"Oh, Merlin," Ginny said, clapping her hands to her mouth. She looked almost as queasy as Harry felt, but her brown eyes were dancing with barely restrained glee. "Harry …"

Harry forced himself to stand, no easy feat, for his knees did not want to cooperate. Nevertheless, he set off towards the door which would take him to his doom. Moody was grinning at him from the High Table. Harry managed a weak smile in reply.

The door through which the three other champions had vanished led to a small chamber full of painting. Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour and Cedric were all standing before the fire, looking more or less miserable.

"What is it?" Fleur asked, tossing her hair. If Harry hadn't guessed from her name that she was French, he would have known it from her accent. "Do they want us back in the hall?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt small and lost and stupid; the other three were much taller than him, and probably much cleverer.

"Extraordinary!" Ludo Bagman exclaimed, from behind him. He was wearing his yellow-and-black Wimbourne Wasps robes, which made him look rather stupid. "May I introduce the fourth champion?"

Krum looked displeased, although not surprised. Cedric simply stared.

"Very funny joke, Mr Bagman," said Fleur, smiling.

"It isn't a joke," Harry managed.

The rest of the judges arrived, with McGonagall and Snape in tow, and the lot of them spent several minutes arguing about whether or not Harry would in fact be competing and whether it was fair – to Harry, to the other champions, to the other schools, to the chairman of the BBC for all Harry knew – to allow him to do so.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, at last, "did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"No," Harry lied. Snape made a disbelieving noise.

"Did you ask an older student to put it in for you?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry stared. "No!" Even if he had been forced to resort to that, he wasn't a sneak. Yes, said a nasty little voice in the back of his head which sounded like a horribly guilt-inducing blend of Ron and Hermione, but you don't mind getting Ginny in trouble. Harry told the voice to shut up.

Dumbledore looked Harry up and down. "Hmm," he said, and the argument resumed. Harry stared down at his shoes and tried to work out what he was going to tell Ron and Hermione.

At long last, Mr Crouch emerged from the stridently whispering huddle of adults. "Mr Potter will compete. The Goblet's ruling is final. Now, as to the first task: since it is to test your daring, we will tell you only that it shall be on November the twenty-fourth. You may not ask for or accept help of any kind from your teachers to complete the tasks. You may only bring your wand to this first task. Once the first task is over, you will hear about the second. In light of the great commitment this brings, you are exempted from examinations, unless any of you are taking the external variety … no? Excellent. Off you go."

The adults all left, still whispering; Fleur Delacour went off with Madame Maxime, who was talking in very fast French; and Krum and Karkaroff headed off, heads close together. This left Harry to walk with Cedric.

"So," Cedric said, far more cheerfully than Harry would have in the same position, "we're competing against each other again!"

Harry shrugged.

"Tell me," Cedric continued, "how did you get your name in?"

"I didn't," Harry lied.

Cedric raised his eyebrows.

"Alright, fine," Harry said defeatedly. "But – promise you won't tell, alright? I had help, and –"

"Merlin forbid we lose Hermione Granger," said Cedric.

Harry glared. "It was Ginny. Ron Weasley's little sister. We used a Confunding Charm last night."

"Oh," Cedric said, not sounding convinced. "Well, tell Ginny good job from me, and to have a long hard think about the sort of people she hangs around with."

They had come to the bottom of the Grand Staircase.

"Bye," said Harry awkwardly, and trudged up to Gryffindor, where, to his astonishment, he was greeted by a party which made the one after they had won the Quidditch Cup last year seem subdued and silent.

"Well done, Harry, well done!" Ginny shrieked, flying across the common room and into Harry's arms. "Oh, well done!"

Harry hugged her, using the cover of the loud praise coming from all sides to whisper, "Cedric knows. He says to tell you good job."

Ginny beamed. "Thanks."

Harry took Ginny by the arm and dragged her through the crowd to the dark corner where Ron and Hermione awaited him.

"We know you didn't put your name in," Hermione said, before Harry could say anything. "Theo was so angry."

"He hexed that suit of armour in the Charms corridor," Ron put in.

Harry stared. "And – you're not angry?"

"Well, yeah, obviously we aren't," said Ron. "Even Daphne agrees you aren't thick enough to put your own name in."

The next morning, Harry got up early and wrote to Sirius.

Dear Sirius, I'm a Triwizard champion. There's four of us. I put my name in to protect the others, but it doesn't seem such a good idea now. Ginny – Ron's little sister – knows, and so does Professor Moody. It was Professor Moody's idea, and I told the other Hogwarts champion, but he's in Hufflepuff. I need advice. Harry.

He then trudged down to breakfast, where Ginny awaited him, still looking pleased.

"I saw Moody just now," she whispered, handing Harry the salt cellar. "He gave me ten points for bringing cheer to the school."

"Great," Harry managed.

The Hufflepuffs, not surprisingly, were not best pleased that Harry was a champion, and so Herbology was rather awkward. Hermione did not improve matters by spending the entire lesson complaining under her breath about unreasonable people and how wizards didn't have an ounce of logic. Harry focused on repotting the Bouncing Bulbs and ignoring the squirming pit in his stomach which told him the Hufflepuffs had a point.

"Cedric said you put your name in on purpose," Hannah Abbott remarked, as they were packing up.

In that moment, Harry would gladly have strangled Cedric Diggory. "Cedric's a liar, then, isn't he? I didn't put my name in the sodding Goblet."

"Leave him alone, Hannah," Hermione snapped. "Isn't it bad enough he might die?"

Hannah looked like she thought this might be a good thing. Belatedly, Harry remembered that she had been one of the first to think he was the Heir of Slytherin back in second year.

"C'mon," Ron said, shooting Hannah a very dirty look, "we'll be late for Care of Magical Creatures if we don't hurry up."

They hurried, but they needn't have bothered; Hagrid's latest strategy was to make them walk the Skrewts, for all the world as if they were Aunt Marge's dogs.

"They've got too much energy," Hagrid explained eagerly.

"Too right," said Nott.

"Excuse me," Malfoy put in, from behind Crabbe and Goyle, "but where does one put the lead, pray tell?"

Harry admitted there were no obvious protuberances around which a lead could be fixed.

"Around the middle," Hagrid said, demonstrating.

Harry fitted a Skrewt with a leash and set off. Hermione went off with Nott, who seemed to like the Skrewts, perhaps because he was capable of controlling them. In Harry's opinion, kicks, hexes and the occasional firm stamp were not humane methods of animal husbandry, but he reckoned it was probably only about the same level of disregard for animals' dignity as half the exercises Professor McGonagall set them.

"I wish I could do that," Ron said enviously.

"It's Hermes' fault," Daphne Greengrass said, scowling; her Skrewt had decided it didn't want to go for a walk after all. "He's always breeding ridiculous nonsense. He's trying for Stymphalian birds, I think, and I know he's got a Nundu hidden away somewhere. Don't tell Theo I told you, but Lord Mallen's inches from getting fined over that."

Harry stared. "Who's Lord Mallen?"

"Theo's dad, I think," said Ron. "Have you tried kicking it? Works for Theo, doesn't it?"

Daphne wrinkled her nose. "Well, it's worth a try, I suppose." She aimed a kick at her Skrewt's sucker. The Skrewt shot forward, emitting sparks. "There we go."

Harry and Ron dragged their Skrewts aimlessly around for a few minutes. Harry listened with half an ear to Ron complaining about how the Chudley Cannons were bottom of the league again, but mostly devoted his attention to Hermione and Nott, who were standing practically on top of each other and seemed very jumpy.

"Mate," Ron said quietly, "he's not going to kidnap her, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "What're they even talking about, though? How much Arithmancy can there be? Isn't it just sums?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I think Trelawney's meant to be good at it."

Harry supposed that made sense, for Divination was the only subject where they ever used maths.

They arrived at Potions to find the Slytherins waiting for them. All of them, except for Daphne, were wearing badges saying Support Cedric Diggory – The Real Hogwarts Champion! in luminous red letters.

"Thanks a lot, Theo, mate," Ron said disgustedly.

Nott, staring down at his shoes, took off his badge and handed it to Blaise Zabini, who pocketed it.

"Like them, Potter?" Malfoy asked, grinning. "That's not all they do. Look." He pressed his badge into his chest. The message was replaced by another, in green: Potter Stinks. Harry was almost tempted to agree.

"Oh, yes, stunningly clever," Hermione said, with withering sarcasm. "Look, I'm rolling on the floor laughing."

"You should stay there, Mudblood," Malfoy said. Most of the other Slytherins laughed. Nott carried on staring at his feet. Daphne looked unimpressed.

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Hermione can't help who her parents are."

At that moment, Snape came sweeping around the corner. "What is going on?"

"Potter and I were arguing, sir," said Malfoy, sounding almost nervous. "I made a joke Potter didn't like."

"The M-word isn't a joke," Harry snarled.

"The M-word," Snape repeated, his black eyes fixed on Malfoy's face. "Which M-word?"

"He called me a Mudblood," said Hermione.

Snape blinked. "You are mistaken, Granger. That slur has been banned at Hogwarts since before you were born. Get inside, all of you."

"Excuse me, Professor Snape?"

They all turned to stare at Colin Creevey, who was easily the most annoying person in the year below Harry's. Malfoy muttered something uncomplimentary, and nobody challenged him, for Colin was not exactly popular even in Gryffindor.

"What does Professor Sprout want now?" Snape demanded. "You can tell her that her fanged geraniums, ill though they may be, will last until the end of the teaching day."

Colin took a step back. "I – Mr Bagman wants Harry. I think they want photographs, sir."

"Potter can curate his image in his own time," Snape said, sneering. "Come along, Potter."

"But there's a lady from the newspaper!" Colin protested. "Her name's Madam Skeeter. She's got this really cool green quill that writes down what you say!"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "In that case, Potter, off you go. I'm sure Madam Skeeter will write a very … accurate … account."

Harry fled, Colin at his heels.

"Don't you think it's great?" Colin asked, as they headed out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall. "Imagine, Harry! You! In the newspaper!"

"Yeah," Harry said dubiously. "I don't take it, though. I should probably start. What's this Madam Skeeter like?"

Colin shrugged. "She's meant to be good. Demelza told me she called Dumbledore an obsolete old dingbat once. I don't really pay attention to by-lines. I did hear a rumour she used to write for The Quibbler, though, back when she was still Miss Fawley."

Harry stared. "You mean that magazine Loony Lovegood hands out?"

"Yeah, her dad edits it," Colin explained, taking the Grand Staircase two marble steps at the time. "You know Luna, then?"

"Not to talk to," Harry said. "I don't think she likes me."

Colin turned and stared at him. "But – Luna likes everyone."

"She doesn't like me," said Harry. "Well, I don't think so, anyway."

"Oh," said Colin, his face closing off. "Well, um, here you are."

Here was one of the smaller disused classrooms, with all the desks moved to one side. Cedric and Fleur were sitting on the floor, talking, flirting if Harry was any judge. Krum was standing moodily in a corner, reading a book. Bagman was talking to a magenta-robed witch, who Harry supposed must be Madam Skeeter the reporter, and a wizard with a camera.

"Harry!" Bagman exclaimed, grinning. "In you come, come on … thank you, you can go … just the Wand Weighing ceremony, nothing to worry about, can't have it malfunctioning, you know. Barty pulled a few strings and got Ollivander in, he's just upstairs with Dumbledore, and after we'll have some photographs. By the way, this is Rita Skeeter, she's covering the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Hello," said Rita Skeeter, who had stiff blonde curls and a heavy-jawed face. "May I have a word before we start? The youngest champion, you know …"

"Of course," Bagman said jovially.

Rita Skeeter steered Harry out of the room and into a nearby broom cupboard.

"You don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?" she asked.

"What?" Harry said.

Rita smiled and produced an acid-green quill from her crocodile-skin bag.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling slightly stupid. "What does it do?"

"Say something," Rita suggested.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry ventured.

The quill scribbled away madly. Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter is a hero of our time, but –

"Lovely," Rita said, stuffing the piece of parchment into her bag. "You see?"

"Alright, then," said Harry.

Rita smiled encouragingly. "So, why did you enter?"

"I can't say," Harry said, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"I thought so," said Rita, looking like a cat which had got the cream. "My nephew was telling me you'd entered yourself. Go on, Harry, everyone loves a rebel."

Harry swallowed. "I – I didn't enter myself. I thought you were asking why I was entered. I can't say why I was entered because I don't know. Somebody must have stuck my name in for their own reasons. Who is your nephew, anyway?"

"Good try," Rita said. "Go on, Harry, we haven't all day."

"You can't publish it," Harry said quickly. "I told Dumbledore I hadn't put my name in. If I give you an interview saying I did, he'll probably expel me."

Rita sniffed. "My readers need to know."

"Is there anywhere you can publish the truth where they won't believe it?" Harry asked desperately.

"The Quibbler," Rita said, at once. "I worked there before I was married. It's been a good twenty years, but you know what they say about Lovegoods, never forget a good turn. Or a bad one, for that matter, but there you go, you can't have everything. You'll be right up there with the Rotfang conspiracy and batty witches who think they've found evidence of the Heffalump."

Harry admitted that he hadn't believed one word in the copy of The Quibbler which Luna Lovegood had given him. "And you can't mention my accomplice, alright? She'll get in trouble."

"Alright," said Rita, not looking pleased. "What's in it for me? Why should I go to the trouble of writing two contradictory articles? I have a reputation to uphold."

"I'll keep on giving you interviews," Harry suggested, "and I won't let anyone else interview me."

Rita stuck out her hand. "Done."

They shook hands.

"Right," said Rita, leaning forward, "go on."

Harry swallowed. Forgive us our trespasses, droned Aunt Petunia in the back of his head. "I – do you know what Confunding Charms are?"

Harry was pleased by the article in the Prophet. It made no mention of Ginny, made it seem like he'd been entered by some malicious third party, and was generally very complimentary.

"She must be ill," Ginny said, over dinner. "Colin spoke to her, apparently. Good old Colin. Almost makes up for all his other attributes."

Harry thought Colin needed his head examined; Harry wasn't a top student, and Hermione certainly wasn't his girlfriend. "He said Rita Skeeter used to work for the Quibbler before she got married."

"I wouldn't know," said Daphne, reaching across Harry for the pepper. "Did she, Theo?"

Nott shrugged and carried on staring at Hermione, who was lecturing him on rune structures.

"Why would he know?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, why would he?" Ron said. "I mean, you're the one whose father sues her on a monthly basis."

Daphne snorted. "She was friends with Theo's mum. Closest thing he has to a favourite auntie. That's half the reason old Lovegood hired her."

"What does Nott's mum have to do with Xenophilius Lovegood?" Harry asked.

The others all stared.

"Mrs Lovegood was Theo's niece on his dad's side," said Daphne. "Selwyns, you know, terrible idiots. So, Granger, where were you?"

"Wait," Harry blurted, "Theo's Rita Skeeter's nephew? She said her nephew told her I'd put my name in."

"I said that was the rumour going around," said Nott, shrugging. "I don't have a clue what Warrington told her, but it probably wasn't anything good. She jumps to conclusions a lot. You should see the one she jumped to in this month's Quibbler. It's a bit of a rush job, to be honest."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, feeling sick. He hadn't got up the courage to look at the Quibbler yet.

Nott produced a magazine from his bag. Across its front page, in big, bright letters, sprawled "Triwizard" Nightmare – Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lied?

"That's low," Ron said. "Great pun, but really low. You believe this rubbish?"

"No," said Nott.

"Oh, good, Theo, you got your copy."

It was Luna Lovegood, her wand sticking out of the messy bun she'd forced her vast quantities of hair into. She was wearing orange radishes for earrings, and a necklace made out of Butterbeer corks; she could not have made her father look a less credible source of news if she'd tried.

"Hello, Luna," Ginny said sourly. "Hermione, have you met Luna? She's Nott's first cousin once removed. Or something."

"A cousin is a cousin," Luna said dreamily, sitting down beside Nott. "Degree doesn't matter. Oh, I did hope you'd got it. What do you all think?"

"Fascinating," said Ron, heavily sarcastic. "Love me some nice rubbish in the morning."

Daphne yawned. "It's just a bit of fun, Ronald. Nobody takes it seriously."

"The Quibbler is a haven of investigative journalism," Luna said, in a very cold voice. "We publish the stories nobody else will."

"That's because they're stuff and nonsense," said Ginny, sneering. "And I can hardly see Witch Weekly caring about making jewellery out of vegetables anyway."

Luna folded her arms. "You at least have to admit there's something up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They're blatantly corrupt. I think it's an absolute disgrace they haven't caught Sirius Black."

Harry, who knew full well Sirius was in fact perfectly innocent, could not restrain a snort.

"Harry!" Hermione said. "You're right, Luna, it's outrageous. But they never gave him a trial, did they?"

"Everyone knows he did it," Nott said.

"Everyone knew Harry was the Heir of Slytherin," Ginny said snidely.

Nott glared at her. "Because you yourself were endangered by the Heir of Slytherin, I shall ignore that remark for now, but it may interest you to know, for future reference, that Peter Pettigrew was a distant relative of mine. On the Yaxley side, edging towards Gryffindor more than Slytherin, but still."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Everyone's a distant relative of yours, so far as I can tell."

"Relations through the Blacks don't count," Daphne informed him. "They marry everyone. It really is most inconsiderate. You know Draco's mum is Sirius Black's first cousin?"

"No," said Harry. He could see why Sirius hadn't been keen to mention her; what kind of witch would marry Lucius Malfoy? "No, I didn't."

"Let's not discuss what people's relations did or didn't do, please," Nott said.

Ginny snorted. "If you're afraid someone will bring up that rumour about your mum, don't be."

"What rumour about Theo's mum?" Hermione asked.

"There is a rumour that my dad murdered my mum," said Nott, with dignity. "It is absolutely untrue. She went up in flames. I saw her."

"I mean the other rumour," Ginny said.

"The one she slept with the Dark Lord?" Daphne said. "That's also untrue. I heard the Dark Lord's infertile."

Harry thought it was probably safe to say that Tom Riddle had not exactly been a budding Casanova in any case, but then again, he had been very handsome as a teenager.

"I mean the one she taught you Legilimency," said Ginny.

Silence fell in their happy little bubble of good inter-House relations.

"How dare you," said Nott, who had gone white as a sheet. "The witch is ten years dead. Show some respect."

"Don't be horrid, Ginny," Hermione said, in a very high voice.

"She's got a point," said Daphne, whether of Ginny or Hermione Harry wasn't sure.

"Daphne," Nott said tightly, "shut up. Miss Weasley, I would advise you to think a lot more carefully about your friends, and not to go about making unwarranted accusations." He got up and stormed off.

"Well," said Ginny, into the uncomfortable silence, "that'll teach him."

Luna called Ginny an extremely rude word and floated off in Nott's wake.

"Well, she seems like a very spirited girl," said Hermione disapprovingly.

"Her grandmother was a Nott and her father's a Lovegood," said Daphne, as if this explained everything. "She gets the mean streak from her mother's people, I think. Mrs Lovegood was a Selwyn before she got married."

"And a Slytherin," said Ron.

Ginny made a face. "Everyone and their dog's descended from Slytherins, Ron. Including us."

Harry stared. "Really?"

"Our gran was a Black," said Ron, staring down at his plate. "They all go to Slytherin, usually – unless they get disowned. Charlie was at school with a Hufflepuff girl whose mum was a Black. Gran got kicked out for marrying Granddad. We don't really talk about it much."

Afterwards, Ginny dragged Harry off into a corner of the common room to read the article which Rita Skeeter had written for the Quibbler.

"Well," Harry said miserably, "she's bang on the nose. It's all true."

"Says Loony Lovegood and her bonkers dad who married a Selwyn on purpose," Ginny said, grinning. "And Theo Nott, who hates you and had a Yaxley for a mum, and that gossip-mongering old hag Rita Skeeter who happens to have been friends with said Yaxley mother, in a joke of a magazine which publishes investigations into the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and regularly proposes gum disease can take down the Ministry. Nobody's going to believe it."

"Right," Harry said, not reassured. Some people would probably believe it just because Cedric Diggory had said it. "What was all that about?"

Ginny sighed. "I really shouldn't have said that, but I reckon he doesn't just suspect what we're up to – I mean, he just stopped talking to you all of a sudden the day you told me, right? He probably read it out of one of our minds and told Loony, and that's why she's turning all bitchy."

"Can we ask him?" Harry hazarded.

They could not, it turned out; Nott simply left whenever the subject came up, usually with lots of uncharacteristic stamping about and slamming of doors, and generally Daphne went with him. Ron and Hermione seemed united in their insistence that Ginny had been both wrong and rude to suggest it, and that the matter was now very firmly closed. Eventually, Harry was forced to resort to waiting until one of the very rare occasions when Nott left of his own accord and Daphne stayed to finish her conversation with Ron or Hermione.

One of these very rare occasions came about halfway through November. Harry took the opportunity to trail Nott. It was just after dinner, so the corridors were quite crowded; he had to follow Nott nearly to the Slytherin common room before they found an empty one.

"Hello," said Harry, and slammed Nott up against a wall.

"Let go of me!" Nott demanded, wriggling. "Let go, Potter!"

Harry pinned Nott's wrists above his head with one hand and thrust his wand under Nott's chin with the other. "I was just wondering if you're a Legilimens. You're awfully touchy about it."

Nott, still wriggling, glared. "It's none of your business."

"So you are," Harry concluded. "Who taught you? Your mum? Your cousin? Your dad?"

And then he was on the floor, and his groin felt like it had been hit by a train, and Nott was crouched beside him, breathing heavily.

"What was that for?" Harry managed.

Nott shrugged. "I don't like being restrained. While we're here, what do you know about Sirius Black?"

Harry stared. "I – I'm told he Confunded me at the end of last year. I'm told he knew my parents. And, um, it's his fault they're dead. I'm told that too."

"What about Tom Riddle?" Nott pressed. "Have you heard of him?"

"I've heard of Tom Riddle, alright," said Harry, forcing himself to stand. "What's he to you? He's after your time – you don't happen to have found a diary lately, do you?"

Nott snorted as he rose; he had gone very pale. "No. It's just – he was friends with my dad. In school. Well, I say friends; my dad's five years older than he was. The poor fellow died out in Albania looking for the Elder Wand, I heard."

"Any elder wand in particular?" Harry asked, despite himself. He wasn't quite sure where his parents had lived, but he was pretty sure it wasn't in Albania; additionally, this was the first time he'd actually heard anyone come up with a good explanation for what had happened to Tom Riddle. "He already had a wand, you know. Yew and phoenix feather."

"And here I was, thinking you were a Potter," said Nott, voice shaking. "The Elder Wand. The wand Death gave to Ignotus Peverell. Elder with a core of Thestral hair. The one which goes with the Resurrection Stone and Death's Cloak. Surely you've heard of them. You're a Potter."

Harry stared. "No, sorry. Your dad's precious Tom Riddle murdered my dad before I could talk."

There was a short, horrified silence.

"Forget you heard that," Harry said. "Alright? Or he'll kill you."

"He won't kill me," said Nott complacently.

"No, he will," said Harry, tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. "You've not met Voldemort. You don't understand. He won't take kindly to being blackmailed."

Nott shrugged. "I'm not planning to blackmail him. We can't all be Gryffindors. My dad was a Death Eater, as you and your friends remind me at every opportunity; I know what happens to people who displease my lord."

"I'll tell Dumbledore," Harry threatened. "He won't stand for Death Eaters in his school."

"How thick are you?" Nott asked. "I'm not going to join the Death Eaters before I leave school. I'm also not going to make the mistake of trying to blackmail a Dark Lord. If he wasn't evil, he wouldn't be a Dark Lord."

Harry snorted. "I wouldn't say that to Voldemort if I were you." There's no good or evil, he remembered Voldemort saying, only power and those too weak to seek it.

"Or too clever," said Nott. "Power corrupts, you know."

"I didn't say that aloud," Harry said triumphantly.

"What in Merlin's name are you two doing?"

It was Daphne Greengrass.

"Hello, Daphne," said Nott, without turning around. "We were just having a little chat."

Daphne raised her eyebrows. "Theo, sweetheart, I know you're angry, but that doesn't magically make me able to understand Parseltongue." She clapped her hands to her mouth. "I shouldn't have said that."

Harry stared. "You're a Parselmouth?"

"He gets it from a Gaunt connection on his father's side," said Daphne quickly. "The Gaunts were descended from Slytherin. They're all dead now, of course, but they used to be proper Hallows questers. Peverell descendants, you know, mad lot – sorry, Theo, but you know it's true."

"If that was how it worked, wouldn't everyone be a Parselmouth by now?" Harry asked.

Nott, who was now white as a sheet, shrugged. "It skips generations. If it didn't, we'd all speak it except the Muggle-borns; we wizards are rather inbred, and we Slytherins marry our cousins because nobody else has pure enough blood. My family's been marrying other Hallows questers since there's been Hallows, and I don't think there's a Hallows quester around who hasn't got Salazar Slytherin in their family tree somewhere – well, I say family tree. It's more like a family tangle."

"That's not how it works," said Harry. "My dad wasn't a Parselmouth. I got it off Voldemort."

"Well, bully for you," said Daphne. "Some of us aren't so lucky."

A thought came to Harry. "Is Loony Lovegood a Parselmouth?"

"I wouldn't know," said Nott.

"Is your dad?" Harry pressed.

Nott shrugged. "I don't think so."

"How did you find out?" Harry asked. How did wizards find out? He presumed they didn't just go around trying to speak to snakes; Ron seemed under the impression Parseltongue was rare. And Dark, of course, but he doubted Nott's family were worried about Dark.

"My dad caught me speaking Parseltongue," said Nott. "I was a very advanced baby. He had to get the Dark Lord to translate."

Got you. "Then it can't be from the Nott side."

"But you said it was!" Daphne exploded. "You said it was on your father's side, Theo! I heard you telling Draco's mother!"

Nott just stood there, staring at his feet.

"Who's your father, Nott?" Harry asked, surprised at the gentleness in his own voice. "So far as I know, there's only one Parselmouth in Britain apart from us two, and his name's Tom Riddle."

"Who?" Daphne said, her voice rising. "What's going on?"

Harry swallowed. He saw the resemblance. Like Voldemort, Nott had black hair and high cheekbones. He didn't look much like Tom Riddle had, which was why Harry hadn't seen it earlier; presumably, Mrs Nott had been a truly unfortunate-looking woman. "He's Voldemort's son."

Daphne let out a little shriek. "Theo!"

"I'll leave you to it," Harry said quickly, and fled up to the Gryffindor common room.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, not looking up from her Arithmancy essay.

Ron moved his History of Magic notes so Harry could sit down. "We had to send Daphne to go and look for you. Merlin, why are there so many bloody goblin rebellions? Can't we go back to Ethelred the Ever-Boring?

"Bloody sounds about right," Ginny said, from behind Challenges in Charming. "Death, death, always with the death. How do you stand it, Hermione?"

"A generation which ignores history has neither past nor future," Hermione said primly. "Oh, I am glad you and Theo are getting on again, Harry. I was beginning to think –"

"He's Voldemort's son," Harry blurted.

Ron stared. "What?"

"Oh, God," Ginny said, paling. She jumped to her feet and ran off up the girls' staircase.

"Don't blaspheme!" Ron called after her. "Blimey," he continued, "how'd you work that out?"

"He's a Parselmouth," said Harry, "and he said he got it from his father's side, but his dad isn't one. Parseltongue runs in families, though, that's how Voldemort got it. And there aren't exactly loads of Parselmouths lying around the place, are there?"

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth. "Poor him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, it must be really difficult for him, considering barely anyone knows. I reckon he must have just put it together now. He asked me about Tom Riddle, but I don't think he expected I knew anything. And then I went and told him Tom Riddle murdered my parents. Or he could've picked it out of my mind, I suppose – he can definitely read minds, I was thinking about something Voldemort said about power and he said something snide."

Ron paled. "Look – this can't go past us three, alright? The bit about him reading minds."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "What if he decides to go and work for dearest Daddy?"

"He isn't allowed to know Legilimency," Hermione said, yanking Spellman's Syllabary out from beneath Ron's copy of A History of Magic. "He's too young, and in any case, he didn't tell you he was doing it, not the way you've put it. You can be put in Azkaban for doing Legilimency on someone underage, and, I mean, his family's stuffed full of Death Eaters, they'll take any excuse to put him away."

Ron snorted. "He'd be lucky to get away with Azkaban, to be honest. Barty Crouch changed the laws back – well, you know. Before You-Know-Who went up against Harry. You get the Kiss, nowadays."

Harry's stomach dropped. "I won't tell," he promised, and he meant it.

"Potter," Moody said, after Defence Against the Dark Arts, "stay behind, will you?"

Harry stayed. "Sir," he blurted, the moment the door shut behind Blaise Zabini, "is this about that article Rita Skeeter wrote for the Quibbler? I didn't tell her any of it, I promise." This was an utter lie, but he couldn't bear for everyone to be disappointed in him.

"Don't lie, lad," Moody said, grinning. "Getting her to put it in there was a stroke of bloody genius. You couldn't pay most folk to believe that rag."

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably, "but the Hufflepuffs believe it anyway, and so do Loony Lovegood and Theo Nott. Nott's mum knew Madam Skeeter, apparently."

Moody nodded. "Yep. Nasty lot, Yaxleys. All bite and no bark. Now, what I wanted to tell you is Ludo Bagman's just told me what the first task is. They have to tell me, because I'm the Defence Against the Dark Arts master."

Harry stared. "Isn't this cheating?"

"Cheating's traditional," said Moody. "Get your pet Weasley to look it up. You'll be fighting dragons. Not something I'd wish on anyone, but there you go. While your pet Weasley's in the library, tell her to look up spells you'd want to use against a dragon. The lot of you'll be fighting the four dragons together. Karkaroff's fault. He always had a taste for spectacle."

"Thanks," Harry managed. Hermione would be the better choice, he knew, but that would involve a lot of tiresome explanation; Ginny, on the other hand, would just throw up her hands and start working. "Bye then."

Ginny swore up a storm when he told her. He took cold comfort in knowing more swear words than she did.

The next morning, Sirius' reply finally came.

Harry – that was very stupid of you. I'm glad you realised. We need to talk. Be alone in the Gryffindor common room at one a.m. on the 22nd. Sirius.

"Who's that from?" Ginny asked, reaching over Harry for the toast.

"Padfoot," Harry said.

Ron and Hermione exchanged panicked glances.

"He just wants to know how I'm holding up," Harry lied.

"Oh, good," said Hermione, biting her lip. "I mean, I've been talking to Theo and –"

"Who's Padfoot?" Ginny asked.

"Nobody you know," Ron snapped.

Ginny glared. "So?"

"I'll tell you later," Harry promised, ignoring Hermione's glare.

When Harry arrived to Potions, it was to find Nott and Daphne off on their own, away from the general clump of Slytherins.

"Have you told anyone?" Nott demanded.

Harry had no doubt what Nott meant. "I told Ron and Hermione. And Ginny. You?"

"It's quite frankly none of your business," Daphne snarled. "Look at what you did to him, you brute." She seized Nott's wrist and extended it for Harry's inspection.

"Sorry," Harry managed, staring at the fading, fingertip-shaped bruises on Nott's lily-white skin. "I –"

"I can take care of myself," said Nott, jerking his wrist out of Daphne's grip. "Just leave off, alright, Daff?"

"Hagrid wants to see you," Ron reported, on the 22nd, which was a Hogsmeade weekend. Harry and Ginny had stayed back to do some more research on dragons; they had been doing rather a lot of it, but so far they had only discovered that dragons could be Stunned, if two wizards worked in concert, and did not understand Parseltongue or indeed any other language.

"When?" Harry asked, turning the page. From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide was both boring and useless, but he was reading it anyway. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, we noticed," said Ron, tossing his coat at Crookshanks. "Why dragons, mate? Want to work with them? I can write to Charlie for you if you like."

"Maybe," Harry lied. He was getting a lot better at lying these days. "So, when does Hagrid want to meet me? It's only two days before –"

"Midnight tonight, Harry," Hermione said, as she sat down; her cheeks were pink from the wind. "Can you do that?"

Harry considered. That would make it very hard to make his appointment with Sirius, but if he ran … "Alright."

"I'll wait up for you," Ginny promised. She'd been more than willing to accept Sirius' innocence, and apparently wanted nothing more than to meet him. "How was Hogsmeade?"

"Great," Ron said expansively, sprawling ever further over the sofa. "Why didn't you come? Even Hermione didn't miss her first Hogsmeade weekend, and she's a right square."

Hermione snorted. "I love you too, Ronald."

"Maybe I'm a square too," Ginny said coolly.

"Shut up," said Ron, whose ears had gone bright pink.

At eleven, Harry faked a yawn, went up to his dormitory, got under his invisibility cloak, and came back down. Ginny let him out of the common room at half-past eleven by the simple expedient of pretending she'd managed to lose a button outside the Fat Lady.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, as he passed her. He snuck down to Hagrid's hut, where Hagrid was waiting for him; they stopped to pick up Madame Maxime, who seemed to think it was some sort of date, then went into the Forbidden Forest, where they were confronted with four very large dragons.

And they were very large. They were also very colourful. One was silvery-blue, one was green, one was red with a fringe of gold spikes around its face, and the fourth, the largest, was black. Knowing Harry's luck, the others would stick him with the black one. There were at least seven or eight wizards wrangling each dragon. Stupid, chanted the voice in the back of Harry's head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

On his way back to the castle, he nearly ran into Karkaroff. He didn't stop to apologise; he had no time to lose if he was to meet Sirius.

Ginny was indeed waiting up for him. The rest of the common room was deserted, which was just how Harry wanted it; this rare phenomenon was perhaps explained by the definite whiff of Dungbombs.

"I've never spoken to a criminal before," Ginny said, in a small voice, as Harry wadded up the cloak and pocketed it.

"He isn't a criminal," Harry pointed out. "He's innocent." He glanced at the fire and jumped. "Hey, Sirius. Hang on, we'll get closer."

Sirius' face, fleshier and younger-looking, stared up at him from the flames. "You're not Hermione, right?"

"This is Ron's sister, Ginny," Harry said. "She's been helping me with the tournament. I couldn't have got my name in without her. Ginny, this is my dad's best friend, Sirius Black."

"Hi," Ginny said quietly.

"You're both thick," Sirius said. "You know that, right?"

Harry nodded.

"It was Professor Moody's idea," Ginny said, staring down at her hands. "He made us do it."

"He didn't make us do anything," said Harry. Professor Moody had been making noises about trying to teach them resistance to the Imperius curse, but Harry flattered himself he would have noticed if such a curse had been cast on him. "We agreed to it. Because we're idiots."

Sirius grinned. "Good. Now we're all on the same page of the book of reckless idiocy. Right, to business. How much has Moody actually said to you? Other than constant vigilance. Lily used to have nightmares about that."

Harry stared. "I never knew my mum was an Auror."

"She wasn't," Sirius said, face falling. "She … we were all in this anti-Voldemort club Dumbledore set up once … once shit started happening."

Harry supposed that was one way of putting years of war. "Moody said someone was trying to kill the champions."

"Ah," Sirius said grimly. "I bet it's Karkaroff. He was a Death Eater, you know, but he got out of Azkaban on queen's evidence."

"I hate Death Eaters," Ginny muttered. "Especially Lucius Malfoy. And Tom."

"Voldemort's in charge of the Death Eaters," Harry pointed out. "I don't think he's one himself."

Sirius snorted. "He wouldn't be caught dead. I think everyone hates You-Know-Who, Ginny, and as for Lucius Malfoy, well, my cousin Bellatrix is an odious shit to end odious shits, and even she hated him. Mind you, my cousin Narcissa married the bloke."

"I don't think everyone hates You-Know-Who," Harry said. "He was popular at school, I think. His headteacher liked him. And he's got a son, so clearly he's alright with the witches."

Sirius stared. "Bellatrix always said it was a girl. She'd know, Harry. She was right up there in You-Know-Who's confidence. If anyone would know, Bellatrix would."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know about a daughter, but I do know about Theo Nott."

Sirius boggled. "How thick is You-Know-Who? There was any number of young Death Eaters with scared little wives, but no, he picks Nott, who's nearly a decade older than my father, and that idiotic Yaxley girl. Should've known. Nott's ancient as fuck, and the Yaxleys are all blonde, and that kid … well, he wasn't blond, apparently. I wouldn't know. They kept him shut up inside Mortis House."

"Nott's got black hair," said Ginny. "I wouldn't have been surprised if his surname was Black."

"My cousin Narcissa's blonde," Sirius said, scowling, "but I hear you. What's he like, this Theo Nott boy? If he's as thick as his mother, we shouldn't have any trouble from him."

"He's trying to seduce Hermione," Ginny said sullenly.

There was a loud clatter from upstairs.

"Go!" Harry hissed, jumping to his feet. "Go, Sirius, go!"

Sirius left.

"Nott's not trying to seduce Hermione," Harry added. "He's gay."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "No wonder he's so uptight."

"Don't be vile, Ginny."

It was Ron, wearing a very ugly expression indeed.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, heart in his mouth. Please let him not have heard.

"You put your name into the Goblet," said Ron, mouth twisting. "All along, you put your name in."

Harry's stomach dropped.

"Ron," Ginny said pleadingly. "Ron, don't."

"I've supported you through thick and thin," Ron said, his voice getting steadily louder. "I nearly got myself killed in the forbidden corridor for you. I followed the spiders with you. I followed you down into the Chamber of Secrets and nearly got Obliviated. Your escaped convict of a godfather broke my leg last year. And this is how you repay me?"

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You've got to understand –"

"Oh, I understand," Ron snarled. "I never thought I'd have to take Rita Skeeter's word over yours!"

"Will you kids be quiet?"

It was Katie Bell, resplendent in red pyjamas and a scowl.

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Will you fetch Hermione?" Ron asked.

Katie disappeared upstairs. Hermione came down mere seconds later, her hair even bushier than usual, looking like a bleary-eyed ghost in her white nightie.

"What is it, Ron?" she said, yawning.

"Harry entered himself after all," Ron said tightly. "He lied, Hermione. And Ginny helped him."

Hermione stared at Harry like she'd never seen him before. "Harry? Is – is it true?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "I'm really sorry, but – but you have to understand –"

"I don't have to do anything," Ron snapped. "Don't bother coming upstairs." He stormed back up to their dormitory.

"Hermione?" Harry ventured.

Hermione turned and fled, sobbing, back upstairs.