Chapter Thirty-Three ― Weighing of the Heart
Story Summary: Following the events of Third Year, Harry Potter explores the Chamber of Secrets and finds a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Following Slytherin's advice, Harry will attempt to break out of the games set upon him and finally be free. But how? And is freedom even possible for the Boy-Who-Lived?
Book Summary: Returning to Hogwarts after spending the summer scheming politics with Daphne and furthering Muggle-born education with Hermione, Harry is forced to act prematurely to ensure the safety of the First-Years he promised to help. With Sirius in forced exile, a Tom Riddle with a different plan, a suspicious Dumbledore, and a dangerous tournament, is Harry's desired freedom even possible? Can his ambitions coexist with his desires?
Note: This chapter has been beta-ed by user Outliner.
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While Fleur reported the incident involving Harry Potter and Severus Snape to Madame Maxime, who fluctuated between astonishment and bitter disappointment, the boy himself heard an equally wondrous story from an unlikely source.
"So, just to make sure I understand it," Harry said slowly, trying to get his head around it all. "While I was in the Hospital Wing, you all threw a party that was stopped by Neville yelling at all of you to get a grip on things?"
"Yup," Dean Thomas nodded.
"And then, when Lee told him that it was all in good fun, he had a screaming fit about people not respecting how unhappy I was about being in the Tournament?"
"Yup," the boy repeated in the same tone.
"And then, when Ron got snarky about the thing being just another thing in the life of the Boy-Who-Lived, he got in Ron's face and admonished him for being a poor mate?"
"Yup."
"And Ron actually got ashamed and backed down, but hasn't talked to anyone ever since?"
"Yup."
"Bloody hell," Harry said weakly, before turning to Hermione. "Yeah, I can see why you told me it was something that I should hear from Neville."
"I hope he's well," Hermione said concernedly. "The last time I had seen him that upset was in the Great Hall that day after Snape left."
"About Snape…?" Dean interrupted, looking a bit sheepish when Hermione scowled at him.
"If you're asking me if he attacked me, then yes, he did," Harry confirmed neutrally, knowing that he would be getting those questions for a while.
"Damn," Dean muttered. "Why?"
"I honestly don't know," Harry shrugged, with some honest frustration showing up. "I was minding my own business one second, thinking about the Tournament, and then he grabbed me by the robes and threw me in an abandoned classroom."
"Well, I'm glad you're okay now," the other boy said with a firm nod. "Snape can go die in a fire, for all I care, the racist git."
"You're not alone on that," Harry said wryly. The other Gryffindors began entering the Common Room on their way back from breakfast, which he and Hermione had skipped. Among the first to enter the room was Neville, who immediately brightened after seeing Harry.
"Harry!" He greeted animatedly, cutting through the crowd that threatened to form around Harry, glowering at a couple of older students that jokingly referred to him as their champion.
Once again, Harry understood why Neville's presence was so important in Hermione's estimation for him to appreciate what had happened. There was very little of the shy boy on their first-year in front of him at the moment. Harry understood that the other boy's behavior had much more to do with him getting angry than truly turning into someone assertive. Ever since that day in which Moody revealed his ill-fitting wand, the boy had been more confident, and that day in the Great Hall had proved something of a turning point for him, as he grasped that he had power beyond the average wizard their age.
Yet, some of the old Neville was still there, as the boy curled up against himself when the Weasley Twins began lauding Neville as 'the roaring lion.' When the older students began clapping and jokingly repeating the nickname, Harry stepped forward to stop the torment against the rapidly blushing boy.
"Alright, you lot, let Neville be," he said, shooing people off amusedly.
"Of course, my Champion," one of the Twins, Harry was fairly sure it was Fred, bowed down.
"Consider it done, my Champion," the other one, presumably George, repeated the act.
As the people began trickling out, someone in the back stopped the exodus with a shouted, "Are you alright, Harry?"
"Yeah," he confirmed when everyone turned to look at him curiously. "I got a bit injured, but nothing that Pomfrey couldn't fix. Still, it was quite scary there for a bit."
The countenances of the people around got darker and some muttered insults against Slytherins began trickling out in force. Harry quickly interrupted it before it became a thing.
"It's not like that, guys," he sighed. "Being a Slytherin has nothing to do with it. Snape's just a git. Haven't you noticed how much better their House has behaved after he left?"
"That's because they had no one to take the blame for them!" An older Gryffindor exclaimed, many others nodding in agreement.
"I don't think so," Harry responded, shaking his head. "They're just students. Yeah, Malfoy's another massive git, but they're mostly fine."
"You're defending snakes!" Someone accused him, creating murmurs of agreements.
"I'm defending Hogwarts students," Harry corrected insistently. When the grumbling didn't stop, he exasperatedly threw his arms in the air and let them fall back into his sides, the noise silencing the crowd somewhat. "Look, I'm fine," he assured them. "I'll tell you all about it later. I'm supposed to be resting, so I'm not going to classes today."
"No one told you that you could do that," Hermione hissed in his ear.
"They can complain about it when they can get a teacher that doesn't attack me," he snapped. Hermione backed down but still looked anxious.
The crowd dispersed. Hermione held back Neville as the boy went to go away, but before that conversation could begin, the Twins approached Harry with unusual expressions.
"Harry, we just want to tell you that people know you didn't enter the Tournament," Fred said seriously. George nodded and took over.
"We tried putting up a party yesterday, but we didn't want to make you angry."
"Right," Fred confirmed. "We just wanted for things to be not so bleak. A lot of people were mortified by what Smith told us about the Goblet of Fire thing."
"As for Ron," George said, with a pinched expression. "He knows you aren't responsible for this, but he doesn't know how to approach you."
"He doesn't deal well with things like that," Fred shrugged. "And we think that a part of him wanted the glory of the Tournament to himself."
"Well, that's too bad," Neville countered firmly before Harry himself could speak. "It was not Harry's choice, so he needs to get over it."
"Hey, we don't disagree," Fred raised his hands defensively. "But give him a bit, yeah? He'll come around."
"He's just a bit slow when it comes to admitting he's wrong," George finished before they turned to Harry expectantly.
He sighed internally, though he kept his expression even, despite the mounting frustration. He still considered Ron to be one of his closest friends, but he wasn't going to be wallowing in misery because the boy wasn't there for him. The past months have proved quite conclusively that Harry was shifting away from him anyway, and though some part of him would always be close to the first friend he had his age, he wasn't going to run after his forgiveness.
"Look, if he needs time, he can have it," Harry said uncaringly. "But friends are supposed to be near you in the difficult times, not the easy ones. And so far, he's been there. But the first time that something steps over his ego, he turns away?" Harry shook his head. "It's not like he's grievously offended me or anything, but I won't forget this."
"We expected that," George smiled sadly.
"We hope that Ron does too," Fred finished with a soft sigh. "Right, we're gone. Can't be too serious all at once, we have a reputation to uphold."
"That we do," George's smile turned into a grin. "Bye, Harrikins!"
"Well, that was something," Harry muttered under his breath.
"Were you serious about Ron?" Hermione asked quietly, looking uncomfortable.
"Yes," he nodded. "I'm not going to cut Ron off because he's earned that much in the past three years, but I am disappointed. If there hadn't been conclusive proof that I wasn't responsible, I'd understand it more."
"That shouldn't matter," Neville denied. "He should have trusted you regardless, even if no one told us anything. You wouldn't lie to us about that."
Harry smiled gratefully at the boy, despite internally musing that though he hadn't been thinking about joining the Tournament, he would very much lie about it.
"So, Neville," Harry started slowly. "I heard what happened yesterday."
"Oh," the boy flushed and looked down in embarrassment.
"Why'd you do it?" Harry asked curiously.
"It wasn't right, what they were doing," Neville frowned slightly. "People were saying you were behind being chosen as the fourth champion and were happy about it, despite it implicating you on an attack on other people."
"They were what?!" Harry asked incredulously. He had been expecting some reaction, but that was just outright ridiculous. And that had been in Gryffindor, who knows how the rest of the school would react? He remembered Sprout's skepticism in the Hospital Wing and Cedric's outright fear following his selection. Maybe his greatest problem wasn't going to be the Slytherins' reaction to Snape attacking him, but the Hufflepuffs' reaction to the Tournament. Speaking of which, he had no contact with the Ravenclaws, and the Gryffindors' grumbling was more than enough proof that he was a long way away from getting actual control there.
He sighed. There was a lot of work to do. The First-Years did look up to him, but the older students seemed to be much harder to influence.
"I got pretty angry when I heard that," Neville admitted sheepishly. "I didn't mind the party much, but that accusation made me blank out for a bit there."
"It's fine," Harry said tiredly. "You did good, and I appreciate that. I just find it honestly unbelievable that people believe I had something to do with this."
"Wizards are pretty stupid sometimes," Hermione complained.
"People are pretty stupid," Harry corrected her. "Magic has nothing to do with it."
Hermione looked at him skeptically but said nothing more.
"Anyway, what was that about being the roaring lion?" Harry asked amusedly, grinning when the boy flushed even further.
"Apparently, I yell a bit when I'm angry," he admitted, making Hermione mutter 'a bit?' under her breath, which finally cracked Harry, who began laughing uproariously. When he recovered, Neville had gotten over his embarrassment to laugh at his own expense.
"Thanks, Neville," Harry smiled honestly. "I appreciate it."
The other boy grinned back and nodded. He seemed to be leaving when Harry considered something quickly. The others seemed to listen to an angry Neville enough during the party and even this morning, and despite the jeering, it was clear that the older students were proud of Neville for standing up for what he believed was right. That was something which Harry could very much use, and Neville would one day inherit the Longbottom seat that Augusta had been proxying.
"Neville, wait," Harry called out, which made the other boy turn back curiously. "I have to speak with Professor Moody about something. Want to come with me before your first lecture?"
"Sure," Neville nodded. Harry grinned at him and turned to Hermione.
"We'll talk at lunch?"
"You are going to rest after talking to Neville," Hermione insisted, poking his chest firmly. "If you're skipping class to rest, you better do it, Harry Potter."
"I won't do anything strenuous. I promise," Harry conceded. The girl narrowed her eyes at him before huffing and going away.
"She was in a really bad place yesterday," Neville said softly, making Harry's mood plummet.
"Yeah, I could tell," Harry responded sadly, still feeling remorseful at his treatment of the entire situation with Hermione.
Neville looked at Harry as if he wanted to say something more, but he ended up holding his tongue. However, Harry took note of the strange behavior.
"Why did you invite me to talk with Moody?" Neville asked after they walked silently for a bit.
Harry looked at him with the corner of his eye, not halting his steps as they made the trek to the DADA office.
"Look, that thing we did in the Great Hall, that isn't normal," he said in a low voice, making the other boy miss a step and almost stumble, but he was back on Harry's side in a second. "We're more powerful than the other students our age, but we need to control that properly. Moody seems like the best alternative we have."
Harry's desire to have a scapegoat for teaching him more destructive magic without risking his reputation played a major role in his decision to go to the former Auror for training, but he also understood that there was much he could learn from Mad-Eye. Neville was also loyal, as the incident back in Gryffindor Tower proved. As long as Harry didn't do things that the other boy disapproved of severely, his sense of personal loyalty would keep Neville by his side. If Harry managed to push that line of demarcation a bit further than where it likely stood currently, the Longbottom Heir would stand with him all through the eventual disputes with Dumbledore and into their time in the Wizengamot.
Neville would also work as a good moral compass, though he had noticed that Daphne also expressed her concerns to him with little hesitation. Just thinking about moral compasses made Harry remember about the Ethics books that he had all but abandoned and he almost let off an exhausted groan. There was so much to be done, and so little time to do it all.
"I don't think I'm good enough to be training with Mad-Eye Moody," Neville stopped in the middle of the corridor, fidgeting with his robes, trying to look around for an escape.
"That's why we should train with him," Harry said firmly. "We aren't good enough to decide if we should be training with him. That is his call, not ours. But we already have the denial, so why not try?"
"He used to train Aurors, Harry," Neville said despairingly. "He won't give us any special attention just because we want to."
"He wouldn't do that just for us," Harry agreed softly. "But I think he'd do it for our parents."
Neville stopped squirming and looked at Harry with a more determined face, but did not move. Feeling slightly guilty for pressing the issue, but doing so from a position of sincerity, he continued.
"You saw the way he looked at us that day in his office, Neville. He misses our parents too. I think he'd see training us as an opportunity to do right by them," Harry said quietly, looking at the boy directly, before turning and facing the wall briefly. "Plus, I'm going to need help with the Tournament, or I'll have no chance to win it."
"Wait, are you going to try to win?" Neville asked, taken by surprise by the latter sentence to the point of not commenting on the former.
"I'm not giving the person who entered me in this Tournament the satisfaction of seeing me fail," Harry snarled. The other boy nodded faintly and looked at his hands for a long time.
"Right," he murmured finally, before raising his gaze to meet Harry's. "Let's do this, then."
"For our parents?" Harry asked gently.
"No," Neville shook his head. "For us."
The conversation with Moody was far shorter and easier than Harry expected. It helped that the man was expecting the visit ever since news about Snape's attack reached him and was thinking of reaching out anyway. He was surprised by Neville showing up, but was receptive to the idea of teaching both Gryffindors whatever he could.
"Longbottom is behind you, but you'll need more training for the Tournament, Potter," he informed them after giving them some exercises to gauge their level. "It evens out in the end, so I'll find a way to train you both together."
The other mentor with whom he wanted to speak was Salazar, so to the Chamber of Secrets he went. He had been meaning to ask Slytherin about that book he found in Burgin and Burke's, so the trip would be even more worthwhile.
As soon as he entered Salazar's office, he felt slightly dazed. He frowned, supporting himself on the wall to not fall, being careful to stay still.
"Hello, Speaker," Basil greeted him from the table. "You seem unwell."
"Just a wave of dizziness," Harry dismissed the concern.
"Salazar is observing his House's reaction to the tournament," Basil hissed, pointing to the empty portrait with his head. "Feel free to summon him."
Harry nodded and moved to the frame, with the snake eyeing him the entire time. Serena was still resting from pumping out that much venom when she bit Snape and was away sleeping it off somewhere in the Chamber. Harry touched the frame with his wand and waited a few seconds. Half a minute later, Salazar appeared and took a glance at Harry.
"You have caused quite a stir, once again," the Founder said gravely. "I hear that the man who has attacked you is gone from the castle?"
"Snape left, yes," Harry confirmed.
"What are your plans for him?" Salazar inquired, staring Harry down through his long nose. "I have heard from Miss Greengrass that you two had him bound but let him escape."
"Do you disapprove?" Harry asked with a cocked eyebrow and a defiant expression.
"I do not have all the information necessary to make any judgment," the portrait replied coolly. "That is why I ask you."
"I didn't want for the incident to be swept under the rug like his previous one had," Harry said pensively, crossing his arms and leaning against the table to look at the portrait evenly. "And I knew that it would be." He frowned. "Dumbledore even asked me to keep it a secret. If Snape left and couldn't communicate with anyone here in Britain, I could ensure the story got told as I want it to be. I'm sure he'll find a way to return to Britain without breaking the Oath, but by then, I'll have dragged his reputation so far into the mud that not even Dumbledore or Malfoy could save him."
"I would not worry about Lord Malfoy at the moment," Salazar smirked sinisterly. "Lord Greengrass has managed to occupy him for the foreseeable future."
"He has?" Harry blinked, confused.
"I recommend you read the Daily Prophet when you leave," Salazar said, still with a pleased smirk, before he became as even as ever. "Now, how will you damage his reputation?"
"I know there's going to be an event for the Tri-Wizard Tournament where the press gets invited," Harry reasoned. "I figured I could speak with them there."
"And when is this event?" The man asked.
"In about a week, I reckon," Harry frowned pensively.
"So, you are waiting a week to make your move instead of striking now?" Salazar cocked an eyebrow, looking down at Harry.
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Harry answered back irritably. "Write them a letter?"
"Yes," Salazar nodded, unimpressed. "You still do not understand how to leverage your reputation for your benefit."
"Sorry for not thinking about that the second after I woke up," Harry growled. "I had other things on my mind at the time."
"It is not to me that you should apologize, but to yourself," Salazar retorted calmly before he frowned lightly. "You are failing to keep up with Occlumency."
"Merlin, will you stop insisting on that thing!" Harry snapped, stepping away from the table against which he leaned and approaching the portrait. "I have a thousand things to do, and Occlumency frankly isn't my priority at the moment."
"It should be, you ingrate," Salazar snarled, his eyes flashing with annoyance and frustration. "How do you expect to learn from me if the first thing I tell you to learn is discarded? Do you believe you know more than I do on magic?"
"How could I learn?!" Harry complained loudly. "All you tell me to do is reflect and meditate and think. Those aren't instructions! What am I supposed to do?! What am I supposed to feel?!"
"The mind is complex and unique," Salazar barked. "If there were specific instructions with which to teach you, I would have done so a long time ago, but there are not. The Mind Arts are difficult to learn else everyone would have domain over them."
"Well, that's just fantastic," Harry drawled sarcastically. "I am beneath you since I struggle so much with such brilliant instructions."
"It is not a matter of being beneath me," Salazar said firmly.
"Yes, it is!" Harry interrupted. "I saw the way you looked at me when you asked me about letting Snape go like I was some foolish little boy."
"It is not-"
"What would you have done?" Harry asked.
"Don't inter-"
"What would you have done?" Harry pressed.
"Enough!" Salazar bellowed.
"What would you have done?" Harry yelled.
Salazar looked at Harry coldly, analyzing him for the longest time, but he answered the question, his voice distant and emotionless as if he were a bureaucrat reading from a report.
"I would have killed him."
Harry did not gape at Salazar nor look at him incredulously, but there was still a sense of betrayal behind the cold look that the boy sent the portrait-mentor, though it still was more resigned than anything else.
"I don't fancy myself as a person who can kill in cold blood," Harry stated strongly.
"Even when it is advantageous to you and those you love?" Salazar asked neutrally.
"That doesn't justify murder," Harry snapped angrily. When Salazar moved to ask something behind a mask of growing frustration, Harry interrupted him with a wave of the hand. "And don't you dare start grumbling to me having to be more of a Slytherin and to abandon any Gryffindor foolishness. It has nothing to do with House affiliation; it is my belief. Trying to justify murder for personal benefit is repulsive. Like it's the only thing that matters. I am not hesitant or weak. Quirrell is dead because of me. Your basilisk is dead because of me."
"Yet, Peter Pettigrew lives," Salazar drawled.
"Don't go there," Harry gnarled. "Don't you dare go there."
"I dare as I will," Slytherin warned Harry, his eyes flashing, Basil hissing angrily behind the boy, who stood there unmoving, too lost in his own anger and frustration to care. "And you need to learn."
"I already know this lesson," Harry snarled. "I don't need to be taught by someone so self-centered that they think they have a right over life and death."
"You fail to understand the world if you think that you will not have to make such decisions in the future," Salazar bit out.
"I am perfectly aware of that," Harry growled. "And my decision will stay the same. I am not an executioner. I am not a judge. If I must kill, I have done so before and I will do so again, but I will not become a murderer. That is not right."
"Foolishness by any other name would have the same consequences," Salazar retorted immediately. "Such sanctimoniousness is what got Godric killed."
"And your ruthlessness is what got you disgraced," Harry countered. "You are just as sanctimonious as I am, except you're advocating murder."
"I am telling you to act in your best interest," Salazar snarled.
"And I am telling you that I will not do so if it means I have to kill people in cold blood," Harry stood his ground stubbornly.
"You may cross wands with Severus Snape in the future, and you may lose because you chose mercy," Salazar warned.
"Mercy?" Harry smiled coldly. "Do you think I'm being merciful? I do not want Snape or Pettigrew dead. I want them to waste away in Azkaban, the Dementors stealing every shred of self that they have."
"You still need to beat them to capture them," Salazar argued. "It is much harder to defeat someone than it is to kill them in combat."
"Then I will defeat them," Harry stated resolutely.
"Oh, you will beat the former Slytherin Head of House, will you?" Salazar drawled derisively. "Not only overly moralistic but delusional too."
"I will defeat them, or I will be defeated, but I will not kill someone who is defenseless," Harry said steely.
"Let us see if that resolve holds if you have Riddle unconscious in front of you," Salazar dismissed the conviction easily.
"He doesn't count," Harry snarled.
"Oh, why is that?" Salazar asked, his eyebrows mocking Harry as they slowly rose to the man's forehead. "Do you have special dispensation to be a killer, as you call it, so long as it is someone who deserves it? Do you get to decide who deserves it too?"
"Snape is not the same as Voldemort," Harry snapped. "Arguing that is ridiculous."
"Yes, but where is the line, Harry Potter," Salazar whispered, leaning forwards with grave eyes. "Do you get to draw it?"
"For my own actions, I will draw the line, and only I will draw the line," Harry growled. "And killing for convenience is not on the right side of the line."
"Unless it's Riddle, of course," Salazar said mockingly. "Your conviction truly is absolute."
"I don't believe in absolutes," Harry hissed angrily. "Your words don't matter to me."
"If you are going to be so resolute in your stupidity, you may as well use it," Salazar said firmly after examining the boy for a long, tense, and silent minute.
"What?" Harry asked confusedly, caught so off guard by the suggestion that he did not protest being called stupid.
"If you are so convinced of your own idiocy on the matter," Salazar repeated slowly, silencing Harry with a gesture when he went to protest the characterization. "Then use that in your Occlumency training. These strong convictions are exactly what I mean by knowing yourself. That is why I have not given you specific instructions. Our minds work too differently for any advice to be useful."
"I am glad for it," Harry said stubbornly, the argument not fully leaving his conscience, and indignation filling him with the necessity to have a parting shot.
"As am I," Salazar intoned seriously.
Harry nodded and made to exit the Chamber. "I will speak with you later, Salazar."
"Beware, Child!" Salazar yelled as the boy left. "See that your morals don't stand in the way of your interview!"
If Harry heard the words, he did not indicate as such. Basil turned to Salazar after the office was silent for a few seconds.
"He will remember the book one day," the snake hissed. "Your ward will not last forever."
"I will ensure that when he remembers it, it will not matter," Salazar responded evenly.
Basil remained skeptical, which should have alarmed the portrait. After all, they were part of the same entity.
Several things happened in the following days to which Harry was not privy, two of which bore some significance to him. The first was that Tracey managed to get out the news about the attack to the Beauxbatons students, and every time he crossed them they would look at him piteously. Madame Maxime had stopped being present in the Great Hall ever since in protest of the attack and had very publicly stated that she had sent for a Potions Professor from her school to meet her delegation and that classes there would be open for every student of every school. While some Hogwarts students would likely stretch the period of insecurity regarding their Potions instructor for as long as they could, many were anxious to get some proper lectures for once, and even some Durmstrang students seemed excited about the possibility, though never under Karkaroff's stern gaze.
The second was that Daphne and Hermione had a private conversation that made both girls more relaxed, from what he could see. Hermione told him that they had agreed to focus on helping him, and Daphne merely raised an eyebrow and kept reading when he asked her. As long as they weren't fighting, Harry didn't mind. He was still trying to come up with a way in which they could all be together in the same room without ringing any alarm bells around the castle or without revealing any secrets to Hermione that he had elected to keep under wraps. They had worked well with the schooling of the First-Years, and the rewards of that effort were slow-going but tangible, as the Muggle-born firsties had separated themselves from the rest of the pack by quite a distance at that point. Their cooperation would only mean good things for Harry's chance at being the winner of the Tournament.
The foreign champions seemed confident in their abilities. Viktor Krum was as stoic as ever, his surly face unmoved by anything around him, as he quietly went about his day, frequently spending time in the library by himself or surrounded by one or two close friends from his school. Mostly, the older boy seemed to distrust anyone unknown getting close to him, and he glowered at boys and girls who alike couldn't take their gazes away from him, but for different reasons. Harry related a lot with him, actually. He could easily see how he might have turned into someone like Viktor if he had been raised in the Wizarding World instead of in Privet Drive. While they had yet to talk, they were courteous to each other, exchanging silent nods of acknowledgment whenever their gazes met during meals, something that the Bulgarian did not grant any other Hogwarts alumni. It seemed that the show of power that Harry had made in the Great Hall that day made the older boy respect his potential as competition if nothing else.
Fleur Delacour was much harder for him to understand. While he was not completely immune to Veela ― the World Cup had proved that ― he did not feel the immense pull that the boys in the Great Hall seemed to have in general. Thus he would be in the select group of men towards whom the French beauty did not glower whenever their paths crossed regardless of his status as champion. However, the woman was clearly curious about Harry, if her inquisitive looks were any indication. Unlike other people, who frequently stared at him only to look away, whenever he caught her looking his way, her curiosity would only heighten, along with some open amusement at his lack of fluster. He was not deluded on the nature of those looks and knew the girl was merely curious about how much of a threat he posed, but it was still flattering nonetheless. Harry did not share Hermione's dislike for the French Veela, because despite it being undeniable that she was arrogant and snooty, something about her posture and mannerisms warned Harry that she had reason to be confident in her abilities. The slight physical resemblance to Daphne, from a distance, made her less intimidating, as he at least had the practice of looking at effortlessly beautiful people without losing the ability to speak. Though he recognized that Delacour was to Daphne what Daphne was to someone like Pansy Parkinson. She made him far warier than Krum did, despite the Bulgarian's imposing presence.
Cedric still behaved oddly, fluctuating between the cool confidence one might expect from his status as Hogwarts Champion and the twitchy nervousness that Harry had witnessed that Halloween. It was also clear that the boy had a problem with Harry, and didn't know how to deal with it in any way whatsoever. His choice was to occupy himself with the people surrounding him and asking for autographs, handshakes, and wishing good luck, ignoring everything else. The Hufflepuffs seemed disgruntled that Harry was competing with their leader for the school's prestige, though Snape's attack had taken the edge off their vitriol. Susan, with whom Harry had been striking a good friendship over their shared schedule with the Third-Years, had insisted on sitting on the Gryffindor Table near him the first day of his return, sending glowers towards people in her house who kept looking at Harry guiltily. Though she returned to the badger table the next day, the show of loyalty was still touching.
The Slytherins were mostly quiet, now that the news about Snape had circulated through both foreign schools. Durmstrang seemed largely unaffected, though Harry did see Krum largely ignoring the Slytherin students' attempts to speak with him. Whether that was by conviction or just taking advantage of an opportunity, Harry was unsure.
However, Daphne had expressed concerns to him more than once during that week that tensions had been mounting in the absence of a Head of House. It appeared that Cygnus's work against Lucius in the Wizengamot had paralyzed Draco a bit, but it was only a matter of time before the boy's temper blew over and he reacted to a taunt about the speech. More concerningly, Nott might develop into Daphne's chief competitor, which was a much more dangerous dispute in her view. Harry knew nothing about the quiet Slytherin, but he remembered seeing the boy above him in the final Third-Year grades. Yet, as long as Montague remained by Draco's side, it would be him that presented the larger threat, and the older boy had remained loyal.
Harry still had no idea how to approach the Ravenclaws and it was with some shame that he realized he had forgotten his conclusions about Luna Lovegood until he saw her eating pudding alone at the Ravenclaw Table earlier that day. He still needed to talk with Flitwick about that, and maybe the half-goblin would offer him some advice about falling into the good graces of his House.
For now, though, Harry was headed for the Weighing of the Wands. He opened the door, where all the champions were standing behind a group of desks positioned for them, waiting for someone.
"Ah, there comes our fourth champion!" Bagman said excitedly. Roman Smith looked at him with the corner of his eye, and the excitement turned to nervousness immediately. Bagman took a seat silently, nervously peering over at a blonde woman with a forcedly saccharine smile and tamed blonde hair that was taking careful notes of the proceedings.
"Mr. Potter," Smith greeted him much more sedately with a polite smile. "We're just waiting for Mr. Ollivander and Headmaster Dumbledore to arrive. He'll be examining your wands and then the Daily Prophet, represented by Ms. Rita Skeeter and her photographer, will ask questions collectively and maybe ask for a few individual ones."
"More than a few, my Lord," the woman purred, eyeing Harry hungrily. It made him immediately want to recoil. By his side, Fleur smirked at Harry's poorly concealed discomfort.
"What are you so cocky about?" Harry asked her, side-eying the smug French witch, whose smirk only grew at the question.
"Cocky? Moi? Impossible," she responded, making Harry snort, which she found even more amusing. To her credit, she seemed to be aware of her reputation.
"You seem comfortable being put on this pedestal," Harry commented idly. "Certainly more than Cedric."
The Hufflepuff was trying to strike up a conversation about Quidditch with Krum, who couldn't look more done with it all. Harry wondered if talking with the Bulgarian about Quidditch wouldn't be one of the most instructive things he'd ever done if only the Durmstrang champion was in the mood for it.
"''Verybody 'as put me on a pedestal for my 'eritage regardless," she shrugged, and Harry understood what Tracey said about how hard it was to focus when you had the woman's undivided attention. He felt none of that foreign push on his mind that he had felt at the World Cup, the one which so reminded him of how his magic urged him to be more destructive, but the way her hair shone and the sweet, foreign lilt to her words ― rêgarrrdless ― made his attention waver. Still, he tapped into his will to remain as outwardly unaffected as possible, something that the Veela clearly noticed by how much her expression relaxed. "Zis way I can choose which pedestal zey put me on."
"Oh? And would that be?" Harry asked curiously.
"For my skill, intelligence, and power, of course," she said matter-of-factly, smiling defiantly in his direction. "And I can zee that you will be an... interesting opponent. More than your age suggests."
Harry smirked back, letting some malice bleed into it, borne out of his experiences fighting and training over the previous months. He knew he was not at the girl's level, but she didn't have to know that. He was likely at least as powerful as the other three, if not nearly as skilled or knowledgeable. The act made her laugh musically, which caught the eye of the people around the room. When the reporter looked curiously at the pair, Harry took the edge off his smile and did his best to look angelic, though the knowing glint in the woman's eye revealed she had noticed the exchange.
Harry had heard a lot about Rita Skeeter from Neville, Susan, and Daphne. He knew exactly which type of reporter she was. He resolved to try and speak with Viktor and Cedric to discourage any reports that he was too focused on Fleur, but before he could begin, Dumbledore and Ollivander arrived.
Everyone stood when Dumbledore arrived and Harry felt some satisfaction in seeing the frustration in Skeeter's eyes for having to do so.
"Hello, everyone," the Headmaster smiled benevolently.
"Headmaster, how are you?" Skeeter asked all too politely, grabbing her quill and notepad and approaching him quickly. "Have you had the chance to read my latest article on the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Inspired as always, Miss Skeeter," Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling amusedly. "You do have a nearly unmatched talent for rudeness."
She looked vaguely proud.
"Well, I was just making the point that the common wizard in the streets isn't represented by―"
"I will be more than receptive to having this conversation with you later," Dumbledore interrupted her smoothly. "But the champions do have places to be, as does Mr. Ollivander." He then turned to the people in the room and waved at the old wandmaker with his long arm. "I am sure that I do not need to present Mr. Ollivander to you, but here he is, a master of his craft. He will be examining all of your wands today."
The judges ― the three Headmasters, Lord Smith, and Bagman ― sat down at a velvet table in front of the four champions, with Skeeter and her photographer in a corner, the woman watching the proceedings with a quill floating eagerly above her notepad.
Ollivander reached for Delacour first, asking her about her wand in his displaced voice.
Harry spaced out a bit, not particularly interested in the details of each wand. He worried about the man mentioning the connection between his wand and Voldemort's, but decided it wouldn't be likely with Dumbledore in the room. And even if he did, it would be relatively simple swinging it as a consequence of his surviving the Killing Curse. He absently heard a confirmation of his suspicion that Fleur was a Veela and that Krum's wand was from a Gregorovitch design. Cedric's, of course, was from the man himself.
Harry's wand was examined more thoroughly than any other, and he saw some adults in the room perk up at the fact that he had a wand with a phoenix feather core. He despairingly realized that wand compositions sounded like something of a wizarding version of the horoscope that Petunia read religiously and noted that indeed, Skeeter was noting everything down in detail.
Then began the photographs and the questions, most of which seemed innocuous. But Harry saw the greedy glint in Skeeter's eyes and knew that she was looking forward very much to the possibility of cornering him and asking questions privately. The first exclusive with the Boy-Who-Lived.
He was frankly surprised that it had not happened sooner.
Therefore, he was unsurprised when, as soon as the proceedings ended, the woman descended on him like a vulture, dismissing Dumbledore's request for her to not bother him with an ease that frankly baffled both the Headmaster and Harry, who had never seen anyone ignore the man so blatantly before.
"It's fine, sir," Harry said politely to Dumbledore when he began insisting again. "I prefer to speak with her right now."
"Are you sure, Harry?" He asked, looking warily at Skeeter, who was glowing with satisfaction at his acceptance.
"Yes," Harry nodded. He leaned closer to Dumbledore, conspiratorially whispering. "She's going to write about me anyway."
Dumbledore conceded with a tilt of the head but warningly glanced at Skeeter, who again ignored the Headmaster's gravitas.
The woman guided Harry, not particularly gently, to a corner of the room and immediately cast a privacy spell, which surprised him. Given her reputation, he did not expect that. Then again, she couldn't have her exclusive leaking out to any eavesdroppers.
"So, Mr. Potter," She asked, her quill writing frantically despite his silence. "What do you think of being selected as a champion?"
"It was unexpected," Harry said cautiously, frowning slightly as the quill kept writing much more than he was saying. "I'm not happy about it, but I intend to win."
"Oh, looking for a win?" Skeeter's eye gleamed. "Were you even that surprised that you were selected then?"
Harry stiffened at the question and felt his temper rise, though he kept his tone as even as he could. Even then, it came out sharp. "Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with the attack on Bertha Jorkins?"
"Of course not!" The woman said with a faked gasp, then leaned forward. "But looking to win despite being selected several years behind your competitors? And being so resolute, dare I say, even confident with Miss Delacour? Don't you think it's curious?"
"Someone went to great lengths to ensure that I was put into this Tournament," Harry gritted out. "I'm not giving them the satisfaction of watching me die in it."
"Fierce!" The woman complimented him with a smirk. "Very good, Mr. Potter. What else do you expect from the Tournament? I couldn't help but notice how you interacted with Miss Delacour on the stage. Did you find it difficult to resist her... nature?"
Uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation headed and knowing that he was unlikely to subtly guide the conversation with someone who could so blatantly run over Dumbledore, Harry grabbed the floating notebook with one hand, and the quill with the other, just before it turned to attack him. The woman was primed to complain when Harry caught sight of the writing already midway through describing the steamy atmosphere between young wizard and predatory Veela, and he ripped the page out of the spiralized notebook.
"Skeeter, you can write your dramatic love interest pieces with other people as much as you want," Harry said uncaringly. "No one remembers them beyond a couple of weeks anyway. But, I do have things to tell you, things that are much more interesting than a fake romantic relationship between myself and a much older and very disinterested girl."
Skeeter looked at Harry oddly for a second, then her demeanor changed and the fake friendliness vanished, showing the skeptical, crafty, and uncaring person beneath the mask.
"You know, kid, I come across a lot of people like you," she said dismissively. "People who think they know better than I do about what sells, how to make people listen, how to make them cry, beg for more, pay for more. You look clever for your age, but I've been doing this since before you were born, and I'm the best in the business."
"Still, romance with a Veela?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow. "That's just a cheap novel. Now, I have a story of someone in a position of authority committing a blatant crime against a student, running away in the night, Dumbledore asking for the incident to be kept secret, nothing being talked about it in the Wizengamot, tensions between Madame Maxime and Hogwarts as a result..." Harry clucked his tongue. "Doesn't that sound much better?"
"You're talking about Snape," the woman summed up. Harry was briefly surprised that she knew about it already, but she just smirked. "Please. There's not a worthwhile rumor in this country that I'm not privy to." She turned contemplative for a while and looked at him. "Is it true then? He attacked you and ran off?"
"He did," Harry confirmed.
"I figured," she mumbled. Then she let the back of her head touch the wall and looked at Harry with a downward gaze. "Interesting story though it may be, you think we don't get denunciations about Snape by the droves from Hogwarts graduates? He is closely associated with Dumbledore and Malfoy. The first one we can more or less ignore these days," she waved a hand dismissively. "But the second? Malfoy is not someone you get to cross twice, and he's friends with Cuffe."
"Even after Cygnus's speech?" Harry asked. The woman breathed out deeply.
"That does make it a bit easier to attack Snape, yes," she conceded. "But it's not worth the risk. For what it's worth, it is an interesting story, kid. There's just not enough evidence for me to justify the potential of Malfoy falling on my ass after the mess with Lord Greengrass is done with."
Harry was mixedly amused and angry that the woman was trying to hide behind lack of evidence when he knew that she frequently published stories without a shred of it, but he didn't let it stop him.
"But did you know that I wasn't the only student he attacked?" He asked, and by how the woman let her head fall to meet his gaze directly, he knew that he had her attention. "He attacked another Slytherin, in fact. You may know her as Daphne Greengrass."
"The Greengrass Heiress," Skeeter said with a gleaming eye. "The day before the landmark speech from Cygnus..." She trailed off, looking pensive. "That does seem interesting..."
"I'm sure I can arrange for Greengrass and myself to be in the same room as you one of those Hogsmeade visits," Harry smiled.
The woman grinned sharply, and Harry was gifted with the rare sight of seeing the full predatory nature of Rita Skeeter without it being directed at him.
"I'm sure it'll be a constructive conversation, Mr. Potter."
