Disclaimer: not mine

People's reactions to the last bit of last chapter were surprising. You all seemed to think Maleficent would be mad or something? That Harry being chosen was unexpected? Why? The whole reason Harry went to Hogwarts was because the Fates said it was a chance to end the Prophecy sooner. Harry expected it, he just doesn't like the idea of being thrust into the limelight.

Chapter 5

Albus sat in his office, mind spinning. Harry Potter was alive and on the grounds of Hogwarts. He had allowed the entrance of his name to go ahead in the hope it would force the boy to appear, he just hadn't expected him to already be on the grounds. He had contacted all the schools four years ago and all had denied his presence, just what was Igor playing at? Then again, even the other Durmstrang students had seemed surprised when he'd stepped up. He had attempted to get the boy alone to speak with but surprisingly, Krum had blocked him, protecting the younger Champion, as had Igor.

He had to know where Potter had been for the last thirteen years, who had raised him, and just how much would need undoing from that upbringing, not to mention three years at Durmstrang. He was meant to be a beacon of Light, the Boy-Who-Lived, not some dark arts student.

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The Gryffindor common room was a riotous mess of noise. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was at Hogwarts!

Ron didn't know what to think about it all. Harry Potter was meant to be his best mate, meant to marry Ginny one day. Instead he'd been missing only to show up at the same school as Viktor Krum! And he was named Champion despite being under seventeen! That wasn't fair, Ron had wanted so badly to be in the Tournament but was too young, so why weren't they kicking Potter out of it?

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Maleficent accepted the note from Diablo, nodding as she read Harry's account of the Choosing Ceremony. What the Fates had told them of had begun then, by the end of the year Harry would face the man who had tried to kill him as an infant and would emerge the victor. There was no way some mortal man from such an isolated World could defeat her son, she would not allow it.

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Harry collapsed on his bed, exhausted. He'd guessed this was coming but he had hoped it was simply his presence in Britain that would bring events to a close. Being the centre of so much attention had not been fun and he knew it wasn't going to get any better. He really hadn't liked how Headmaster Dumbledore had kept pushing, kept trying to talk to him alone, that man… he was grateful to his Headmaster and Krum for keeping between them, though he knew the Headmaster only did it because his Mum terrified him. Not that he blamed him and he'd never seen her dragon form.

He just wanted it over and done with so he could go home. Harry was sure he knew enough to continue his education on his own and if he did need help, well he could always pop back to ask someone, the Headmaster wouldn't turn him down. The plan had originally been for him to attend all seven years, but if Voldemort was dealt with, what was the point? He had the feeling that the people of this World would never give him peace, not now that they knew of his survival.

He looked up at a knock on the door. "Come in," he called, and in stepped Viktor.

The older teen looked him over, frowning. "You are alright?" he asked.

"I'm alright Viktor. I always knew someone would work it out one day."

"So why hide?"

"I'm adopted," he pointed out. "Why should I use a name that has no meaning to me? Mother made sure I knew who my birth family was but…" he shrugged.

"Ah, so you will not be leaving us? I would not wish to lose the best competition I have as Seeker," Viktor smirked and Harry laughed.

"Mother doesn't want me near Dumbledore and frankly, there's something about this school that just doesn't feel right."

"I know you didn't enter, if you had you would have used your normal name. This is likely a plot to draw you out, unlikely for your health. We are both students of Durmstrang," Viktor offered his hand and Harry stared at it before taking it.

"Thank you. And no, I didn't enter."

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Hermione tossed the newspaper down with a huff. Ever since the ceremony all that was in the papers was the fact that Harry Potter was alive and a student at Durmstrang, filling in the blanks with whatever that Skeeter woman wanted. Were there no laws in the Wizarding World over the truthfulness of reporting? He was all anyone could talk about and a lot of them were like Ron, mad that he'd gone to a different school when he was their national hero. Honestly, she didn't blame him if this was what he would have had to put up with.

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Harry ignored the whispers and everything happening around him, he didn't care. The other Durmstrang students had closed ranks around him, despite the fact he wasn't close to any of them. Viktor's support had been enough for them to do so. The sooner the Tournament was over and done with, the better. What was the point to having it so spread out over the school year?

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Kairi grinned as Sora beat Riku to the finish line, Sora cheering happily. Of course it wasn't really fair, Riku was still not back to full strength after being so sick but since he always won it didn't hurt to let Sora have a victory. The indulgent smile, quickly hidden, proved Riku felt the same way.

It was nice to be back on the Play Island together just having fun. She hadn't been as sick as a lot of the others and had recovered quick enough but Riku had been left with a nasty cough that had only just really cleared. They'd spent the day swimming and mostly lazing about, enjoying the warm weather. School had been extended, their summer holidays shifted, because of all of the time missed by those who had gotten sick.

Riku stretched and she found her eyes wandering, both boys shirtless from their earlier swim still. She felt her face warm and looked away, smiling as Sora tried to do a handstand only to fall in a heap in the sand. He was such a goof.

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Harry glanced at Viktor as they followed the Headmaster through the Castle, not looking forward to the 'weighing of the wands' at all. Why did they want to weigh their wands in the first place? How did that matter at all? Finally, the man knocked on a door and then entered, the two teens following him inside.

It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor moved them both into a corner as usual, keeping between Harry and the others which was nice but he could look after himself. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation not far away but Harry didn't feel the need to listen in. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward. "Ah, here he is! Champion number four! Nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -" Bagman cut himself off when he couldn't get past Viktor to Harry.

"Wand weighing?" Harry asked, wanting to know what the point was.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman explained, which made a lot more sense. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry. Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jewelled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

Harry stared back, letting his face go still and remote like Mother often did around others. He wondered if she was close enough to see the yellow flecks, knew they were off putting to many.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of colour?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"

"I do," Harry answered coldly. "I've read her work and if that's the best Britain has to offer, you have to wonder at the collective brain cell British magicals apparently share," he sneered and yeah, maybe he was channelling Hades, just a little bit but after her articles and the garbage in them, it kind of felt good.

Shocked silence met his words, and then he heard someone smothering a laugh, catching the sight of Fleur with a hand pressed to her mouth. He saw Karkaroff watching him, lips twisted slightly into a smirk and the man gave an approving nod. Skeeter seemed the most shocked of all, as if no one had ever dared confront her over her pathetic reporting.

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Cedric stared at Potter in shock, had he really…? He had guts. Then again, Skeeter probably wasn't really known internationally. She was a real muck raker but she had the backing of the Ministry for the most part, making her pretty untouchable…then again he was the Boy-Who-Lived. His opinion of his own people seemed pretty low though, then again he doubted a school like Durmstrang would teach good things about Britain and Hogwarts.

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They took their seats in chairs near the door in front of the velvet-covered table where four of the five judges were sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of a Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it on the parchment. That explained a lot about her so-called articles and out of sight of everyone, Harry's fingers flicked, casting the spell. The woman shrieked as the quill burst into flames, the word 'despicable' appearing across her forehead in red ink. Everyone stared at her in shock before Viktor chuckled and he spotted Diggory sniggering into his hand while trying to not give himself away. A few looks were shot at Harry who had his hands folded in his lap, wand nowhere in sight. Before anything could be said the door opened and Dumbledore entered with another even older man.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore said, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions, one eyebrow going up at Skeeter's condition but he said nothing about it. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm..." he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood... and containing…dear me…"

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," Fleur announced proudly. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands...however, to each his own, and if this suits you.." Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition...You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I…however…" He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes…hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees, quite rigid, ten and a quarter inches…Avis!" The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight. "Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves…Mr. Potter."

Harry stood and approached the old man, summoning his wand to his hand in his pocket, that was a magic this World lacked and he was thankfully it still worked, it meant he could always call his wand to him. He pulled his hand from his pocket and offered the wand to the old man, watching carefully.

"Hm, let's see…twelve inches…elder wood," Ollivander commented, and Harry saw Dumbledore start at that. "Phoenix feather core…I don't recognise the hand behind the making of this wand but let's see…" he made a fountain of wine shoot out of the wand before handing it back to Harry who appeared to put it back in his pocket when it really vanished.

"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -"

Relieved, Harry got up again to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er - yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again, cold and calculating, and Harry met her gaze, she had nothing on his Mother or her 'friends'. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Viktor, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group, but at least he pulled Harry with him. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and trying to drag Harry into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

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Maleficent read the letter from her son, pleased by the way he had handled the so-called reporter at the ceremony but very displeased by the woman's' revenge upon her child. Perhaps she would have to deal with her…personally. That article was disgusting, as they had all been. He could deal with anything happening at the school but he was not yet ready for politics and the like, and so that she would handle. Such articles could be used to attempt to keep him within the country of his birth and at that school, at least if he were anyone else. While he could not yet travel the Darkness on his own, they had no way of stopping her from retrieving her child.

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He watched the three children as they played on the Island, soon it would be time and he would have a body again. It was not yet time, which was good, he was surprised by just how strong the bonds between the three were. It would take time to begin weakening them to the point the boy would become vulnerable. He didn't have access to the Keyblade yet either which would be necessary, though it slept within his Heart, dormant for now.

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Viktor glanced at Harry who shrugged slightly, as in the dark as he was as to why the Headmaster wanted to see him. They entered the room to find the man pacing, obviously agitated. "Sir?"

"Dragons! The first task involves dragons and not just any dragons, nesting mothers," he ranted.

Well, that was unexpected, and yet a glance at his younger co-Champion shows only a flicker of surprise and then acceptance…no fear.

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Hades chuckled as he watched the kid, he was proving rather interesting for a human...or not quite human. It was small but there, he might not change fully but he did wonder what those silly wand wavers would think if they found out he'd been adopted by Maleficent and what that meant for him? They'd probably try to lock him up as a 'dark creature', idiots. Oi, what else could be expected from silly mortals like those? He was rooting for the kid, and not just because it'd put Maleficent in a foul mood if something happened to him. He liked death and chaos as much as anyone, hello he was the god of death after all. But that Voldemort nut? Yeah, no thanks. And the fact the idiot thought he could run from him? Well, he'd learn.

TBC…

With a mother who can turn into a dragon, is it any wonder he's not scared? Poor Harry's already rather fed up with Wizarding Britain.