sight as he could get away with.

Finally, it was decided that Madam Maxime would be seated with the rest of the judges around her. That made for a printable photo. As for the champions, the photographer wanted Fluer front and center, but Rita insisted in dragging Harry into greater prominence. Next came the individual champion photos. They were late to the serving in the Great Hall.

0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

"I'd invite you, Harry, but Dumbledore said Fourth Years and up", Pansy Parkinson was telling him about the Hogsmeade weekend Dumbledore announced.

"I have a way", Harry explained, "so's we don't get caught. An old family heirloom. I'll meet you outside the dungeon".

"What do you have in mind?"

"My father's invisibility cloak".

"I don't know about this", she objected, "it'll look like I'm talking to myself", Pansy complained as they made their way into the village.

"Just don't move your lips so much", Harry explained.

The Three Broomsticks was filled with students from all three schools, as well as other magical folk Harry seldom saw away from Hogsmeade, like the hags who weren't so adept at concealing themselves as wizards. They were fortunate enough to secure a small table towards the back. Pansy went to the bar for two butterbeers, and Harry could only hope no one sat in his lap.

He looked around, Hannah Abbott and Earnie MacMillen were exchanging Chocolate Frog cards the next table over. They, as well as all the Badgers were wearing "Support Cedric Diggory" buttons. These weren't bewitched to display anti-Potter slogans. Cho Chang and some other Ravenclaws were coming through the door, none of whom wore buttons. The Eagles, having no stake in the outcome, didn't wear badges, earning them accusations of a lack of school spirit. Pansy returned and slipped Harry a butterbeer under his cloak.

"So what have you decided?", she asked.

"I'm still considering it", Harry explained, "for once, Dumbledore's being at least semi-honest with me. If I can avoid getting whacked..."

"Don't say that, Harry"

"...Maybe I can keep the hocus-pocus.".

"Isn't that your friend, Fleur?", she asked. Fleur was there with some of the other girls, but now, that air of confidence was showing signs of cracks. Guys were flocking around her.

"Yep, though she's not looking quite so confident, now that the first task is drawing near. Can't say I blame her…

"Here comes the Golden Boy".

Cedric was now arriving, a gaggle of fangurls surrounding him. For once, Harry wasn't the center of attention, and that suited him just fine. Cedric, with his pretty boy looks, the straight nose and gray eyes, tall and fit, with no sign of his terrible injuries from Quirrel's Stunner, attracted loads of girls, even Sixth and Seventh Years. Always wanting him to autograph book bags or anything else that was handy. Let him enjoy it until he discovered for himself that being an "icon" wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Even Cedric was looking a bit less certain, though none of the girls around him looked like they'd noticed.

"Pregame jitters", Pansy said.

"Huh?", Harry asked.

"I mean Cedric, looks like he's got a lot on his mind".

"No wonder, no wonder. We have no idea what we'll be facing, other than it's something nasty, dangerous, and possibly deadly".

"I thought this time Dumbledore was taking precautions to avoid the scandalous death toll that got the tournament canceled in the first place?"

"I don't recall his saying that he was ruling out serious injuries, though. Not looking forward to a long stretch in Pomphrey's infirmary or St. Mungos".

"I'm sure you'll do just fine".

"I wish I had your confidence; I mainly hope to survive the damn thing. I really don't care how I rate. Come in dead last, I don't care. If Beaux Batons wins, it'll be because of Fleur".

"Say, isn't that Hagrid?", she asked as she pointed.

At first, he wondered how he could miss Hagrid until he saw that he was bent over, concealed by the gathering crowd. Then he realized why he was bent over, as he was talking with Moody, as he caught a glimpse as the ebb and flow of the crowd made an opening. Harry stood to get a better look.

Moody's cybernetic eye was swiveling, surveying the gathering students. It was his way that earned him a reputation for paranoia. As he watched, the cybernetic eye locked on him. Moody put his hand on the small of Hagrid's back as he couldn't reach his shoulders. They were making their way towards his table.

"Miss Parkinson", Hagrid greeted loudly.

"Professor Hagrid, a pleasure, as always".

"Been enjoyin Care Uv Magical Critters?"

"Sure thing".

"Nice cloak, Harry", Moody said in a low voice.

"You can see through it?", Harry asked. This was the first indication anyone could defeat his father's heirloom. "What else can it – you – see?"

"Let me just say that it's been a big help. Man in my position can't be too careful", Moody left it at that.

"Meet me at midnight", Hagrid said, "an wear yer cloak. Dere's sumting ye needs ter see".

"Innyways, glad ter see ye's been havin' fun an doin well in my class", Hagrid announced so everyone could hear. "Shall we, Perfesser?", Hagrid said to Moody as he motioned towards a nearby table.

"We shall, Professor", Moody agreed.

"Hell do you suppose that was about?", Pansy asked.

"No idea...", Harry was lost in thought. If Mad Eye could see past the cloak, he wondered, who else could do the same.

Madam Rosemerta brought Hagrid a butterbeer in one of his oversized tankards, nothing for Moody. She looked on with disapproval as Moody drank from a hip flask. She preferred paying customers. It was well known around the campus that Moody prepared all his own food and drink. Too easy to poison an open cup he'd explained in one of his classes.

It was about 11:30 when Harry knocked at Hagrid's door. Inside, Fang began barking. Hagrid opened the door, looking out into nothing but night.

"It's me, Harry", he said

"Aye, been spektin ye", as he held open the door.

Inside, Harry pulled off the cloak: "So what's up? Why all the secrecy?"

Something was definitely different. Hagrid was wearing his best "Sunday go to meetin's", with a flower of some sort, as large as an artichoke, in a button hole. Never before did Harry recall his using his finest. It also looked like he was trying to do something about that unruly rat's nests of wire he called hair and a beard. The broken teeth of the combs were still stuck in his hair, here and there. That must've been painful.

"Ye'll see soon enuff, but ye's got ter promise: ye dint sees it from me. Cuppa tea beferr we go?"

"Yes, thanks. So why all dressed up?"

"Issa special occasion, too. Juss remember: ye dint sees it by meseffs, and make sure ye stay well outta sight. Shall we be off?"

Harry put his invisibilty cloak back on, and followed Hagrid to the Beaux Batons airliner. He wondered what this was all about. How did this involve his school? Madam Maxime was waiting, at the top of the airstair, and she, too, was wearing dress robes with a magenta cape over her shoulders.

"Olympe", Hagrid greeted, "bon-sewer".

"Rubius", the two hugged in greeting.

So Hagrid and Maxime were an item now? Why would he insist he eavesdrop on a date? That made no sense.

"Ye'll luvit", Hagrid was saying. "Issa mos' 'mazing ting. Ye needs ter promise, ye dint larn uvvit from me".

"Vhat izz zo mysterious, 'Agrid?"

"Shall we?", he offered his arm, which she took. Off they went, along the fringe of the forest, Harry had to trot to keep up given the length of each stride. Around Black Lake, with the castle well out of sight. Then into the woods, they must have been on the opposite side of the lake by now. Finally, they heard voices through the trees.

In a clearing, it looked like some sort of encampment. There were bonfires burning everywhere. There looked to be at least thirty wizards here. That's when Harry realized it wasn't bonfires. It was dragons.

They were inside a corral made up of heavy planks and stakes driven into the ground. Men were pulling on heavy chains attached to thick leather collars around the dragons' necks and legs, four or five to a dragon. They were resisting, rearing back, roaring into the night sky. Flames burned at their nostrils, tongues of fire shot into the night sky. One crimson dragon was shooting up mushroom clouds, like mini nuclear explosions. Their heads at least fifty feet above the men on the ground. The one closest to them was particularly reptilian in appearance, and was also the largest one.

"Hagrid!", one of the men called out, "stand well back! These guys can shoot fire some twenty feet, but I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

Another called out: "They're getting out of hand. Stunners! On the count of three: One … two … three! Stupify!"

Thirty or more wands opened up at once. Multiple red beams struck the dragons like bursts of fireworks. The biggest one closest to them, stood suddenly silent and motionless, the fire gone from the nostrils, but which were still smoking. Then it began to teeter. Men scattered. One by one, the now stunned dragons toppled. Several tons of dragon hit the ground with an impact that Harry figured shook the surrounding trees.

The handlers were magicking heavy steel pilings into the ground.

He now saw that the wizard who called out the warning was Charlie Weasley. Now that it was safe, Hagrid and Olympe approached the fence.

"Ain she a beauty?", Hagrid asked his date.

"You vuzz right, izz most interesting. Never seen real dragons before, let alone ziss close", Olympe agreed.

"Ah got ter spen a week wiff 'em in Transylvania", Hagrid recalled. "A giff from Harry". That explained how Charlie recognized Hagrid right off.

"I figured if we brought them in, while under a Sleeping Draught, they would wake up at night, and not be disturbed. Didn't work out so swell, as you saw, they didn't like it one bit".

Olympe walked around the fence to get a better look at the dragons.

"Hagrid! You didn't tell me you were bringing company! They're not supposed to know! The rules said no advance knowledge!", Charlie was complaining.

"Olympe say, she keeps our lil' secret. Ye can truss her"

"Only you would consider a visit to a dragon corral in the middle of the night a romantic date", Charlie observed.

"Four dragons, one fer each champeen", Hagrid observed. "So what dey gotta do? Fight 'em?"

"I don't think so, they just have to get past them, or something. We'll be stand by, Extinguishing Charms at the ready in case things get out of hand". If the secret was out it would make no difference. "They specified that we bring nesting mothers. I don't know why, but I'll tell you this: I don't envy whoever gets the Horntail. Temperamental bitch, that one. The rear end is as deadly as the front end"

He pointed out the long, bronze coloured, spikes along the tail, thus giving this one its name.

"What ye brung, Charlie?"

"This big one here is a Hungarian Horntail. We have a Welsh Green", he pointed to a green mound like a small hill. "And a Swedish Short Snout", as he pointed out a blue-gray dragon, and a Chinese Fireball, he pointed out the crimson dragon.

Five of Charlie's handlers staggered up to the Horntail. They were carrying a clutch of granite coloured eggs between them in a blanket.

Hagrid let out a moan of desire.

"Don't you even think about it! I made sure to count them all", he warned. "So, how's Harry holding up?", he asked.

"He's doin juss fyne. Some jitters bout the furss task, but who wouldn't? The Perfesser be lookin out fer him".

"I hope he'll still be fine after he's faced this lot", Charlie swept his hand over the dragons' enclosure. "I didn't dare tell Mum what the first ordeal is. She's still having kittens over that article in the Prophet..."

He did his best imitation of Molly's worried mother-voice: "I thought they were all going to be safe! I thought there was going to be an age limit! How could they let Harry enter? He's way too young!"

Hagrid chuckled at that.

"She was in floods over that article: 'He still cries over his parents! Bless him, I never knew'", he continued mocking his mother.

Harry remembered that article all right: it was supposed to be about the Triwizard Tournament, but was really a highly "colourful" story about Harry. His picture took up most of the front page. The article (continued of pages five and seven) was filled with the bullshit Rita's quill was writing, shit he never said. "I still cry about James and Lily some nights, and I'm not ashamed to admit it" … "I draw all my strength form the memory of my parents" … "I know nothing can hurt me because they're always looking out for me".

There was more bullshit she derived from talking to others: "Harry has found his first love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey (which he certainly was not: he barely knew the guy, and most of what he knew about him came second hand from Neville and Draco) confirms that Harry is seldom seen out of the company of Pansy Parkinson, a stunningly pretty Slytherin girl". That was a gross exaggeration: he liked Pansy from his first days at Hogwarts, everyone knew that. However, she was hardly glued to his side 24/7 as Skeeter's article claimed.

The names of the other Champions were shoehorned into the final few sentences. She managed to misspell their names: "Victor" wasn't so bad, but "Sedrick" was an abomination, and unforgivable: it was an English name. Fleur wasn't mentioned at all.

Harry thought in disgust: "Not Molly, too" He wondered just how many had fallen for Skeeter's bullshit. Her article could give anything Lockhart could make up a run for its money. He'd seen, heard enough. He slipped away quietly, let Hagrid and Madam Maxime enjoy the rest of their date.

As he was headed back to the airliner, he heard someone. He put out his wand and stepped off the trail and waited. Even though it was dark, he recognized Igor Karkarov by the shape of his fur trimmed robes. He figured he'd seen Hagrid and Madam Maxime: they were hard to miss. That meant that the only champion who didn't know what was coming was Cedric. Would Madam Maxime break her promise? Would she tell Fleur? It was very possible. As for Karkarov, he was certain to tell Viktor. Why else would he be there if not to spy? Karkarov would naturally be curious as to why Hagrid was escorting the Head Mistress of a competing school into the dark.

The next day, Harry caught up with Cedric before Herbology. He hid in an open doorway. Cedric, as always, had his fangurl admirers. He needed a quick word in private. It would be a delicate operation, so he pulled his special wand from its holster, took careful aim… "Diffindo!", he cast a well controlled charm that burst open Cedric's back pack, spilling books, parchment rolls, and ink bottles to the floor, the ink bottle shattering, splashing ink everywhere.

"Better not wait", he said, "no sense in more than one of us being late", he explained.

Harry stepped into the now deserted hallway: "Need a hand?", he asked.

"Thanks, Harry", Cedric said. "I just bought this pack, and look!"

"They don't make 'em like they used to", Harry said. "What else can you expect from Third World slave labour?", he asked.

"Dragons", Harry said in a low voice as he bent closer. "That's the first task, something to do with dragons".

Cedric eyed him with suspicion.

"Why are you telling me this? You're competing for Beaux Batons".

"Madam Maxime knows, and so does Karkarov. Madam promised she wouldn't tell, but surer than hell Karkarov's told Viktor all about it. I've seen them myself, the dragons, I mean. Now it's a fair contest again".

They heard Mad Eye clunking down the hall: "Best be getting a move on", he said to Cedric, who was collecting the remainder of his things. "Never mind the mess.

"Would you come with me, Mr. Potter?", Moody not so much requested as ordered.

"I was on my way to Herbology..."

"Never mind, I'll give you an excuse slip. If you would...", Mad Eye led him back to the office used by the former DADA profs.

The office contained a variety of unusual items. One was what looked like a large glass top balanced by its point on the desk, despite that it wasn't spinning. He knew this was a Sneak-o-scope, as he had one himself, though a good deal smaller.

Another item looked like TV rabbit ears, though bent into random zig-zags. It was softly humming as it vibrated. Another was a fancy mirror that wasn't showing a reflection of the room, but rather ghostly shapes. Was this another Mirror of Erised?

"Like my dark detectors, Harry?", he asked.

"I recognize the Sneak-o-scope, but what's that?", he asked of the "rabbit ears".

"A Secrecy Sensor: it detects lies and concealments. It vibrates and hums like that when detecting something less than honest. Although it's pretty useless here, being surrounded by students who're always fibbing about why their homework didn't get done on time.

"You're right about the Sneak-o-scope, but this is a more sensitive model that will trip a mile out. It's also a bit too sensitive here, so close to Hogsmeade, and especially the Hogshead"

The Hogshead was a seedy tavern that attracted a more questionable clientele than the more respectable Three Broomsticks. The proprietor of the Hogshead was Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus' younger brother. He had a reputation as one who knew when it was best to look the other way, and how to keep his mouth shut. During the last wizarding war, he was a useful conduit between the Death Eaters and the Order.

"Is that a Mirror of Erised?"

"This? It's a Foe Glass: it allows one to keep an eye on one's enemies. You don't need to be concerned until you can see the whites of their eyes, then you'd best get ready. You can see 'em right now: I've made a lot of enemies over my career", he explained.

"That was a decent thing you did back there", Moody got to his point.

"You...", Harry swallowed, "… heard?"

"There is very little going on in this school that I'm not aware of. You needn't worry. I won't tell you told a fellow competitor. Yes, the rules say that Champions are not to attempt to discover the nature of the ordeals before they're announced, collude, seek help from Professors, or other outside third parties. Cheating is also an old time Triwizard tradition. No doubt that Karkarov's informed Viktor all about the dragons. I expect Maxime's going to do the same for you and Fleur.

"Have you decided what you'll do yet?"

"I haven't a clue", Harry admitted.

"Here's a bit of illegal advice: play to your strengths. I've found this to be the best course of action".

"What strengths could I possibly have over a dragon? It took a half-dozen Stunners to drop just one".

"You have strengths if I say you have strengths. Think: what are you good at?"

"I… dunnow… Quiddich, I suppose?"

"I've heard you're a damn good flier. I'm still hearing about how you pulled off a Wronsky Feint when you were still playing for Slytherin as a Firstie".

"How does that help? All I'll have is a wand. They won't let me bring my Firebolt".

"There are more ways than one to get a Firebolt, and all you'll need is your wand. I leave the rest up to you to figure out".

He wrote up an excuse slip: "Show that to Professor Sprout. If there's any problem, tell her to see me. I've taken up enough of your time", Moody dismissed him.

0xFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Madam Maxime was escorting her two champions to the first ordeal.

"Are you feeling good, 'Arry, Fleur?"

"Yes", Harry lied.

"Oui", he was certain Fleur was being just as dishonest.

"Zere is nozing to vorry about", Madam was saying. "Ve 'ave zee dragon 'andlers standing by in case zings get out of 'and. Do try to relax, and do your best, zat is all anyvon can ask, and no one vill zink any the less of you.

"'Ere ve are. I vill be leaving you now. Mr. Bagman vill giff you your instructions concerning zee first ordeal. Good luck, you two".

Harry and Fleur entered the tent. Cedric and Viktor had already arrived. Cedric was pacing around the tent, while Viktor slouched in a corner, saying nothing, and looking more surly than usual. Harry figured this was his way of dealing with the pressure.

Cedric gave a slight smile as he saw Harry, and Harry forced a smile back, his facial muscles feeling like they were being forced to do something that hadn't done in years.

"Good-o!" Bagman called out. "Come in, come in, make yourselves to home", he announced. Harry wondered if he'd been informed yet that he was debt-free, and ready to play the contest straight. "So glad you decided to participate, Mr. Potter".

Fleur took a seat at a small stool; Harry was too antsy to even think of sitting. Bagman was wearing his old Wasps robe that stretched tight across his middle age spread.

"Now that all the champions are here, the time has come to tell you about the ordeal. When the audience has assembled, I will be offering each of you one draw from this bag"

Bagman held up a royal purple, velvet bag closed with golden draw srings.

"You will draw a model of that which you are face. There are four different… ummmm… species, you see. Your objective will be to recover a golden egg. You will be judged on speed, and ingenuity in accomplishing your objective".

Cedric nodded to show he understood. Krum didn't react at all, confirming he already knew everything. Cedric resumed pacing, looking slightly green. Krum kept up the tough guy exterior, saying nothing, perhaps worried he'd throw up if he tried speaking. Harry certainly felt that way, but these other three agreed to this.

Soon, much, much too soon, they heard hundreds of feet passing by the tent. There was conversation, joking, laughing going on the other side of the canvass. What Harry wouldn't give to be out there with them, anticipating an exciting spectacle that placed them in no danger.

It seemed a second later that Bagman was opening the draw strings of his velvet sack.

"Ladies first", as he held the open sack up too high for Fleur to see inside.

She put in a shaking hand and pulled out a perfect, palm-sized model of the Welsh Green. It had a tag around its neck with a '2'. She was not surprised, but Harry thought she could put more effort into acting surprised. Madam Maxime had, indeed, told them what the ordeal was. He wondered if Hagrid knew she went back on her word.

Same with Krum as he pulled out the Chinese Fireball with a '3'. He didn't even blink. Karkarov had indeed told.

Cedric went next, drawing the Swedish Short Snout with a '1'.

That left the Hungarian Horntail for Harry, and a '4'. Bad luck getting the one dragon Charlie had pronounced the most dangerous, good luck in that he would be going last.

"There you are!", Bagman called out. "You have drawn the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you will enter the corral. I will be leaving you now, as I am doing the commentary. Cedric, you're going first, so wait for the whistle. Good luck, one and all".

Seconds later, the first whistle sounded, and Cedric stood up to go, looking greener than ever. Harry tried offering him good luck, but between the dryness of his mouth and the nerves, the best he could do was a hoarse grunt.

Harry took a seat next to Fleur, his hand in hers. Krum was looking at nothing in particular a few feet in front of his feet, as he pawed the ground. A loud cheer rose up, meaning that Cedric had arrived at the corral.

"Our first contestant, Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."

The crowd yelled, cheered, gasped, at whatever Cedric was doing to get by the Swedish Short Snout. The overheard commentary made it even worse as it fed overactive imaginations.

"Oh, that was a close one! … "He's taking chances, this one!" … "A clever move, too bad it didn't work!" … "Oh! That had to hurt!"

After about fifteen minutes, a raucous cheer came, meaning that Cedric got the egg.

"Good work there!", Bagman congratulated. "Now we will have the scoring, Judges, if you would"

There was no announcement, so they figured the judges were holding up their scores.

"Next up will be Fleur Delacourt of the Beaux Batons Academy ..."

Fleur was trembling from head to toe, gripping Harry's hand even tighter, her wand in her other hand.

The whistle sounded a second time, and she made her way out of the tent.

More cheering as she arrived to face the Welsh Green.

"I don't know if that was such a wise move!" … "Careful there, girl!" … "Soooo close!" … "That was unexpected… maybe… may be… yes!"

Ten minutes in and Fleur must have succeeded, as there was applause coming from the stands.

"Judges, your scores!", Bagman called out.

That left just Harry and Viktor, who avoided each other's gazes. The third whistle sounded, and Krum slouched towards the door.

"And here comes Viktor Krum of the Durmstrang Institute!", Bagman announced his arrival.

Alone now (though Krum wasn't much company anyway) Harry became much more aware of the physical signs, the racing heart, the fingrtips that tingled with fear. Yet also strangely detached, as though he was watching himself from the point of view of a disinterested observer.

"Very daring!", Bagman called out and whatever was so daring, the Chinese Fireball protested with a loud roar that made the crowd hold its collective breathe. "He's showing some nerve… and… yes! He's got the egg!"

That meant his moment had arrived. He quickly went through his plan, checked his student wand. All too soon, the whistle blew for the final time. As he stood, his legs felt like they were made of marshmellow, a Jelly Legs Jinx wouldn't've been much worse. He forced himself forward.

"I give you Harry Potter, of the Beaux Batons Academy!", Bagman announced as he entered the corral, the Horntail on the opposite side. She was protecting her clutch of cement-coloured eggs between her front paws. She was using her wings to block off sight of the clutch from the sides. Her yellow reptilian eyes following his every move. So far, she was out of flame thrower range. Her tail lashed back and forth, slashing yard long gouges in the hard packed earth.

He tried to work up some moisture in his mouth. As soon as the crowd's noise died down, he raised his wand to the sky.

"Accio Firebolt!", he cast the summoning charm. It was the farthest he'd ever tried summoning anything: the Firebolt was in Hagrid's cabin. He waited, would it work Then he saw his Firebolt flying toward him, stopping alongside, waiting for him to mount. He kicked off.

"I wasn't expecting that!", Bagman was saying, but Harry wasn't paying any attention. He kicked off, and a most amazing thing happened, the fear left him with the wind in his hair once again after all too long off the Pitch. As he flew higher until the upturned faces of the crowd looked like flesh-coloured heads of pins, and the Horntail no bigger than one of Aunt Marge's pugs, all fear left him. He was in his element, and the dragon another tough Quiddich team. He would be dodging fire, not Bludgers, but it was the same principle. He spotted the golden egg, gleaming amoung its cement coloured brethren.

He dived, the Horntail following his every move. He swerved, just as she cut loose with a tongue of flame that hit the spot he'd just been. Harry spiraled up, the dragon's eyes following him, if he kept this up, would she become dizzy? He dived again, watching, and swerved as soon as she opened her mouth. Once again, he dodged the fire, but not the tail that whipped around. One of its spikes caught his shoulder, ripping his jacket, and he felt the sting. The crowd was gasping in horror. Fortunately, it wasn't a deep cut. He flew around the dragon's back.

He realized the problem. She wouldn't leave her eggs, she was flapping her wings, but she kept her clutch between her front legs, protected. He knew he would never get an opening unless he could persuade her to try to fly. He flew one way, then the other, not quite close enough to make her breathe fire, but close enough to represent a potential threat. "C'mon, c'mon", he muttered to himself.

A little higher, and she stretched her neck as far as it would go, eyes still on Harry. She roared in frustration, her tail thrashing, but he was well out of range. She shot fire into the air, which he dodged. "C'mon, up, up. Come and get me".

Finally, she stood, wings spread, and she flew up. Harry dived as fast as doing the Wronsky Feint. She was temporarily confused, straining at the chain that held her back, wondering where he went. Harry let go of the Firebolt, and grabbed the golden egg as he flashed by. He ascended sharply to get well out of fire and tail range.

It was as though the sound track was playing again, the crowd cheering as wildly as the Irish fans at the World Cup.

"Will you look at that! Will you look at that!", Bagman was calling out. "Our youngest contestant has captured his egg with the fastest time! This ought to shorten the odds on Potter!"

Hagrid, Olympe, McGonagall, Professor Moody were gathering at the entrance. Dragon handlers were rushing onto the field to take care of the Horntail. Harry took a victory lap around the stands before landing by the entrance.

"Zat vas excellent!", Madam Maxime was congratulating.

"Ye dunnit!", Hagrid added, "I knew ye could duit. An gainst thuh Horntail too. Charlie say thah one's the wurss..."

"Thank you, Hagrid!", Harry called out loudly to prevent him from blundering and admitting he was the one who told about the dragons.

Professor Moody seemed quite pleased, his cybernetic eye dancing in its socket.

"Didn't I tell you? Nice and easy is always the best way".

"You'll have to get that tended to", McGonagall said as she led the way to the first aid tent.

Madam Ponphrey was standing at the entrance to a second tent. She pulled him inside, the interior divided into two compartments. He could see Cedric's shadow on the canvass divider. It couldn't have been too bad, at least he was sitting on the edge of his bunk.

"You were extremely lucky, this could have been a lot worse", Pomphrey said.

"Dragons! As if basilisks weren't bad enough! What will they bring into the school next?!" she complained as she went to get the potion.

"I'll need to clean this up", as she applied a purple paste that smoked and stung. She pinched the cut and healed it completely with a touch of her wand. He turned to go,

"Sit!", she ordered. "You can go for your score in a few minutes".

The problem was he didn't want to sit, but he also knew what would happen if he didn't follow orders. Pomphrey left to go to the next cublical.

"How does it feel now, Cedric?", he heard her ask.

Pansy, Hermione, and Fleur caught up with him at the first aid tent.

"That was brilliant!", Pansy congratulated. "If that damn Flint hadn't cut you, we'd've won the Cup".

"You were simply amazing!", Hermione congratulated. "You know, Krum didn't even think of flying. He hit his dragon in the eyes with some spell, but she broke half her own eggs. He lost points for that".

Back at the corral, with the Horntail removed, he could see where the judges were sitting: across from him on a dais with raised seats draped in gold.

Madam Maxime went first. What looked like a silver ribbon shot from her wand, it rose to form a large figure '9'.

Barty Crouch came next: '9'

"Looking good", Pansy said as she clapped his back.

Dumbledore: '9'

Bagman: '10'

"Huh?", said Harry. "But I got hurt".

"Don't complain about it", Hermione told him.

Last, Karkarov: '4'

"Why you biased shit-bag!", Hermione started. "You gave Krum a '10'; Madam Maxime gave your boy a '9'".

"Zat izz most unfair!", Fleur agreed. "'Arry vas vonderful. 'Ow izz it zat zee professional didn't zink of flying? 'Ee should 'ave lost points for zat"

"That's an absurd score", Pansy agreed. "Six points off for a nick, ridiculous!"

Charlie came to give him the good news: "You're in first place!", he announced, "0.2 points ahead of Krum!

"I have to go, but Bagman wants a word back at the Champions tent. I promised Mother that I'd owl her as soon as it was over. Tell her everything that happened. Congratulations again, Harry. That was a rather unique approach to getting one over on a dragon, I must say. We'll have to look into adding your technique to our dragon handling. Anyway, goodbye and take care".

Fleur and Harry entered the tent together. The left side of Cedric's face was covered with orange paste to heal his burn. Harry hoped it didn't spoil his pretty boy looks.

"Well done, everyone", Bagman came bouncing in like it was he who personally got one over on a dragon. "The next task is scheduled for 9:30AM, on the 24th of February, so you have a nice long break. However, we're also giving you something to ponder. If you examine your eggs, you'll see they open. Inside, you will find a vital clue that will greatly assist you in your next success. I won't keep you from your well earned celebrations, and thank you for your participation".

Harry, Hermione, Fleur, and Pansy walked along the edge of the forest, back towards the castle. They were deep in conversation, as Harry wanted to hear all the details of what the other three champions had done. As they approached the same clump of trees that led to the dragon corral he'd seen with Hagrid, they were ambushed.

Rita Skeeter was wearing green robes that matched exactly the colour of her Quick Quotes Quill, which was out and floating on a parchment suspended in mid-air at the ready.

"Congratulations on your win", Rita began her ingratiation. "May I have a quick word, Harry?", she asked. "How did it feel to face that dragon? What do you think of the scoring? How does it feel now, being victorious?"

"Yes, you can have a word", Harry told her. "You can have two words, even:

FUCK YOU!"