(AN:) I saw this idea as a prompt on r/HPfanfiction and it's been bouncing around in my head ever since. The Goblet of Fire saw that its contract was being violated because one of the chosen competitors wasn't technically eligible, so it used its considerable power to correct the situation. Just in the wrong direction.
However, the suggestion was to have Harry come back on his 17th birthday, I'm taking it a bit further along.
Excerpts from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."
"True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand."
"But you want me to go back?"
"I think," said Dumbledore, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."
Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.
"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say goodbye for the present."
Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm (getting warmer now, for some reason) and light (getting a bit…bluer as well) and peaceful here, and he knew he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces.
"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. He tugged at his collar; it was starting to get worryingly hot now. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice started to sound muffled and obscured by the sound of roaring flames. The misty haze all around began to turn to bright blue flames. The flames consumed the misty representation of King's Cross before coalescing around the image of Dumbledore.
What the old wizard was going to say was replaced with a deep, sepulchral voice saying, "What has been Seen cannot be unSeen. What has passed is Past and may not come to pass. Your contract is yours and yours alone. The requirements are met; the contest shall now commence! ENTERTAIN ME, WIZARD!"
The last three words shook Harry to his very core; it felt like his bones were rattling with the pronouncement. Before he could question it, the flames surrounded him. His eyes felt like they were boiling, his flesh felt like it was melting, and his blood felt like it was evaporating.
When the sensation stopped, he found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air as if he'd just run a marathon. The fact that he was knelt upon a stone floor instead of the grass of the forest didn't escape his notice; that and his exhaustion was the only thing that kept him from jumping up and hexing everyone around him.
A familiar voice, one he'd just carried on a long conversation with, was tinged with concern as he felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder, "Harry? Are you well? Did the Goblet of Fire harm you, my boy?"
Harry raised his head so fast, he thought he'd break his own neck. He stared disbelievingly at the intact visage of Albus Dumbledore above him. His eyes shifted from the unbroken face to the unblemished right hand on his shoulder. Then he looked around a bit more to further take in his surroundings, ignoring the sudden gasp from the old man.
The Great Hall was untouched by battle, filled with live bodies instead of housing the dead like the last time he'd seen it. Each and every one of the faces were…younger than he'd last seen. Some were concerned, others were hostile, and further, most of the rest were confused.
A sudden wave of red washed over and stung his right eye. He wiped at his inexplicably wet forehead and looked down at his hand.
It was absolutely covered in blood. A handkerchief was pressed into Harry's sticky hand and he was pulled to his feet while he wiped the blood away from his forehead and face.
The realization hit him just then that his clothes were uncomfortably small for him. He examined himself as well as he could mentally. This…body wasn't the same one he'd had when he'd defeated Voldemort. Even if his hair was just as long and his face just as riddled with dark stubble.
For one, he was much taller and…healthier than he had ever remembered being. He wasn't even being plagued by the chronic joint and hunger pains he'd had to learn to ignore. For another, he could just feel that his muscles were better developed and less…stringy than before and with an appropriate layer of fat. As if he hadn't been borderline malnourished all his life.
What he couldn't have known was that the Goblet of Fire felt that a well-fed, healthy contestant was more entertaining than a half-starved, decrepit one. While it wasn't completely sentient, it was powerful enough to know how to calculate and extrapolate until it came up with the ideal conditions that a person could mature under. While it stimulated the body of Harry Potter to grow and age in those conditions, it ran as accurate of a simulation as it could based on knowledge that had been unknowingly fed into it by the judges, contestants, potential contestants, and even the wizard who had Confunded it into accepting the younger, multi-souled (and thus initially ineligible) contestant.
And considering that one of the judges was Albus Dumbledore, with all his knowledge, all his suppositions, and all his guesses (some of which were more accurate than others), the goblet had a lot to work with.
The reason for the simulation? Well, the Goblet existed to be entertained by the contestants it bound to its contract. And if the contestants are powerful and experienced, then the tasks are much more entertaining. The simulation was also inherently entertaining to the Goblet because of all the hardship that its main character had suffered. Another explanation was that the human mind needed context when the body around it suddenly grew older before its time.
"Harry? Can you hear me, my boy?" asked Dumbledore, staring at his student with wide, shocked eyes. His mind made, discarded, and repurposed plans, guesses, and suppositions at a rapid pace, making him wish for his pensieve at this moment.
He suddenly realized that the boy (no, no longer a boy, but surely a man due to some peculiarity with the Goblet of Fire) must be uncomfortable in clothes now too small for his larger frame, so he waved his wand over the clothes to transfigure them larger to tide him over until this either wore off like an Aging Potion would or (if this were permanent as he suspected) he could get fitted for new ones.
At the feel of foreign magic rippling the air, Harry mentally cursed himself for his lack of attentiveness, forgetting (or rather not realizing) that he wasn't currently at war with anyone. He reached for his wand instinctively, only to come up empty. Oh, that's right; he'd started carrying his wand in his sleeve after Mad-Eye had made the comment that he'd blow off a buttock if he stored his wand in a pocket even remotely near his waist.
In that brief moment, he finally processed that his surroundings weren't war-torn and that the man in front of him, one who should be dead, was trying to help him.
"I…Yes, professor, I can hear you. I'm just…a little off-kilter. What's happening?" he asked, his eyes scanning around for potential threats. He finally found his wand in an inside pocket of his robes and muttered out an Episkey to heal up his forehead wound.
Dumbledore stared openly at the infamous scar of the Boy-Who-Lived nearly disappearing with that healing spell, becoming a faint line that he really had to look for. Had the Goblet taken offense at the prospect of two contestants in one body and so eradicated Tom's horcrux? He smiled internally at the revelation and gripped the man's shoulder reassuringly, "The Goblet of Fire chose you as a fourth Champion, Harry. I'll explain what happened afterward once we, the judges, are finished discussing the matter. Please, join the other Champions."
Harry stiffened at the suggestion, but walked to the room anyway. Inside, he was reeling. How much of what he had experienced in what felt like those three years was real? He knew the spells, he somewhat knew silent casting, and…He'd have to check the Marauder's Map, definitely.
When he stepped into the chamber where the other Triwizard Champions were waiting, he held in a gasp at how familiar it was: how they were all silhouetted impressively against the fire and how they were staring expectantly at him.
"What is it?" asked Fleur Delacour, the part-Veela he'd last seen marrying Bill Weasley. Her accent was noticeably thicker than he remembered. Then again, this was before she'd improved her English. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
Meanwhile, Cedric Diggory (and wasn't it shock seeing him alive once more?) was staring at him with naked confusion. Clearly, he was trying to identify him. Not that that would happen until someone came in to explain. He certainly wasn't going to offer the (frankly unbelievable) information.
Harry sighed deeply before practically growling out, "No, it's fine. Something fucky's happened with the Goblet and my luck."
He ignored their baffled looks before hiding a mischievous smirk. If he was right, then Snape would invite himself into this discussion. And if what he may or may not have dreamed was true, then he would know how to put a Tongue-Tying Curse on the doorway based on certain words. He distinctly remembered discussing the theory behind it with Hermione after being hit by it at Grimmauld Place.
And his wand was still in his hand from healing himself earlier, so…
While the other Champions were busy deciphering what he'd meant, he waved his wand over the threshold of the door to activate the curse based on the word "arrogant." And a second curse for the words "crossing lines," just to see what happened. Like hell would he listen to that greaseball continue to piss on his father's memory.
Right after he finished laying the curse down on the doorway, Ludo Bagman came barrelling through with an honest-to-God smile on his face. He slapped his hand down on Harry's shoulder before speaking, "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen…and Lady, you are looking at—AH!"
Bagman waved his hand around as though he'd been burned.
"I'd prefer it if you kept your hands off of me, Bagman. I'm still sore as hell," he growled at the idiot, his wand sparking dangerously.
"Err…Right, right, of course!" he said with a nervousness to his smile. "Right, anyway, may I introduce the newly-of-age Harry Potter? The Fourth Triwizard Champion! It seems the Goblet took offense at his name coming out when he didn't qualify for the original contract, so it sought to correct that!"
All three other Champions stared at him in sheer astonishment. Cedric's eyes narrowed as he studied the Gryffindor before he started laughing, sounding amused, but also incredulous when he said, "So, that's what the luck remark was about! You sure don't do things by half, do you, Harry?"
"But zis is some sort of mistake, isn't it? Harry Potter is supposed to be a leetle boy, not zis…" Fleur said, appearing to grasp for words that failed her before she finally breathed out, "Homme."
Though, the way she eyed him speculatively wasn't missed.
Harry scoffed jokingly, "It's been no picnic for me either, Miss Delacour. I'm going to have to rediscover my center of balance, especially on a broom."
The door opened again, letting in the faint buzz of whispers and speculation from the student body before Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and (as he predicted and had seen before) Snape walked in. Only Professor Dumbledore even seemed to notice the spell he'd laid over the threshold, judging by the way he almost faltered in his stride. Thankfully, he didn't seem to want to dispel it, either.
Before the door closed fully and before anyone else could say anything, he called out, pointing right at Snape, "Why is he here?! He's not my Head of House and I certainly didn't invite him in!"
Snape actually growled at the perceived impertinence and immediately launched into a rant, "Of course, Prince Potter doesn't want the greasy bat of the dungeons to ruin his big night! Just like his arrogant—GHK!"
Harry smiled at the curse taking hold and shutting the bog-standard Snape-rant about arrogance this, his father that down.
Of course, McGonagall couldn't just let him have his fun and she chimed in, "Professor Snape is here in an investigative capacity, Mr. Potter. Since he is currently unable to do so, I shall take five points from Gryffindor for impertinence."
She was taken aback at the dangerous look in the narrowed emerald eyes thrown her way, but she bustled over to Severus to assist him with his issue when the normal Harry Potter reaction of flying off at the mouth didn't occur.
The door was closed and Dumbledore smiled placatingly, "It was a sight to behold, I must say. Though, I'm sure it was a painful one for you, my boy."
The old man patted the young man on the shoulder comfortingly before continuing, "Mr. Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire just as the others' had. He was halfway to the room when he stepped perhaps a little too close to the Goblet itself. Something inside the Goblet must've seen that he was technically ineligible for its contract, so it decided to remedy that.
"A brilliant, sapphire colored flame shot out of the Goblet and terrifyingly, it engulfed young Mr. Potter. Briefly, I feared the worst, but thankfully, seconds later, it dissipated and revealed him to be perfectly healthy…If a little older than when he started."
Harry noticed that Dumbledore left out his scar reopening and bleeding…Wait, was Riddle's horcrux gone? The gnawing feeling of encroaching darkness was gone from his mind. While he ruminated on that, the discussion turned from him suddenly being an adult to Hogwarts having an unfair advantage of more than one Champion.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape getting sorted out by McGonagall, just in time for Karkaroff to—
"If we could've picked from a wider range of students, Dumbledore, we would have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools," Karkaroff said, his false smile showing his yellowed teeth and his eyes showing barely contained fury.
"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice and fury. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines—GHK! FLK! 'O'ER!"
The Tongue-Tying Curse hit even harder the second time around, it seemed. Dumbledore was eying Harry rather shrewdly now since that was a rather specific phrase to curse.
"Severus, thank you for your input, but it seems that the room does not appreciate it as much as the rest of us do," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His expression turned rather more serious while he looked right into Harry's eyes.
He tried not to growl in annoyance at the possibility of Legilimency, but he tried to focus his mind on the conversations he'd remembered having with Ron and Hermione over the tournament, saying that he'd prefer a quiet year and that anyone who entered themselves had to be barmy.
"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" Dumbledore asked calmly.
"No, professor. I felt like I needed a break from life-threatening situations. Especially after the Dementors last year," Harry answered calmly. At Snape's muffled scoff of disbelief, he growled at the greasy git, "And I'll happily hex anyone who thinks they know me better than myself."
The headmaster hummed a little at the answer, as though he'd expected it. He then asked, "Did you ask an older student to put your name into the Goblet of Fire for you?"
"No and if I find who did it, I'll curse them until their own mother won't recognize them," he replied. Though he thought he knew who did it, he wouldn't truly know until he verified it with the Marauder's Map later.
"Ah, but of course, 'e is lying!" cried Madame Maxime.
Snape was glaring daggers at him, now completely free of the Tongue-Tying Curse, but hesitant to say anything else that might trigger it once more.
He smiled internally at the silence from Snape while the heads of the other schools bickered and whined, thinking, 'Well, I guess an old greasy dungeon bat can learn new tricks. Maybe I should curse the Potions lab for "dunderheads" sometime.'
While he tried to work out how to do it in such a way that it wouldn't be noticed, he heard the distinctive clunking of Mad-Eye Moody's hobble approaching. His shoulders tensed at the idea of a potential die-hard Death Eater in their midst, his knuckles turning white as his grip tensed on his wand as well. An action noticed by an increasingly curious and wary Dumbledore.
Karkaroff was threatening to leave when the door slowly opened and there stood what appeared to be the retired auror, who called out the Durmstrang headmaster for the empty threat. What the hell did a binding magical contract mean anyway? What sort of penalties were included? Or did the contract simply force you to compete anyway?
"If anyone's got any reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but…funny thing…I don't hear him saying a word."
"But 'e did complain before you came in," muttered Fleur sullenly. Suddenly a fire lit in her deep blue eyes and she stamped her foot, bursting out, "But why should 'e complain? 'E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? Ze honor for our schools! —"
"Hate to interrupt, but I couldn't give a flying rat's arse about the chance to compete. I want the three years of my life I just lost back," said Harry in a demanding voice. The room fell silent at the sudden interruption and implication of what he'd said, so he continued, "Puts it into perspective, doesn't it? I want that bloody cup of embers thrown into one of the deepest pits on Earth so no one else can use the damn thing! Why couldn't you lot have drawn bloody lots out of a bloody hat for this bloody tournament?!"
He had been so close. So close to being finished with Voldemort that he could almost taste it. Even with all the death and destruction he'd suffered, it had been still tantalizingly close. So close he could stop fighting for his life and start living properly. The Goblet had dangled a resolution in front of him like such a treat, only to snatch it away and demand entertainment.
Moody harrumphed and said, with the merest trace of a growl, "Bloody is right. Perhaps, someone is hoping Potter gets more than just a little bloody from the tournament."
Harry's jaw clenched. He really wished this meeting of the minds would decide to wrap up already so he could go consult the map.
Just like last time, Moody as much as admitted that he'd Confunded the Goblet into accepting him under a fourth school.
Finally, the meeting seemed to be wrapping up and Mr. Crouch stepped into the light to give the instructions. He looked just as ill and drawn as he had last time.
"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…very important…
"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.
"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first task armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
Harry really wished he had a better recall for speeches. Hermione would've been able to tell him whether or not that speech was exactly the same as last time. The date sounded familiar at the very least.
The two Ministry workers were the first to leave the room and he made certain to watch as surreptitiously as possible to make sure Mr. Crouch actually left the Great Hall instead of making any sort of detour. Disappointingly, his view was blocked when the teachers began to file out and the other two school heads took their respective students with them, leaving the two Hogwarts students alone with their Headmaster.
"I would suggest visiting Madame Pomfrey in the morning, Harry, to ascertain whether or not your current status is permanent. Allowances can be made to get you to Diagon Alley to buy more robes if it is. On behalf of Hogwarts, of course," said Dumbledore with a sad smile. "Please see me in my office after visiting the Hospital Wing to iron out the details."
Harry nodded in acceptance and said, "Of course. What's the password?"
"Ah, yes, an excellent reminder, Harry. The password is 'Mars Bar.' Now, I believe the two of you should head back to your common rooms for the time being. I'm sure that Hufflepuff and Gryffindor will wish to celebrate and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse for making a great deal of mess and noise," he replied.
Both students followed the Headmaster out of the room before the older man stopped with a knowing smile and said, "Ah, yes, I almost forgot. Twenty points to Gryffindor for a most entertaining jinx, but I'm afraid I'll have to take two points from Gryffindor because it negatively affected a teacher. I haven't seen such a well-cast and productive Tongue-Tying Curse since the mid-70's."
With that, he left the Great Hall, looking deep in thought. The Great Hall was completely empty aside from the two of them and the floating Halloween decorations.
Harry was too busy glaring at the spot where Goblet had rested (noticing scorch marks on the floor where he had apparently been standing when he'd been struck by the fire) to hear Cedric say anything. A tentative touch on his shoulder had him jumping and a curse on the tip of his tongue before he noticed his company.
"Whoa, sorry, Harry. You alright? You look like you've been through hell and back," Cedric said hesitantly. His heart went out to the previously-younger teen. Even if wizards lived longer than muggles and so three years was just a drop in the bucket, it was sure to still be gut-wrenching to lose them. His eyes widened at the sheer exhaustion and despair in the other wizard's eyes.
"I'm…I'm as good as I can be, Cedric. I'm just…tired," he sighed bitterly. "They don't tell you this sort of thing can happen when they're telling you that Hogwarts is the best and safest place to be. 'You're a wizard, Harry' turned into 'Your life is a joke and a spectacle, Harry.'"
"Magic can be great and terrible all at once. That's something my father taught me. If you need a sympathetic ear, let me know. I may not know what you're going through, but I can listen," the Hufflepuff offered.
Harry nodded as they reached the junction where they'd split apart to go to their respective common rooms and said, "I might take you up on that. As long as you let Hufflepuff house know that I didn't put my name in that Goblet."
"Well, at this point, it's kind of obvious, but yeah. I'll let them know. Good luck, Harry," Cedric said with an uneasy smile and left.
He made his way to Gryffindor Tower in silent contemplation. Whatever had happened had all seemed so real. He could still feel echoes of the Cruciatus Curse from when Voldemort had hit him with it.
Then again, it explained some inconsistencies he'd noticed along the way. Small things that still nagged at the edge of his mind: Hermione treating her parents like children who couldn't understand they were in danger, Ron running out on them when they needed him the most, how Remus's personality had changed from calm and competent teacher with a furry little problem to a self-recriminating mess, how Sirius had barely even tried to spend more time with him at Grimmauld Place…
He stopped in his tracks as a sudden memory hit him: sneaking into the Black library to attempt to learn some sort of magic that could help against Voldemort, opening one of the books, and…Nothing. It was totally blank. As though nothing had been written in it. He didn't even remember the title or if it had one in the first place. Then suddenly, he was back in his and Ron's shared room as if he were just asleep instead, and he initially wrote it off as a dream.
From then on, Mrs. Weasley had worked hard to keep him out of there, saying the books were dark and dangerous with little other explanation. Then, once he, Hermione, and Ron had had complete freedom in the house, the library had been absolutely emptied out.
What did that mean? What did the Goblet even do to him?
Harry's stride quickened to get to the tower faster. The sooner he slept and got everything out of the way, he could pick Hermione's brain. He wondered if he should even tell Dumbledore any of what he'd experienced. At the end, the man had convinced him to walk to his death on guesswork and supposition. Did the real Dumbledore want that from him?
His hand finally touched the scar on his forehead, expecting raised and inflamed skin, but feeling…almost nothing. He scowled uncertainly.
His hurried pace and longer legs took him to Gryffindor Tower in record time, the Fat Lady with her friend from the painting in the room he'd been in earlier. Both were staring down at him with deep sympathy.
"Oh, you poor thing. Violet told me everything that happened," she said with pitying tones. She shook her head sadly before perking up ever so slightly. "Well, I do hope you'll do Gryffindor proud, representing the house as Champion. Password?"
He stared up at her blankly and wracked his mind, trying to remember what the password was this time of year. He said tentatively, "Mimbulus mimbletonia? No, that wasn't it. Neville doesn't have that yet. Uuh, dilligrout? Tapeworm? Quid agis? No, no, those are all wrong. Banana fritters? Wait, no. I remember now, I was asked…something about being Champion and then…Balderdash!"
The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow at all the guesses, but swung forward finally on the final one.
Harry carefully climbed through the portrait hole and was surprised to find a somewhat subdued party going on, rather than the exuberant one he'd experienced last time.
"Oi, there he is!" called a voice he didn't recognize. All heads in the room turned toward him and he groaned softly at the scrutiny.
Fred and George were the first to him, having been near the portrait hole. He practically towered over them now. A brief flash of Fred's dead body danced at the forefront of his mind before he quickly squashed that down. It wouldn't happen this time if he could help it.
"Oi, mate, you alright? Not going to do your best impression of a phoenix again, are you?" asked the one on the right.
"Yeah, after seeing that, I'm glad our aging potion didn't work. We were sitting right near you when you got lit up, ain't that right, Forge?" said the one on the left.
"Too right, Gred. That fire was so hot, if we'd been even a centimeter closer, we'd be totally hairless. Believe me, we know a lot about losing hair to heat and explosions," said Fred (he guessed). "But if anything, that fire actually gave you more hair than you started with."
The twins were shoved out of the way by Angelina swooping in on him with a smile on her face; "Oh, well, even if it's not me, I'm glad that a Gryffindor's involved with this!"
That seemed to spark the party at last. It got rowdier and people from throughout the room were congratulating Harry for somehow becoming a Champion.
"We've got food; come and have some, Harry!"
"Have a butterbeer! You can pay Diggory back for that Quidditch match!"
He protested; he was a little hungry and thirsty, but more than anything he was exhausted. He tried to wave them off, but they weren't listening.
However, he wasn't just a teenager in over his head like he was last time; he'd had his mettle tested over and over again.
"How'd you get past the Age Line—"
"QUIET!" Harry roared in his most commanding voice, the one he'd perfected as Quidditch Captain his sixth year. The noises from the other Gryffindors instantly died down. He glared around the room imperiously before calling out, "I don't care if you want to celebrate me being in this damn tournament. Leave me out of it. I didn't enter and if you think otherwise, tell me. I'm sure Madame Pomfrey would love to have you for a few days."
He let his threat hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "Now, I'm bloody exhausted, I have a long day tomorrow, and I'd appreciate my bed more than anything else right now. So, clear a path!"
Immediately after his demand, the crowd of partygoers parted and he hurried through to get up the stairs to his dormitory. So intent was he to get away, he missed Katie's mumbled "Sweet Merlin, that was kinda hot."
When Harry burst into the 4th years boys' dormitory, Ron was sitting on his own bed with a grimace plastered on his face.
He promptly ignored his friend's possibly jealous outburst to rush over and open up his trunk. When his hand found the dress robes Mrs. Weasley got him, he threw them over his shoulder.
"Here, take 'em. Not like they can fit me anymore anyway. Just get someone to stretch 'em out a little for you," he grumbled.
"Er, thanks, mate. You…You alright, Harry?" Ron asked hesitantly. Sure, he'd been insanely jealous that his best mate had apparently entered the Triwizard Tournament without telling him how, but after the fire…Well, he just didn't know what to think. "You're still you, right? Cause you're acting just a little bit…mad."
"Still me, Ron. And maybe I am a bit mad. In all meanings of the word. Ah, there it is!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly pulling out the Marauder's Map. "Now, let's see if there's actually an investigation going on. 'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good'."
He went silent, searching the map for the defense classroom. There, plain as day, were two people: Bartemius Crouch and Alastor Moody. Moody was off in the corner of the room while Crouch was pacing. His blood boiled at the sight while he tried to think of how to expose this.
The silence must've been too much for him because in rushed words , Ron asked, "How'd you do it?! How'd you get past the Age Line?"
Harry stiffened at the questions before slowly turning to face Ron. Intense green eyes were narrowed and the now-older teen straightened up to his full, imposing height.
"I didn't," he ground out. He glared down at the map. "Someone else entered me."
Ron didn't look entirely too convinced, but the sheer anger in his best mate's voice was certainly turning his original conclusion around. He decided to chance a question, "Why would someone do that?"
The first time around as he now referred to it in his head, he hadn't had the wherewithal to suggest it was to kill him, thinking it sounded overly dramatic. This time, however, he just didn't care, so he replied easily, "To kill me, obviously. Why else? This damn tournament was cancelled because of too many deaths, so obviously Voldemort decided it was the easiest way to get rid of me."
Ron's eyebrows flew up into his hairline at that proclamation. His jealousy warred with his common sense. Someone had tried to kill Harry every year they've been at Hogwarts, some multiple times! It made a lot of sense.
"I think I get it. I don't like it, but I get it," he said finally. "Sucks that I can't compete, but you look like you're having a tough time of it, mate."
"You have no idea," he replied, relieved that Ron had believed him. "There's more to this whole situation, but Hermione's going to want answers too. So, when we can get together, I'll explain. It's utter bloody insanity and if any of what I saw happens, I'll get straight O's in Divination. That's all I'll say for now."
Ron gawped at him and said, "You saw the future?!"
"Yeah…No…I have no bloody clue. A possible future, maybe, but at the same time, this," he gestured to himself and then tugged at his longer hair a little, "didn't happen in what I saw."
"Bloody hell."
"Exactly what I thought. But for now, I'm so bloody tired," Harry grumbled, closing and locking his trunk. He wiped the map with the closing password and stared down at his clothes. "I wonder…"
He ran his wand down himself, transfiguring his clothes into simple, but passable pajamas. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Ron was gobsmacked at the silent spellcasting.
To answer the unasked question, he said, "Yeah, I know. Sleep now, explain later, please."
With that, he practically fell into his bed after placing his wand and glasses on his bedside table.
(AN:) So it's been a while since I've posted anything. I am still actively writing, but bits at a time. I meant to add more to this, in fact, but it's at a nice place to end the first chapter.
Upcoming: The next Slytherin's Hidden Vault chapter and another DBZ/HP crossover set during the Android/Cell saga. Nothing else has been completely finalized, but those are the closest to being posted.