Chapter 15

Dudley stared at the hand warily.

"He's not going to, like, drop me in a river or something is he?"

Dobby gave him an offended look.

"Dudley, what has gotten into you?" Aunt Petunia asked, though she too was eyeing the elf with more than a little unease as she held his hand delicately between two fingers. "If Harry says that Dobby will take us there then he I'm sure he will do so."

Dudley's gaze flicked towards his cousin for a second before they returned to Dobby, unwilling to let the elf out of his sight.

"It'll be fine Dudley," Harry assured him.

Appeased by Harry's assurances, if only barely, he grabbed a hold of Dobby's outstretched hand.

"He can only take two people at a time, so I'll see you both in a sec."

With that Dobby disappeared from the living room with Dudley and Aunt Petunia in hand, and a second later reappeared alone.

"Are they throwing up?"

Dobby nodded with a disgusted expression on his face. Harry laughed as he took a hold of Dobby's hand, and it took a great deal of effort to stop himself from laughing again when he reappeared on his front lawn. He did his best to ignore their glares as he vanished the twin piles of vomit with a flick of his wand. He was no seer but he suddenly saw a lot of chores in his future. If Aunt Petunia was feeling particularly vicious she'd make him hand over his wand beforehand.

"We can take the knight bus back if you want, but honestly that's just as bad and takes much longer. Magical transport isn't the greatest."

"You can bloody well say that again," Aunt Petunia muttered as she finally recovered enough to take in where they were, and instantly sucked in a shocked breath. Dudley too was staring at the house wide-eyed.

"This is yours?"

"Yep, it was my grandparents. Nice right?"

"It's beautiful," Aunt Petunia said as her eyes roved appreciatively over the bushes, shrubs, and flowers that ran around the edge of the house. "I suppose I have Dobby to thank for the recent improvement in our garden?"

Harry nodded.

"I asked him to help out inside as well."

Dudley seemed to shrink under the look that Aunt Petunia pinned him with.

"Really? Dudley has been telling me that he's been cleaning when he gets home from school so that I don't have to."

"So Harry," Dudley said quickly, "can we see inside now?"

Harry would have been partial to admiring the exterior a little longer – the fact that it would prolong Dudley's torment didn't even enter his mind, of course – but his cousin was already hurrying towards the front door. He shared an amused glance with his aunt as they followed down the path.

The interior was met with much the same reaction as the exterior; Dudley spent much of the time trying to wrap his head around the fact that his barely fourteen year old cousin owned such a nice house that was somehow bigger on the inside, and Aunt Petunia murmured appreciatively about various features and furnishings as he guided them through the house.

"I assume this is where you've been disappearing to," she said once he had showed them everything, with the deliberate exception of the training room, "especially given the size of this library."

"I haven't spent that much time in here," Harry said, though from the look his aunt gave him she knew he was lying.

Dudley was stood a few feet away in the bookshelves and, for what must have been the first time in his life, utterly engrossed in a book. Harry cocked his head to the side to get a look at the title that was written down the spine.

Combat Potions.

That made sense given that Dudley had his boxing title match tomorrow and was quite clearly nervous for it. Aunt Petunia too seemed to have noticed the book.

"Dudley…"

"But if I only have a little bit? Like a quarter dose or something?"

"Sorry Dud, but I've got no idea if you can even take potions if you're not a wizard."

Dudley frowned before he flipped the book closed and slid it back onto the shelf – in the wrong place, annoyingly – and then Aunt Petunia quickly led the way out, already running late for work. Harry offered to have Dobby apparate them again, but both she and Dudley opted to try the Knight Bus instead.

"It surely can't be any worse," Aunt Petunia had insisted. By the time she stepped shakily off the bus, muttering scathingly all the while, Harry was sure that she would have rather walked.

The next evening, Dudley grinned at him across the living room as Aunt Petunia hurried for the door, tussling his hair on her way past. Normally he would have minded that, maybe grunted "gehoff" with an indignant look that Aunt Petunia would ignore, but he was still far too pleased with himself to care. He didn't even seem to notice his black eye.

"I'm so proud of you, Dudley!" Aunt Petunia cried as she came back in, pizza boxes in hand. "Regional champion! And you only started boxing last year!"

Dudley preened under the praise as he dragged a whole box towards him. Harry couldn't tell whether he was more proud of his win or the fact that Aunt Petunia had let him have an entire pizza to himself.

"You were great, Dud. That was one hell of a…" he paused, trying to remember the right word from Dudley's enthusiastic lectures on the technical aspects of punching someone into unconsciousness, "haymaker?"

Dudley nodded happily despite the fact his mouth was filled with pizza.

"The kid had no hope of getting up from that one, trust me."

"Dudley, don't speak with your mouth full," Aunt Petunia scolded.

The two boys shared a glance. They may be getting to eat pizza in the living room with a movie on, but there were certain things that Aunt Petunia would always be strict on.

"Say, mum," Dudley said slowly, "as I won, and my grades were good this year, can I-"

"No, Dudley, for the hundredth time, you cannot go to the Quidditch World Cup. Especially considering it was Harry that was given the tickets and he doesn't even want to go."

"Worth a try," he muttered.

"They're going to be upset enough that I gave the tickets to Sirius," Harry said. The pair of tickets the Ministry had sent him were for the Minister's box, after all; they were going to be pissed when Sirius Black turned up with no Harry Potter.

"Well if they're going to be upset anyway you might as well let me have the other one."

"Dudley, for the last time. No."

Dudley frowned and bit into his pizza with particular viciousness.

"It's alright," Harry said, "quidditch isn't great to watch anyway. There's just too much happening at once to keep track of what's actually going on."

"We're not all as dim-witted as you, cousin," Dudley said with a pompousness that Draco Malfoy would be proud of.

"Call me dim-witted again and I won't let you have any more of my chocolate frogs."

He almost gaped at the guilty look Dudley gave him.

"Christ, I must have brought back about a hundred!"

"I needed energy for the fight!"

"Dudley," Aunt Petunia said, "given how many of those things Harry brought back you'd have gone into a coma from the sugar if you'd eaten them all today."

Dudley blushed and struggled for something to say but came up empty, causing a smug expression to come over Aunt Petunia's face for a second before she took another bite of her pizza. Harry spent a second marvelling over just how strange Aunt Petunia looked eating takeaway pizza until an idea squirmed into life in his head. A devious grin appeared on his face, and all of a sudden Dudley looked very on edge.

"But Dud," he said in his most concerned voice, "how are you going to get abs if you're eating all that chocolate? You'll never impress Zoe Pritchard at this rate."

"Harry!"

"Who is Zoe Pritchard, Dudders?" Aunt Petunia asked with nothing more than innocent curiosity, which quickly became a smirk that looked very out of place on her face. "Do I need to give you the talk? Or should I ask Sirius to do the honours?"

Dudley blushed fiercely, much to Aunt Petunia's amusement.

"You bloody traitor!" Dudley hissed at him.

Harry grinned as he took another sip of his drink and listened to Dudley's stilted – and largely modified – explanation of his most recent crush. He was almost tempted to mention some of the awkward interactions Jason had told him about at the park the other day, but he thought this was punishment enough. If Dudley had touched his sugar quills, however…

~Scene Change~

Harry scowled as he read Sirius's letter. A death eater attack at the world cup! Sirius had been involved in the defence and had arrived just in the nick of time to rip a masked attacker off a bound woman as he pawed at her clothes. The attacker was now in Azkaban, minus a certain appendage.

His scowl only deepened as he looked towards the day's Daily Prophet. "Drunken Looters Cause Mayhem!" was the title that was plastered across the front page along with a picture of the Dark Mark squirming in the sky. How could they claim it was drunken looters when that was cast? It was hardly a commonly known spell! The article spoke of the "incident" with a muggle family and the general carnage, but there was no mention of injuries or casualties. Sirius hadn't mentioned them either, but he was willing to bet there were plenty of both.

The death eaters were starting to crawl out of the woodwork, and that meant that something was giving them confidence. Maybe Voldemort was making a move to regain his body, or maybe a few of the more stupid death eaters had finally given in and scratched their itch for violence. Harry prayed that was the latter, but he nonetheless decided that he would have to spend a great deal of time in the Come and Go room this year. He had made progress with his runes project over the summer break but that could take a backseat now. He had bigger things to worry about. If only these bloody headaches would go away long enough for him to concentrate.

~Scene Change~

Harry eyed the young-looking witch speculatively from his spot at the Hufflepuff table. She was sat in the seat that Lupin had occupied last year so assumedly she was the new defence professor. He was still a bit surprised that Lupin had resigned given how difficult it was for a werewolf to hold down a job under normal circumstances, but by his own admission he had only come to Hogwarts because he thought that Sirius would try to get in. Harry just hoped that this professor was at least competent.

He wasn't the only one taking the measure of their new instructor, but the vast majority were too busy chattering with their friends in between bites of food. It felt very much like every other start of year feast he'd been at, but judging by some of the glares that were being thrown around that wouldn't last long. A few of the older years were already explaining the situation to the new first years, who quite understandably looked even more uneasy than they had before.

"Reckon she'll be any good?" he asked.

"Her name's Sarah Hughes – Auntie said she was an auror up until last year," Susan said with a glance up at the head table. "She was accused of a few things – completely baseless – and given the choice of either resigning or trying to fight it. Auntie was sure that it was because she had taken interest in a case linked to some powerful purebloods and tried to get her to fight the accusations, but she refused to carry on working for the Ministry."

"Bet it was Malfoy."

Susan shrugged, but there weren't too many people with that much pull in the Ministry. Even without their claim to the Black family the Malfoy vaults were full to overflowing.

Dessert vanished from their plates as Dumbledore stood up, and Harry heard murmuring start up around the hall. Clearly he wasn't the only remembered being told that this year would be "interesting".

"To all our new first years, a very warm welcome to Hogwarts. To all our returning students, welcome back. I have an announcement to make, but first I would like to introduce our new staff member. Professor Sarah Hughes will be taking up the Defence Against the Dark Arts post this year."

Professor Hughes stood to lukewarm applause. A new defence professor had become such a fixture of the start of year feasts that no one really cared anymore.

"First of all, a few notices." Half the hall groaned and Dumbledore chuckled to himself, his eyes twinkling. "Mr Filch has asked me to tell you that the list of banned items has been extended this year. The full list includes some four hundred and seventy-three items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office by any interested parties.

"As ever, the forest on the grounds is out of bounds to all students," he continued, seemingly to take an inordinate amount of joy from making them wait, "as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. This final notice is directed towards our sixth and seventh years; it is my painful duty to inform you that there will be no free periods for the next month and a half."

The seventh years erupted into protests, crying that it was their NEWT year. Harry heard several particularly colourful insults, along with more than a few threats. Dumbledore seemed exceptionally amused by the whole thing.

"As I was saying," he said once they had finally quietened, but certainly not calmed, "the free periods of all sixth and seventh years have been rescheduled as language classes." Sounds of confusion echoed around the hall. "You will all be learning Russian, the primary language spoken at Durmstrang."

Some of the confusion on the faces of the older students melted into horror. Durmstrang's reputation certainly wasn't a pretty one, and by the looks of things they would be going there for some reason.

"The Durmstrang Academy has the great honour of hosting a competition not held in centuries." Dumbledore paused dramatically, the candles that hovered overhead seeming to dim. "The Triwizard Tournament!"

There was a moment of shocked silence before the entire hall burst into uproar. Sixth and seventh years were whooping in gleeful excitement, and Harry could hear the Weasley twins already proclaiming that they were going to win it. Personally he had no idea what the Triwizard Tournament was, but he was willing to bet that it was going to be held at Hogwarts before Crouch got found out.

Dumbledore briefly explained the history of the tournament, an explanation that Harry ignored. He didn't particularly care about the history of a tournament he would likely be half a continent away from and, if he wasn't, one that fully planned on avoiding. His ears did prick when Dumbledore mentioned it had been discontinued due to the death toll, though, and he found himself thanking his lucky stars that it was being held at Durmstrang and not Hogwarts.

"Eager though I know you all are to bring the cup to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "all three schools and their respective ministries have agreed that only students who are of age – that is to say seventeen years old – will be permitted to enter."

Almost every student below seventeen immediately started shouting protests about how that was unfair. The Weasley twins looked like someone had killed their dog. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; there was absolutely no chance that he was going to get chosen. This would be a nice quiet year.

A part of his mind was sure that he had just jinxed it.

"This is to ensure the safety of the competitors," Dumbledore said, having to raise his voice above the din, "as all tasks are likely to be dangerous in the extreme. Myself and those eligible to enter will be travelling to Durmstrang in October and staying there for the greater part of the year. For everyone not of age, Hogwarts will remain the same with Professor McGonagall acting as headmistress in my stead. And now, it is late. Off to bed. Chop chop!"

The scraping of benches echoed around the hall as students began to swarm towards the door. Several of the younger sixth year students stayed where they were for a second and glared up at Dumbledore, who didn't even seem to notice as he chatted merrily with Flitwick.

Much of the castle spent the next few days stewing, muttering scathing comments about Dumbledore and insisting that they should be allowed to enter the tournament. Harry had even heard a few of the Gryffindor third years moaning about it. Third years! The thought that they would be picked was ludicrous, and even if they were they would almost certainly die.

Not for the first time did he thank his lucky stars that he wasn't in Gryffindor. Neville had mentioned that the Weasley twins were trying their very best to bribe a seventh year into entering their name but had so far been refused. Harry seriously doubted it would be that easy to cheat your way in, but then the Weasley twins weren't exactly known for their intellect. If it couldn't be used in a prank they weren't interested.

That anger from the tournament did also have the effect of sparking the blood feud back into life with renewed vigour. It was as bad as it had been at it's very peak last year within a week and Harry was relieved that the professors were dealing with it much better than they had before. Clearly it had been a matter of priority over the summer.

"I think Ron's in love," Neville quipped with a glance towards the Gryffindor table.

Harry paused mid-bite to peer over Susan's shoulder and, sure enough, Weasley was staring moon-eyed up at Professor Hughes. She wasn't an unattractive witch by any means and she was a damn good professor, but Harry thought that Weasley's sudden infatuation was more due to the fact that she'd taken thirty points off Malfoy and given him detention with Filch for the next month. Snape would surely try and have it rescinded, but the little ponce had come onto her during class while simultaneously insulting her blood status and making an insinuation about what happens when you go against a Malfoy. Harry couldn't believe that a fourth year had said that to an adult witch at all, never mind done so and expected success.

"I can't blame him," Cedric said from the place next to Susan. She blushed fiercely when he smiled at her, a fact that Harry and Neville were going to take great pleasure from teasing her about.

"Don't let Cho hear you say that," Neville said. "I've heard tales."

Harry shuddered. He'd heard the same tales; he wondered if Towler had recovered from that particular freezing charm yet.

"We broke up," Cedric shrugged, though he did throw a wary glance over his shoulder. "I'll be at Durmstrang and she won't, and she had pretty insane demands for how many letters she expected me to write. Who the hell writes a letter at least once a day? The bloody owl can't fly that quickly!"

Harry grinned at the sudden spark in Susan's eyes, as did Neville.

"Speaking of Durmstrang, how's the language lessons?"

Cedric groaned, and his yearmates around him burst into laughter.

"Poor Ced here can't learn Russian to save his life," Jefferies said as he patted Cedric cheerfully on the back. "We've got potions that are supposed to help make us at least conversational within a month, but our instructor says that Ced here is even worse than someone who hadn't taken the potion."

They burst into laughter again. Cedric smiled good-naturedly at them.

"I'll be fine by the time we go. India Harper from Ravenclaw has agreed to help me out. Her mum's Russian you see," he continued, ignoring his friends' oohing and crude hand gestures, "so she's been speaking it since she was a kid."

"You must be fluent by now then, considering how many hours you spend with her. I assume you keep staring at her lips to make sure you get your pronunciation right?"

Cedric gave Jefferies the finger even despite his amused smile.

"Better than you staring at Professor Sinatra's arse," he smirked. "And besides, I doubt the Goblet of Fire will care how well I speak Russian when it picks my name."

The seventh years descended into good natured bickering, but everyone knew that Cedric was the favourite. Bole and Warrington from Slytherin also had a chance, as did Angelina Johnson and Roger Davies, but Harry thought that Cedric was more likely. He hoped that Cedric got picked; maybe that would dissuade everyone from the notion that Hufflepuffs were just the people no other house wanted. His own sorting into Hufflepuff and his 'adventures' since had helped a little in that regard, but it would be nice not be called duffers for once.

~Scene Change~

He'd expected some sort of ceremony or something, or at the very least some flashy method of travel, but instead he and the rest of the school simply stood on the steps of the entrance hall and watched all the seventeen year olds make their way towards the carriages as if it was just another Hogsmeade weekend. It was all very anticlimactic, and more than a few people could be heard grumbling about being forced to stay.

Harry was a little peeved that they'd been pulled out of class for it actually. If it was potions or herbology he'd have considered it a blessing, obviously, but he'd been pulled out of defence. Professor Hughes's focus for defence class was on how to get away as soon as possible as opposed to how to win a duel, and so she concentrated on charms that would distract attackers to give a chance for escape. He rather admired her optimism in trying to teach fourth years the disillusionment charm when it was normally taught at the end of the fifth.

Surprisingly, he had never really considered using delayed explosions, high-pitched sounds or half of the other things she had told them they'd be covering. He hadn't even been aware that there were spells that did such things, though he supposed it should have been obvious there would be; there were spells for almost everything. And, despite the fact that he was being taught them for the exact opposite reason, he was now starting to figure out ways to incorporate them into duels.

Susan and Neville had both expressed interest in learning to duel as well. After the debacle at the world cup they were both keen on learning to defend themselves and both assumed, quite correctly, that he was more than capable of teaching them. He doubted they would approve of a good proportion of the spells he knew though, and judging by the edge he had heard in their voice when they asked they were well aware of that fact.

He'd said yes, of course. He could hardly say no could he? They were his friends. The insistent idea of showing them the Come and Go room again reared its head, only this time it was much harder to swipe away. Why shouldn't he tell them? After the Pettigrew incident the secret of what he was learning in there was very much out of the bag. There was no point trying to act like he wasn't learning the sort of magic that most people would disapprove of. And yet, they were still friends with him. They hadn't betrayed and left him like Hannah did.

Even if they did follow Hannah's lead after he'd shown them the Come and Go room, it was not as monumental a loss as it had been before. He had his house now; he had books, even more than the room had, and he had dummies very nearly as good as the ones the room provided. The excuses he had used to justify keeping it secret had more or less evaporated, and just liking somewhere he could disappear to when he wanted to be alone didn't really cut it by itself.

He looked sideways at Neville as the teachers finally allowed them to go inside. They didn't have any more classes today and dinner wasn't for another two hours. No time like the present, he supposed. Before he found some other excuse to hide behind.

"Come on," he said as the crowd dispersed, "might as well have a defence lesson of our own."

Neville looked surprised, and Harry was sure that Susan had a similar expression on his other side. He followed the crowd into the entrance hall, but instead of joining the river of Hufflepuff students making their way into the basement he led them up the staircase. They split off from the students making their way up to the towers and slipped into a passageway that took them up to seventh floor, and then Harry led them through a series of corridors.

"Er, Harry?" Neville asked as they passed room after room. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see in a second."

He supposed that they both they both assumed he was taking them to an abandoned classroom. That was where he'd told them he'd been going to be fair, but it would be a little difficult to learn how to fight with nothing to fight against.

Their looks of confusion became tinged with worry when he started to pace in front of the wall, probably thinking that he'd finally lost it. Susan gasped audibly when the door appeared, and Harry didn't bother hiding his amusement as he turned to them.

"Welcome to the Come and Go room," he said as he pushed the door open, sweeping his arm in a low bow like a medieval chamberlain.

The room was configured just as it always was, albeit with a few of the especially vicious tomes removed.

"This is amazing," Susan breathed, twisting her neck this way and that to peer up at all the bookcases. "Why hasn't anyone heard of it before?"

"Because it didn't exist until thirty seconds ago. Well, not like this at least. I'm not sure what it's like when it's not in use actually."

Susan frowned in confusion.

"This room becomes whatever you want it to, at least within reason anyway. If you paced along that wall three times thinking about a swimming pool, the room would become a swimming pool."

"What did you ask it for?"

"Somewhere to learn to defend myself. It gave me this library and that training area," he said, pointing into the adjoining room.

Susan shared a glance with Neville when she noticed the occlumency books on the shelves. That certainly explained a few things.

"Not just to learn magic?" Neville asked as Harry led them past the bookshelves.

Harry shrugged slightly.

"I've used it for that as well, but at the time I was more focussed on not dying next time someone tried to kill me."

Susan ignored his sarcasm as she looked around the training area and made a hum of appreciation. It was a lot like the one she'd seen in the auror department when she visited her aunt at work.

"So, Professor," Neville smirked, "what are you going to teach us first?"

"Call me professor again and I'll make you duel those dummies over there without your wand."

"Sorry sir."

Harry resisted the urge to transfigure his tie into a snake, if only barely.

"First order of business is dodging," he said, smiling rather cruelly at Neville, "and after that is spell redirection. Both are much better than a shield and much less draining as well."

"No spells?" Susan asked.

"No point in knowing loads of spells if you can't defend long enough to cast any of them." He left it unsaid that they wouldn't want to learn a lot of the spells he knew. "Neville, you're up first. You're up second as well, and if you're lucky you might even get to go third too."

Neville gave him a one-finger salute in reply.

~Scene Change~

Neville scowled at him across the hall and Harry did his most apologetic shrug in reply. He didn't like Halloween, so if his stinging hexes had been a little more powerful than usual it really hadn't been his intention. The ones that Neville hadn't been able to dodge – which was most of them – had left nasty welts if they had hit exposed skin. He had healed them, obviously, but that hadn't made Neville much happier. Harry put it down to Neville's own dislike for Halloween and left it at that.

Thankfully, this Halloween feast was quite different to all the others. Those had all been about celebrating Voldemort's supposed defeat and therefore his parents' deaths, but at this one all conversation was being dominated by the Triwizard Tournament. The champions were being selected by the Goblet of Fire tonight and the hall was abuzz with speculation. That was the only reason Harry was even there; McGonagall had said that Dumbledore would be sending a patronus as soon as the champions had been selected.

The Hufflepuff table was obviously all rooting for Cedric, but the other tables were a bit more split instead of simply supporting their house's most likely candidate – beliefs on blood getting involved yet again.

"So Sue," he said, smirking in a way that set her on edge, "if Cedric gets picked are you going to send him a letter?"

"Piss off Harry."

"What? Just to congratulate him, obviously. Nothing more than that. Whatever else could I have meant?"

He chuckled as he returned to his food, immensely enjoying her growl of annoyance. His fork was halfway to his mouth when the doors of the Great Hall burst open, and suddenly all chattering stopped. Harry looked up and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, his normal jovial expression absent, and felt a very bad feeling settle in his stomach. Had something gone wrong at the tournament already?

"The champions have been chosen," he said softly. "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory."

There was scattered applause around the hall, but few were ignorant enough to miss Dumbledore's weariness. A heaviness overtook the Hufflepuff table. Had something happened to Cedric?

"The Goblet was tampered with," Dumbledore continued to a chorus of gasps, "and made to believe that there was a fourth school in the competition. A single name was entered under this fourth school."

Harry felt the weight in his stomach double as Dumbledore turned sorrowful eyes towards him.

"Harry Potter."

The worry for Cedric was swiftly replaced by shock, and then by white-hot anger. Every fucking year!

He felt the fork bend in his hand and blinked, only now noticing his fist that was clenched so tight it had become white. Even Susan was shying away from him, and he drew in a shuddering breath as he gently lowered his cutlery to the table. The sharp clink of metal against his plate sounded much louder in the silence of the hall. He was sure that he saw the boy next to him flinch. He spent long moments staring down at the table as he ruthlessly pulled the anger back, and only once he had forced it into it's cage did he look back towards Dumbledore.

"You're sure it took?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"You must compete or face the loss of your magic, and quite possibly your life as a consequence."

Harry felt a shock of fear run through him as horrified gasps echoed around the hall. This was an assassination attempt, it had to be.

"Please go and pack your things, Harry. I will escort you to Durmstrang where you then must stay for the duration of the tournament; it is, unfortunately, a condition of the magical contract."

"Is it possible to leave in the morning, headmaster? I feel I should explain to my family what has happened."

Dumbledore nodded. "That is agreeable."

Harry could only imagine Aunt Petunia's reaction when he told her, especially when she learnt the tournament's history. He considered keeping that bit from her but knew that would be impossible with Sirius involved.

His appetite now lost, Harry pushed himself from his seat and stalked from the hall. It wasn't until he was beyond the doors that the silence finally shattered, and by that time all he could hear was noise. A part of him wondered how many people were stupid enough to think he'd somehow entered himself from across the continent.

He flicked his wand to cast a patronus and watched Prongs bound away to tell Sirius to meet him at his aunt's house. He sucked in a deep breath before he continued on his way towards the Whomping Willow, trying to use the time to calm himself enough to think clearly. Who had entered his name into the tournament and why? Unsurprisingly, every possible explanation he came up with was pretty dire, and so by the time he appeared with a soft crack in the alley a few hundred metres from his aunt's house he was in no better a mood than when Dumbledore had first said it.

Sirius was in his aunt's front room when he got there, tapping anxiously on the arm of his chair while his leg bounced. Aunt Petunia was above such uncouth behaviors but even she was fiddling with her ring from her place on the edge of the sofa, and Dudley was sat next to her and eating crisps without a care in the world. Harry felt the edge of his lips tug slightly.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia cried when she saw him in the doorway. "Is everything okay? Has something happened?"

Harry nodded and turned his eyes to Sirius.

"My name came out of the Goblet."

Sirius cursed loudly.

"The goblet?" his aunt asked, worry mixing with confusion. "What goblet?"

"The Goblet of Fire is a magical artefact used to select the champions for the Triwizard Tournament, which is currently being held at Durmstrang, the wizarding school for Eastern Europe," Sirius said, his voice resigned. "The tournament takes a participant from each of three major European schools who then compete against each other. Supposedly its an honour to be chosen."

"Cool!"

"Not cool, Dud. The tournament was discontinued four hundred years ago because the death toll got too high."

Dudley's grin melted and his skin paled, his expression suddenly terrified. Somehow, Aunt Petunia looked even worse.

"Surely you don't have to compete if you don't want to," Aunt Petunia said, pleading rippling in her voice. "You're fourteen years old! If it's such an honour I'm sure people will be lining up to take your place."

"As soon as my name came out I was bound to a magical contract. If I don't compete I lose my magic."

"And losing your magic almost certainly means losing your life as well," Sirius finished.

The silence that settled over the room was heavy enough to force Harry to fall limply into a chair.

"How in God's name did your name come out if its being held across the continent?" Aunt Petunia asked quietly.

Harry had expected her to be shrill with worry. Instead, she was furious.

"The Durmstrang headmaster is a death eater," Sirius said. "He managed to stay out of Azkaban by betraying every other death eater he knew about."

Harry looked at him sharply; how the hell had a death eater been allowed to become headmaster of a school? He snorted to himself as soon as the thought entered his head. Why was he even surprised? Snape had been allowed to become Head of Slytherin.

"Reckon he did it?"

Sirius shrugged.

"As a good a bet as any, even if he is a coward."

Harry got the message; the Durmstrang headmaster wouldn't do it unless he was commanded to. Unless Voldemort commanded him to.

By the time he left Harry was sure that Charlie was going to have a busy year what with his aunt's frankly obsessive letter demands. He felt a little better after having time to process it – whatever the tasks were he was sure that he'd be able to cope with it after a little preparation – but he was even more worried than he had been before.

The revelation that it was in all likelihood Voldemort's doing wasn't all that surprising, but being in a school under the control of a death eater that had likely been a part of the scheme to get him there meant that every little thing could be used against him.

"I want you to have eyes in the back of your head," Sirius said as they walked towards the alleyway. "You need to be watching every single thing at all times. Food, drink, teachers, students. Everything."

"Sirius, I don't have enough eyes to watch every single thing."

"Get some more then. Have a few people you trust to keep an eye on things you can't."

"Neville and Susan will both still be at Hogwarts. It'll just be me."

"There are other Hogwarts students you know," Sirius said sarcastically. "Knowing what Hufflepuffs are like I bet you won't be able to stop them from watching out for you."

Harry frowned slightly.

"Yeah, I guess."

They walked the last little way in silence while Harry thought on what Sirius had said. Hopefully he was right, although he was sure that there would be a few that were upset that they weren't chosen as a champion and he was, never mind the fact that he clearly hadn't entered himself. But even having people watching out for him wouldn't make him safe; food and drink could still be spiked, as could potions if he was injured in one of the tasks. He was already planning on looking up a few charms to check for various poisons before he left tomorrow.

"Come on," Sirius said once they had slipped into the alley, "let's get you back to Hogwarts. Better side-along than the knight bus."

There was a small smirk on Sirius's face as he remembered Harry's hatred for that particular mode of travel, but Harry took one look at the outstretched hand and immediately apparated to Hogsmeade himself.

"Who the hell taught you to do that?" Sirius exclaimed when he appeared next to him with a crack that was, to Harry's pride, only slightly quieter than his own.

"No one."

"You learnt to apparate by yourself?" he whispered furiously as he hurried after him.

"Yep. The most I ever splinched was the tip of my eyebrow."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Not to mention illegal?"

"Says the unregistered animagus," Harry retorted. "I'd say that was more dangerous for a kid in school to learn. And besides, I think it best that I know how to do it, don't you?"

Sirius scowled at him but stopped his tirade nonetheless, though a few times on their walk through the village towards the Hogwarts gates he looked ready to start again. Really though, Sirius Black was in no position to lecture anyone about doing dangerous things.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the gates and quickly let them in, and after a simple concerned look started going on about some of his newest creatures. That was one thing Harry liked about Hagrid – he was caring and much more perceptive than he let on, even if most of the time he was utterly oblivious.

When they reached the entrance hall Sirius was led up the stairs, presumably to see Dumbledore, while Harry made his way towards the basement. He was actually quite curious how people were taking it; he was sure there were some idiots that thought he convinced a seventh year to enter his name or something. The name Ron Weasley sprung to mind.

Unsurprisingly, almost the entirety of the house was waiting for him in the common room. Each gave him a concerned or sympathetic look when they met his eyes, and he replied with a nod as he made his way to where Susan and, surprisingly, Neville were sat.

"How'd your aunt take it?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Scared, angry, worried. About what you'd expect really. Dudley was pretty much the same, except I'm sure on some level he still thought it was cool." His lips twitched slightly. "Glory, fame, and prize money."

"Do you think it was…?"

"Yeah. Apparently the Durmstrang headmaster – Karkaroff – is a death eater who was spared Azkaban because he sold out as many other death eaters as he could. Voldemort probably said if he did it he'd be forgiven or something."

"They let someone like that be in charge of a school?" Susan hissed.

"Have you forgotten about Snape?" he asked sarcastically.

Her scowl deepened even further.

"You're going to have to watch yourself then," Neville said in concern.

"Oh I know. I'm going to make sure I get that language potion before I leave tomorrow; I'm sure as shit not getting it from Durmstrang."

Neville snorted.

He didn't sleep well that night, plagued by thoughts of Voldemort, and when he finally did fall into a fitful slumber his dreams were filled with all the things that had killed champions from years past. Manticores and dragons, banshees and chimera. He was sat by the fireplace in the common room before the clock had even struck four. Susan was one of the first students down, clearly unable to sleep either judging by the bags under her eyes, and she immediately started fussing over him. Harry actually quite liked it, and by the time there was a knock at the common room half an hour later she had taken to sitting so close to him that he could practically feel her worry while listing tasks from tournaments past, insisting that he could have completed all of them.

"I think this is the earliest I've ever seen you awake, Longbottom," Harry said as one of the other students in the common room let him in. "I'm honoured."

"I'm not here for you, you cocky bastard. I'm here because Ron's been pestering me since I got back last night about how you managed to enter."

Harry snorted.

"Weasley really is a fucking idiot."

"Agreed," Susan said.

Harry was a little surprised she hadn't told him off for swearing.

The common room slowly filled up as people woke up and made their way to breakfast. Some offered words of support, others just a nod, and one or two offered to walk down to breakfast with him. Harry refused; he wasn't really feeling very hungry.

The low murmuring of the common room suddenly cut off, and Harry turned around to see Dumbledore and Professor Sprout stood in the doorway.

"Better go pack my stuff," he sighed.

He returned a few minutes later, his trunk shrunken and in the pocket of his heavy winter cloak. Susan looked close to tears even despite the vicious frown on her face.

"Don't you dare get yourself killed over this stupid tournament," she demanded as she yanked him in for a hug. "You'll be able to deal with whatever they throw at you as long as you don't get cocky."

"I don't–"

She glared at him.

"You like your flashy spells, don't bother denying it. I've seen you practicing, remember."

"I have to agree with Sue on that mate," Neville said, a small smile on his face. "You do like your flashy spells."

"They're useful. If you haven't learned at least four flashy spells by the time I get back I'm going to give you both Trolls."

"Yes professor," Neville said as he pulled him into a hug.

"Now," Neville said once he let go, "we want letters. Lots of them. You think something's suspicious, write it down and send it to us. Me and Sue are much smarter than you and will catch the things you will undoubtedly miss."

"I'm going to have to buy another owl at this rate."

"A small price to pay for getting to read Sue's shitty handwriting," Neville grinned. Susan hit him.

Harry glanced towards the patiently waiting headmaster before he pulled an aging piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to a shocked Neville.

"What? There's no point in me keeping it is there?"

"But… your dad…"

"My dad wouldn't want his creation being wasted. You'll need it more than me."

"Probably not," Susan smiled tightly as Neville delicately put the parchment into his pocket. "Without you here I bet we'll have a quiet year at Hogwarts."

"Probably," Harry said with a chuckle. "I'll send a letter tomorrow; my aunt demanded one anyway so I might as well write an extra one I suppose."

He was sucked into a group hug so tight he felt his ribs bend, and by the time they finally set him free he wondered whether they were trying to send him to the hospital wing to stop him from leaving. He shook a few hands as he made his way across the common room, and Professor Sprout wished him good luck before Dumbledore silently ushered him out of the common room. Not a word was spoken as they made their way towards the entrance hall and then out across the grounds, nor even when Dumbledore handed him a case full of potions vials. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore somehow knew what he had said in the common room or whether he simply shared his suspicions about the Durmstrang headmaster.

"Have you ever used a portkey Harry?" Dumbledore asked once they cleared the Hogwarts gates.

"Once."

An expression of curiosity flashed across the headmaster's face before it faded back into it's previous calmness. He held out a metal shield with a crest etched into it's surface, and Harry spent a second looking at the strange double-headed eagle before he reluctantly grabbed onto it.

This portkey was a thousand times worse than the one he had used before. Instead of lasting an instant the yanking from behind his navel seemed to take hours, and when he was finally deposited onto solid ground he struggled to keep a hold of his stomach.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, even his skin a little green, "international portkeys certainly aren't pleasant."

Harry scowled as he pushed himself off the snow-covered ground only to feel himself gasp as soon as he looked up. He'd assumed that he hadn't been able to find any descriptions of Durmstrang because they were so secretive, but now that he saw it he thought that maybe it was just because no could find the right words.

It was huge, so huge that it made Hogwarts look like a playhouse, and made out of a grey stone that was so dark it appeared black. The first rays of sunlight were starting to creep over the mountains behind it, sparkling off the lone windows at the very top of the sharp towers that jutted up from each corner. Harry wondered whether that was where they kept prisoners; maybe he would have to fight a dragon in order to rescue a princess from one of them. Another larger tower shot upwards from the very centre and into the darkening clouds, casting a long, creeping shadow across the grounds, and there were statues of magical beasts snarling from their perches below a large clock that stretched across its face, illuminated from behind by fiery orange light. It reminded Harry far too much of Sauron's eye.

A few of the crows that had been flapping around the tower broke off and glided towards the forest behind him, and Harry had to fight the shudder that crawled across his skin just from looking at it; he doubted anyone would ever go in there willingly. It was dark and foreboding and reeked of decay, a stench that seemed to have infected the lake next to it as well. The ice that covered it was grey and cracked, and even from here Harry could hear it shifting around the bow of a skeletal looking ship that was anchored in the centre, the ice that had crawled the rotting wood giving it an almost otherworldly appearance.

On the other edge of the forest was, strangely, the Hogwarts Express. The train was coiled up rather like a snake despite the fact that there were no tracks anywhere in sight, and Harry could see a few Hogwarts students clutching their cloaks around them as they hurried towards the castle.

"Come on Harry," Dumbledore said. "I should think that the other champions are quite impatient to hear the details of the first task."

"Why did you make them wait for me?" Harry asked, eyeing the silhouettes he could see in the windows.

"I didn't; the Head of International Relations Artyom Sokolov insisted we wait so that all champions are told at the exact same time. Quite a stickler for the rules, that one. Still, it has served him well I suppose."

Harry did his best to ignore the stares and the whispers as Dumbledore led him into the cavernous entrance hall and up the stairs. He didn't understand the language yet, but judging by the sharp look Dumbledore gave a few Durmstrang students what they were saying wasn't very good. He nodded at each of the Hogwarts students he saw regardless of whether they smiled or glared at him. From first appearances it appeared Sirius was going to be right; every Hufflepuff seventh year was going to be watching him like a mother hen, and plenty of the other houses would be too.

Judging by the amount of stairs he was forced to climb up they must have been going somewhere in the main tower, and Harry could feel his legs starting to ache by the time they finally came to a plain wood and iron door that was flanked by a pair of stone bears. Harry swore that he could feel their eyes on him as Dumbledore led the way past, not even bothering to knock.

"Ah Albus, so nice of you to finally join us."

"Good morning Igor," Dumbledore said, ignoring the man's poorly concealed distaste. "Harry, this is Headmaster Karkaroff."

Harry barely resisted the urge to glare at the man that had in all likelihood entered his name into this damn tournament. Karkaroff was almost exactly how he had imagined him; a thin face with a weak chin that wasn't completely covered by a goatee, yellowing teeth and a smile that didn't reach his cold blue eyes. He was dressed in sleek silver furs trimmed with black and was staring at him as a cat would a mouse. Harry wanted nothing more than to show him exactly who the cat was in that scenario.

"Stood next to him is Mr Artyom Sokolov, head of the Russian Ministry's International Relations department," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a severe looking man in what looked to be his late twenties. Harry nodded to him, and Sokolov nodded sharply in return.

"Then there is Mr Gunnar Karlson, head of the department of Magical Sports and Games," Dumbledore continued with a nod towards a grey-haired wizard who waved at him cheerfully.

"Next is Madame Maxine" – Dumbledore gestured towards a olive-skinned woman the size of Hagrid – "and her champion Fleur Delacour. Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion" – a broad shouldered boy scowled at him – "and you of course know Cedric."

Harry wasn't sure if he was expected to say anything so he opted to stay silent. Judging by the way Madam Maxine's nostrils flared slightly that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Now that you are all here we are free to give to give you your instructions. As there are now four champions," Sokolov said, glancing at Harry, "there will be four tasks instead of the usual three, the first of which will take place on the 24th of November at 11am. You will be placed in an environment and given a set of instructions, and you must use your own abilities and your surroundings to complete them. You will be armed only with your wands."

"That is all we are being told?" Fleur Delacour asked disbelievingly.

"Well we can hardly tell you any more!" Karlson cried. "If you knew exactly what the task was beforehand that would take all the fun out of it!"

Harry stared at the man. How could any of this be called fun?

"The Weighing of the Wands will take place on the morning of the 10th of November in the dining hall," Sokolov continued. "There will be a considerable press presence at this event as well as after each task, so I suggest each of you take this into account."

Judging by the look Sokolov gave Krum, that particular sentence was aimed at him. Krum scowled.

"I have a question?" Harry said. Sokolov looked almost offended.

"Yes?"

"I'm told that I'm subject to a magical contract?"

Sokolov nodded.

"Can I see it?"

Both Sokolov and Karlson looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, which he supposed to them he was.

"What do you mean?"

"The contract, can I see it? You know, to read?"

Instead of just confusion, the faces of both men now held hints of derision.

"There is nothing to read lad," Karlson said as if he were speaking to a very small child. "The contract is implied."

Harry stared at the man and then at his fellow champions, barely able to comprehend the stupidity of what he'd just been told. All three of them looked unsurprised and even confused by what exactly he was getting at.

"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that I am, under punishment of death, subject to abide by a contract when I don't even know what it says? And that these three did so willingly?"

All the adults were now looking at him in bewilderment. Even Karkaroff's sneer had been tinted by it.

"Yes. What is so shocking?"

Harry honestly felt like screaming.

"As an example, the contract presumably states that I have to compete yes?" Sokolov nodded slowly. "So, what does that mean? Do I have to try my best? Can I just walk into the arena and then walk straight back out again or would that be classed as throwing the task? Would I get penalised for that?"

Both the Ministry officials were staring at him in shock, their mouths moving in silent words. Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder, presumably to tell him to calm down, but Harry shrugged it off.

"Alright, next example. What is defined as a task? Is the Weighing of the Wands a task? This thing will presumably have a load of press stuff. If I decide I don't feel like getting interrogated by journalists and don't turn up am I going to lose my magic? And then there's the age thing! I haven't been able to get it out of my head since I thought of it! Is the age limit now part of the contract? Because if it is then I'm dead. Pure and simple. If it is part of the contract then I violate it by competing because I'm underage, but I also violate it if I don't compete because that's also required by the bloody contract!"

A shocked silence came over the room as Harry did his best to reign in his panicked temper. It seemed that no one had even thought of that, not judging by the horror he could see playing around their faces. Karkaroff's expression was quite different before he managed to wrench up a concerned façade – he looked scared. A distant part of Harry's mind wondered why exactly that was.

"The age requirement will not be a problem," Sokolov said, though he certainly didn't look very sure. "If it was the goblet would not have accepted your name."

"And the rest?"

"There are performance clauses in quidditch contracts," Krum said, earning a glare from his headmaster which he ignored. "Players must always play to best of their ability. Stops us from forcing more wages or transfers by refusing to play."

Sokolov was glaring at him too now, but Krum just shrugged.

"There's never been a problem before, lad," Karlson assured him. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"There's never been a champion entered against their will either," Harry retorted, not bothering to hide the glare he sent Karkaroff. He sneered in return.

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said in his most grandfatherly voice, "there is already an investigation underway. I'm sure that we will catch the individual that entered your name into the goblet. However, now that you and the other champions have been given your instructions, I think it time you get to know your surroundings. Cedric, would you mind showing Harry here to our accommodations?"

Cedric jolted slightly as the shocked concern melted from his face.

"Of course sir. Come on Harry. I'll show you your room then we'll show you around the castle; we don't want you getting lost."

Cedric led the way out of the office and down the steps, shooting him glances all the while.

"You want to ask something, Cedric?"

"Not ask, no," Cedric said hurriedly, "just… what you said in there. About the contract. I'd have never thought of it like that. Plenty of magical contracts are implied; I just assumed there was nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, that was all I thought about last night. Thinking about all the tasks that people have got killed doing in the past, then I decided that all I was going to was walk in, cast a few pointless spells and then walk straight back out. Or at least I did until I remembered my cousin telling me about some boxer than threw a fight and got in a lot of trouble. I figure if it's a rule in boxing it might be a rule here, but obviously I can't check it so I can't risk it."

"So you're going to have to try as hard as the rest of us."

"Yep," Harry said, scowling. "I could go into a task, realise that I have no way of doing it that doesn't have a high chance of killing me, and then I'd have to do it anyway."

Cedric cursed, and Harry noticed a flash of resolution settle in his eyes.

"Right, screw the rest of the castle. I'll show you your room then I'm showing you to the champions' corridor."

"The what?"

"It's this corridor down in the dungeons that's warded to only allow the champions in. We each get a room that we can use to prepare. I assume there will be one for you by now, but if not you can share mine until they put yours in. Shouldn't take more than a day."

Cedric shrugged, and Harry decided that he would never quite understand how people raised in the magical world thought so little of things that would be considerable problems in the muggle world. It would take a muggle construction company weeks or even months to put in an extra, presumably large room in a pre-existing corridor of an extremely old castle. Just drawing up the plans and making sure it wouldn't cause any damage would take weeks.

They had reached the entrance hall by then, and Harry again ignored the stares as he followed Cedric outside. He was forced to bow his head against the icy wind that battered him as soon as he stepped outside, and his hurriedly cast warming charm hardly seemed to take the edge off of the cold. When they finally stumbled into the Hogwarts Express they each let out an audible sigh in relief.

"All the compartments have been converted into rooms," Cedric explained as he led the way down the curving aisle of the train, "and everyone gets their own room. This one here's mine, and those four are my friends'. We got to pick, you see, but obviously as you weren't supposed to be here you'll be at the very end where all the unconverted compartments are that we use as common areas. I assume Dumbledore's converted it by now."

Cedric gave him an apologetic look and Harry shrugged in response. He wasn't really that bothered where his room was.

It didn't take long for them to come to the door at the very end, a golden plaque at it's centre with H. Potter engraved in a looping font. After that everything looked just like it normally did, with cushioned benches visible through glass doors as opposed to the solid wood ones that the converted bedrooms had.

"Alright, I'll leave you to look around your room, put your stuff away and whatnot. Lunch is in a little under an hour, so I'll come and get you for that."

Harry was ready to protest that he really didn't need a babysitter, but one look at Cedric's face told him that doing so would be pointless. Cedric nodded to himself before he walked back down the corridor.

The compartment must have been expanded to three or four times its normal size to make what was more or less a single version of his dormitory at Hogwarts; there was a four-poster bed with yellow hangings at the centre, a large wardrobe pushed up against the right-hand wall, and a door on the other wall that led into a small bathroom complete with a shower. It was comfortable, but it certainly wasn't extravagant.

A flick of his wand enlarged his trunk it its usual size and then another flick sent his clothes flying into the wardrobe. He spent the rest of the time until Cedric arrived eating the slightly squished chocolate frogs or broken sugar quills that had been scattered throughout his trunk.

There was a knock at his door and, surprisingly, when he opened his door there were four people instead of just one.

"Alright Harry?" Jefferies, a Hufflepuff in Cedric's year, asked.

Harry shook the outstretched hand in surprise, noticing that Cedric was smiling at him in encouragement. He was a little offended Cedric thought that he needed to be encouraged just to talk to someone. He wasn't a little kid.

"Hey Jefferies."

"Call me Jim. I've got a feeling we'll be seeing plenty of each other this year. How're you feeling?" he asked, his usual cheerfulness tinged with concern. "When your name came out the entire hall burst into uproar! We were all shocked!"

Harry smiled humourlessly.

"Not as shocked as I was, trust me."

"Nah, probably not. Still, I don't think I've ever seen Dumbledore shocked before. He always seems to know exactly what's going on, you know?"

"At Hogwarts I'm pretty sure he does," said a petite girl with sleek brown hair. "The twins have tried to prank him at least a dozen times and never managed to get him."

"And that is why I thank God everyday that I'm not in Gryffindor," Jim said emphatically. "I honestly don't think I could put up with them."

"They're not so bad," the girl defended, though she didn't seem to believe it herself. "Only Angie and Alicia are brave enough to actually date them though."

She seemed to suddenly remember Harry was there then, to the amusement of the others present.

"I'm Emily by the way," she said, an embarrassed blush creeping up her cheeks. "Sorry. I probably should have started with that."

"And I'm Steve," a tall, skinny blonde wizard said, not bothering to hide his smile at Emily's embarrassment. "Doubt you know me. We Ravenclaws don't tend to mix much unfortunately. Anyway, Cedric tells me you like runes?"

"Oh Christ," Cedric muttered, "here we go. Steve is a bit obsessed with runes, Harry. I think he drove Professor Babbling mad with all the questions he asked."

"Hey!"

"Am I wrong?"

Steve scowled at him as the group turned and walked down the corridor with Harry following on behind.

Suddenly Jim let out a dramatic gasp, his head spinning this way and that with an expression of utter shock plastered across his face.

"But Cedric, where's darling India?"

"She's in the library," Cedric answered, and Harry could hear the sigh of exasperation in his voice. "She said she'll meet us there."

"Really?" Steve said with equal drama, his face dripping with exaggerated shock. "Well in that case it appears a miracle has occurred! I've been terribly worried this last week or so, you see. I'd feared the two of you had been cursed! After all, the two of you have been joined at the lips the whole time, and as there's no sane reason she would ever subject herself to that for so long I feared the worst!"

By the look on Cedric's face this was a familiar line of teasing. Emily looked incredibly amused.

"Jim, Steve, could you two do me a favour?" Cedric asked.

"Sure we can Ced."

"Fantastic. Now, shut up."

"Yes sir."

Harry grinned at the exasperated look on Cedric's face. A part of him wondered if they were like this all the time.

The Durmstrang dining hall was a great cavernous room of grey stone wide so large that Harry was in awe at the sheer size of it. It must have been big enough to fit a passenger jet with space to spare! It reminded Harry of an old gothic cathedral, with stone pillars set into the walls that stretched like ribs all the way up and then across the curved stone ceiling. Arches were chiselled around doors and there were huge stained glass windows that appeared to depict rather brutal duels but, other than that, it was much the same as the Great Hall at Hogwarts; a raised table at the front where professors sat, and then long tables for the students below. There were a lot more professors, though, and a lot more students too; instead of four student tables Harry counted ten.

Steve led them towards an empty patch at one of the more central tables. Harry would have preferred to sit with his back to the wall, but he wasn't willing to go and sit by himself either.

"Are there any houses here?" he asked as they sat down.

There didn't seem to be any obvious differences between tables, at least not that he could see. Surprisingly, there were little groups from each school at every one of them. Harry would have assumed that all the Beauxbatons students would have sat together at one table, and the same with the Hogwarts students.

"No. Beauxbatons don't either apparently, so I figure that maybe it's just a British thing." Cedric shrugged. "Probably a good thing honestly. It's not a good idea to create rivalries at a school where you're teaching the Dark Arts."

"Have you had a Dark Arts lesson yet?" Harry asked, making sure to hide his enthusiasm.

Emily shivered.

"Yeah, and it was awful. We're obviously attending the sixth year classes, and by the time Durmstrang students reach sixth year they're as well versed in the Dark Arts as British dark wizards. They were being taught this curse that makes the flesh of the victim die. Necrosis, the professor called it. It was under the guise of being able to properly practise the countercurse, but really the point was to learn the curse itself. I couldn't even bring myself to try and cast it. The… Bothrips curse or something."

Harry resisted the urge to correct her on the name. The Bothrops curse was based on the bite of a snake found in Central and South America whose venom causes tissue necrosis – according to the book he'd learnt it from the bite could effectively rot someone's limb away if left untreated. The curse took the effect of the bite, magnified it, and then made it spread across the body in a matter of hours while also being incredibly difficult counter by anyone other than the caster. It was one of the ones he'd learnt to use on Sirius when he had thought that he betrayed his parents.

"You not going to eat anything Harry?" Cedric asked, pulling him out of his wonderings about just how many curses were waiting for him in the Durmstrang library.

Harry shook his head.

"I haven't learned the diagnostic charms yet."

The four of them gave him a strange look.

"Why would you need to learn diagnostic charms to eat?"

"Because Karkaroff's a death eater."

"He's a what?" they cried in unison, shocked. "That can't be right. They would never let a death eater be the headmaster of a school."

"They let Snape become Head of Slytherin," he pointed out.

"Wait, Snape is a death eater too? You're sure? I mean, I know he's a bastard but…"

"Yep, Dumbledore kept him out of Azkaban by claiming that Snape had turned spy near the end of the war."

Steve snorted from beside him. "Maybe I'd believe that if he wasn't such a dick."

"And Karkaroff?" Cedric asked.

"Ratted out as many other death eaters as he could to buy his freedom. And now, my name just happens to come out of the Goblet of Fire, therefore dragging me into his reach. He probably did it because-"

He cut himself off, realising that would take him into things he didn't particularly want to tell them.

"Because…?" Cedric asked.

"Nothing."

They frowned at him, clearly curious. Emily looked about to push for an answer before an ashen haired girl appeared and squeezed herself onto the bench between her and Cedric. Cedric looked incredibly pleased by the situation.

"Hi guys," she said happily, "and hello Harry. I can call you Harry can't I?" Harry nodded, a bit unbalanced by her cheerfulness. "I'm India. It's lovely to meet you."

Harry shook her hand in mild bemusement. A Durmstrang a little way down the table muttered something, and India's previously radiant expression twisted into a glare.

"I'm guessing whatever she said wasn't very nice," Harry said dryly.

"Oh shit, that's right!" Cedric said after a few seconds. "You didn't get any language lessons. How the hell are you going to understand what the professors are saying?"

"I won't, I guess. Looks like I'll be teaching myself for the foreseeable future. Not a problem; I do that a lot of the time anyway."

"I can teach you the language if you want?" India offered.

"No, it's fine. I'll probably get assigned a teacher later anyway. I doubt Dumbledore overlooked the fact that I can't speak Russian."

"And besides," Jim piped up, smirking, "I doubt Harry wants to interrupt you and Cedric's private time."

Both India and Cedric blushed furiously, while Steve and Emily both burst into laughter.

"So," India said quickly, her face still red, "what did they tell you about the first task?"

Cedric groaned.

"Practically nothing. Apparently, we're going to be placed in an environment with nothing but our wands and a set of instructions, and then we have to use our environment and our own abilities to complete said instructions."

"That's it?" India asked incredulously. "Did they even tell you what sort of instructions you're going to be given?"

"Nope. That would take away the fun, apparently."

"Hopefully we'll be able to figure something out by looking at what the first tasks have been in all the past tournaments," Steve said thoughtfully. "These things are always steeped in tradition."

"That's what I've just been doing," India said as if it should have been obvious. "Traditionally the first task is focussed on a beast of some sort, so the instructions you're given could be 'go and fight that chimera', or maybe they're trying something different for the revival of the tournament."

"So basically we won't know until they tell us," Cedric said.

India nodded, giving him a worried look. Harry would have thought that Jim at the very least would have cracked a joke when Cedric pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head, but instead he and all the others looked just as worried.

"I'll be fine," he said, and Harry didn't miss the way that several sets of concerned eyes flicked in his direction. "We both will. Anyway, me and Harry have to dash. I've still got to show him a few things."

There was a chorus of goodbyes as they clambered back over the benches, and Harry waved over his shoulder with only slight awkwardness as Cedric led the way out of the hall.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"They seem really nice," Harry said, "but are they always that…"

"Loud?"

"I was going to say hyper, but yeah."

Cedric laughed.

"Not always, but it's not rare either. I mean, you know Jim, or at least know of him."

Harry nodded – it was nigh on impossible not to have noticed him in the common room over the years.

"Steve is like that too, even if he likes to study a lot more than Jim does. I know they're loud and a bit overwhelming at times, so don't feel bad if you need to go off by yourself for a bit. I know you do it from time to time back at Hogwarts; I think just about everyone's heard Susan worrying about where exactly you are. I reckon you and Emily will get on splendidly though. She's a lot like you I think."

"And what's that?" he asked, ignoring the blatant suggestion in Cedric's voice.

"Pretty reserved up to a point, but after that she's quite… feisty. Up until the first time I saw her lose her temper I couldn't believe she was in Gryffindor."

"I honestly don't know whether to be insulted or not by the fact you consider me feisty."

Cedric made a face and, wisely in Harry's opinion, kept his mouth shut. Cedric had yet to see him feisty.

Eventually they came to a long corridor, far out of the way of everything else, with two doors set into each of the walls. Three of them had gleaming bronze shields stuck to their centre – one with the Hogwarts school crest, another with the Durmstrang crest, and the third with what Harry assumed was the school crest of Beauxbatons. The fourth and final door was blank.

"Looks like they've put your room in already. As I'm sure you can tell that one is mine," he said, pointing to the door emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest that was directly opposite the blank one, "that one is Fleur's, and that one is Viktor's.

"Like I said earlier, this corridor is warded only to be accessible to the champions. Technically the rules state that we're not allowed any help from either friends or teachers, but everyone pretty much accepts that that rule is ignored. Certainly Karkaroff and Madame Maxine will be ignoring it, but knowing what I do of Dumbledore I doubt we'll be getting much help from him."

They heard footsteps echoing at the other end of the corridor, and Harry turned to see Fleur and Viktor walking side by side, chatting quite happily. He was a little caught off guard by that; he was under the impression that competitors in important competitions tended not to be on friendly terms. At least that's what he had assumed from Dudley's rants on how everyone in his boxing competitions were, in some shape or form, despicable bastards.

Cedric glanced at them and then back at Harry.

"You go look around your room; you'll be spending a lot of time in there so you might as well get accustomed to it. I've got to have a quick chat with Fleur and Viktor for a second."

He jogged down the corridor towards the other champions who looked momentarily surprised at his appearance before they started talking quietly between themselves. Harry spent a second wondering what they were talking about before he shrugged and pushed his door open, a smile spreading across his face as he stepped inside.

'This will do nicely,' he thought.

Against one wall were three duelling dummies much like the ones he had at home, and even if he would have preferred a few more three would be good enough to prepare for the tournament. He supposed that this meant there would be duelling in one of the tasks, a fact that sent a small flash of glee burning through his fingers even despite the fact that he'd been hoping to keep his prowess in that particular area secret. That part of the room was covered in wards and charms to prevent spell damage and injury, more or less splitting the room in two.

The other side had a large desk and matching bookcase, and the wall beside it was dominated by a blackboard that stretched higher than he would be able to reach. There were a pair of doors nestled in the back corner, and he was pleased to find a well-equipped bathroom and an even more well-equipped potions lab. As soon as he saw the cupboards full of ingredients he decided he would have to revise as much potions as he could; his wandwork should be good enough as it was – hopefully – but his potions… well, the less said about that the better.

All in all, he was pleasantly surprised by his new training area. He hadn't even thought he'd get one and had been privately mourning the loss of the Come and Go room. This was no Come and Go room, obviously, but it certainly wasn't bad. He was almost tempted to put a bed in and just stay here.

He made his way back towards the door, intent on finding out where the library was, when a knock echoed through the room.

"How'd you like it, Harry?" Cedric asked as he wandered in, nodding to himself. "It's just like mine."

"It's nice," he shrugged. "I'd have preferred a couple more dummies though."

Cedric gave him an odd look.

"Why would you need more?"

Harry shrugged. Answering would involve admitting that he had been preparing to fight death eaters, and that would then lead dangerously close to telling him Voldemort was still alive.

"Right, anyway," Cedric said awkwardly, "I had an idea earlier, when you said about having to attempt a task even if you can't think of a way that won't get you killed. I think it's ridiculous you're having to compete at all, frankly. I mean, how the hell can someone else put your name in and yet you're still forced to compete? So, I want to help you out. I asked Fleur and Viktor if they wanted to join but they said they're going to be swamped enough as it is."

Harry looked at him dubiously.

"Help me? In what way?"

"You're just a fourth year," he said, "a really good fourth year I admit, but you won't be able to do the things that will be required by the tournament. I'll teach you how, and if I come across any clues to make things easier I'll tell you."

"Right, er, thanks," Harry said slowly, "but it's really not necessary."

"Look Harry," Cedric said earnestly, "don't let the fact that you're top of year blind you. And don't feel guilty because it takes up a bit of my time. In teaching it to you I'm practising it as well."

"It's not that, I just really don't need any help. Well," he admitted, "maybe herbology and definitely potions, but I can hardly be expected to learn anything from Snape can I?"

"Harry, please don't be so stubborn," Cedric tried. "I promise it's not a burden. We Hufflepuffs are supposed to be the helpful ones."

Harry sighed, knowing that he had little chance of getting out of it.

"Fine, you can help me out if you feel so inclined. But I want to assure you that I don't need anywhere near as much help as you think I do."

"It is okay to admit you need help, Harry," Cedric said, as if he were imparting a great life lesson on a small child.

Harry felt his eye twitch in annoyance, and then he let another near inaudible sigh. This one, however, was aimed at himself. Damn his ego.

He flicked his wand into his hand and paused for a second, an expression of concentration washing over his face before he flicked it at the space to his left. A leopard appeared out of thin air, and he flicked his wand again to send it prowling around the room.

"Fucking hell Harry!" Cedric yelled, and Harry didn't bother to fight a smile at his language. The great Cedric Diggory cursing? Susan was going to be heartbroken.

For several seconds Cedric's wide-eyed gaze flitted between Harry and the leopard that was circling him, and all the while Harry had to fight against the smug grin that was threatening to spill onto his face.

He frowned slightly as he ran his hand over the fur of it's back. It was too stiff; he was far too used to conjuring stone. The proportions of it were slightly out too – its tail was a bit too long and it's eyes a bit too large – but still, it was recognisably a leopard. His animation charm was good too; he was quite pleased with the fluidity of his creation's movements. He supposed he should probably practise conjuring things that weren't stone a little more.

"How long have you been able to conjure stuff?" Cedric asked finally as he pushed the leopard in the side with his foot and nodded in equal parts approval and amazement when it stumbled to stay up right.

"Stuff like that or just stuff?"

"Just stuff."

"Since… I don't know, the end of second year I'd say. I couldn't do it easily until a while into my third year though. It took a lot of practise"

Cedric goggled at him.

"Why so early?"

"It blocks curses."

Cedric gave him a look of sad understanding; he remembered what had happened in his second year, then.

"Well either way I'm going to help you with herbology," he said, "and you can't say no because you already admitted you need help with it."

"I seem to remember you loudly saying last year that herbology was the worst subject at Hogwarts, and saying it right when Professor Sprout walked in."

Cedric blushed slightly. That had been embarrassing.

"OWL stress, Harry, OWL stress. Just you wait."