01/09/1994
The Hogwarts Express – Scottish Highlands, The United Kingdom
Harry Potter
-
It had been a fortnight since the attack at the quidditch final campgrounds, and through those two weeks to the moment he sat down, Harry hadn't been able to sleep a wink. Thoughts ran through his head, reminders of that night. Sprinting through the camp, the sight of the poor muggle-born family that had been killed by the crowd of raving Death Eaters. Panic, fear, everything he'd felt over the last three years combined in one night.

He'd found out their names, the family. The Rowans, a poor family from just outside of Essex. It could have been the Grangers or the Weasleys, but they were lucky. The immolated body of the Death Eater he had killed had soon been identified as Walden McNair. Not only had he killed a Death Eater, but that Death Eater had been the executioner for the Ministry of Magic. If he could have made a bad situation worse, he'd succeeded.

He hadn't spoken much since he'd left the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. He'd gotten to King's Cross, and as soon as he'd gotten through to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, he'd felt that little bit safer. He'd soon found Ron and Hermione, Hermione talking about a book whilst Ron rambling on about the Chudley Cannons' chances of winning the league in the new season. He couldn't fault Ron for his optimism, but it was (as Harry had constantly told him) not the Cannon's year. The trio soon boarded the Express, finding a quiet compartment where Harry could simply rest without having to worry about being hounded by anyone else.

Harry had leant against the window-side of the compartment. The rocking of the train forced him out of any attempt to catch a quick nap. The young boy sighed, tapping the window in a semi-consistent pattern of thuds before Hermione had slammed her book shut. "Harry, are you okay?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Harry said. "Yeah, just a bit tired to be honest."

Ron huffed as he made sure to keep an eye on his owl. "The train's a little bit bumpy, but after last year, could be a lot worse."

"Yeah, you're telling me, mate," Harry muttered. "Just, I don't know, I've been struggling to sleep since the final. Guess it's been running through my head a bit more than I thought it would."

Hermione turned all of her focus to Harry. "Did you write to Sirius and Remus about it? They'd want to know from you, just as much as they would from reading the Prophet."

"Yeah, well, told them as much as I could. The Dark Mark, the Death Eaters, everything that I could tell them really." Harry replied. "Other than that, I've been trying not to bother them. Sirius was in prison for twelve years; he's got a life to rebuild."

Hermione gave him a light smack on his chest. "He's your godfather, Harry! He'll want to make sure you're okay, he's your family."

"I know, I know. I'll write to him as soon as we get set up at the castle."

"Harry…" Hermione insisted.

"I promise, Hermione. Don't worry." The bespectacled boy tried to ensure her. "I will write him. He's going to want to make sure I got to the school without any issues anyway."

What would he even say to Sirius anyway? How do you ever tell somebody that you killed a man, by setting him ablaze no less? Was there even a way to present that properly without having them worry about you? Harry doubted that even if Sirius would genuinely care. Remus as well, the pair of them were the closest thing that remained that Harry could call a family. The only consolation that Harry had was that McNair was a Death Eater, and it was probably best if he was dead. He might not have heard much about the First Wizarding War, but the atrocities? Knowing about Neville's parents, that was more than enough to know that one less Death Eater was one less bad person in the world.

He hadn't seen Daphne Greengrass since that event though, even if they had exchanged a few letters since the event. It wasn't so much getting to know the girl, but more like making sure she was okay afterwards for his own peace of mind. In the letters he'd received, she seemed to have been handling a little better than he was. Harry imagined that it wasn't saying much, it wasn't every day someone walked out of a riot or attack and be fine right afterwards.

In comparison, he was not fine. The nightmares about the mansion, killing Walden McNair, and the pain that kept erupting out of his scar was throwing him so far out of the loop that could only wish it didn't last long. He rubbed at the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, sighing aloud before he sat back on his seat. Hermione however, had seen Harry wracked with the pain in his head, and made sure to close her book once more.

"It's your scar again, isn't it?"

Ron piqued at that. "You alright, mate? You don't have to worry about anyone else knowing about it."

"Just the scar, it's nothing."

Hermione was already clinging to the issue. "Harry, please, you can tell us. What happened was horrible, I can't believe it myself, you know?"

"I'm fine! Alright? Just leave it, okay?" Harry shouted, shocking his two friends. "Sorry, I'm just…"

Ron had shuffled uncomfortably in his seat; he was not exactly used to seeing Harry lash out. "No, it's fine. We're just looking out for you, you know?"

"I know, Ron," Harry replied, his voice almost a whisper. "I know."

The trio took a moment to sit in the worrying silence. Harry would usually be talking to Ron about the quidditch, or even playing a few rounds of Wizards Chess, which Ron would almost always win. It was about strategy, he would always say. Harry still hadn't gotten the hang of it, in the middle of catching up with his classes for the new year, as well as practising his defensive and offensive spell-work. Chess was the last thing on his mind. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall and the window of the train again as he tried to gain some sleep again.
-
The smell of burning fabric and flesh was still lingering on the air, the sweet taste of joy and happiness from the quidditch final had been utterly crushed after the chaotic events of the last night. Harry had woken up in the dirt, away from the treeline, Daphne using his jacket and lap as a pillow to sleep in before they woke up in the morning. The first thing he'd done was go out past the treeline, to look at the chaos that was left behind.

The field, the entire camping ground, the possessions from hundreds of thousands of parties and families had been burnt to ashes. The sky was still cold and grim, a hint of rain beginning to pour down to extinguish what little embers were left burning. He couldn't bear to look at the sky, at the sigil that remained high but just below the clouds. It was their message, their signature to remind everyone that they still existed.

The eerie green glow, the skull and the slithering snake. The Dark Mark.

He fell to his knee, clutching at the scar as he had been doing since the nightmares had begun. Daphne had rushed to his side, hauling up from the wet grass, carrying him alongside her before they eventually found Tracy Davis, one of Greengrass's friends, he assumed. Once they had regrouped with a couple of other adult wizards, it hadn't been long until Arthur and Bill Weasley had turned up to whisk Harry back to The Burrow.
-
"Harry, Harry, wake up!"

"Hmm, what, have we stopped?" Harry mumbled, fixing his glasses to find out that they were on the final stretch to the castle. "Oh, oh, thank God we're almost there."

Hermione looked unsure. "You were muttering something in your sleep?

"Probably was." Harry sighed again, before letting out a great yawn. "Well, what can you do?"

Before Hermione could reply to Harry, there was that familiar jingle that could be heard from the other end of the train carriage. There was heavy rain that was slamming down against the train window, making it rather harder to see anything other than the outline of Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower. The pitter-patter of the rain made it impossible to get back to sleep, not that Harry wanted to if all he was seeing was the aftermath of the attack. No, better that he stayed awake for a little longer. Maybe he could beg McGonagall to make Madam Pomfrey give him a potion to help him sleep if she was feeling kind.

"You hear that?" Ron asked, placing an ear to the compartment on their left. "Malfoy."

"Best to leave it for now," Harry replied quickly. He liked to wind up the pureblood ponce as much as Ron did, but not that early in the year. "What's he saying? How is he even talking to Crabbe and Goyle, don't they only communicate in grunting?"

Ron squinted again as if it would help him hear better through the wood. "Something about a place called Durmstrang? Ugh, father this and father that. The bloody idiot doesn't know when to shut up. Oh, something about you being a Lord again. God, the way he goes on about, you'd think he was your bloody ex-wife."

"Durmstrang?" Hermione questioned. "The Durmstrang Institute? It's another wizarding school. They're focused on much more, well, darker magic for a lack of better words."

"Wonderful, simply inspiring," Harry muttered sarcastically. "I bet they're a wonderful group of people too. German?"

"Bulgarian, actually." Hermione corrected.

"Same difference."

Hermione shook her head, placing her eyes back on the pages of the book in her hands. The Standard Book of Spells, Year Four, Harry observed. It was better than years one and two, he had to admit. Still, not as good as the upper-year spells that Harry had under his retinue since he'd begun his training. The jingle-jangle of the sweet trolley had gotten closer, with Ron scrounging through his pockets with Harry to get something when the trolley lady came by.

The lady had quickly grabbed a pack of liquorice wand and a butterbeer for Ron, and soon two more for Harry. Before Harry had turned back into the compartment, he'd heard the accompanying giggles from a group of girls in the next carriage down. He'd quickly made to push his hair back, to at least attempt to make it look like less of a mess than it was. He needed new glasses too, how long had he stuck with his circular spectacles?

Wonderful, now I'm preening for no reason. Absolutely wonderful, I'm going to look like a right pillock…

The girl at the front was the only girl who'd wanted anything from the trolley. Harry hadn't listened particularly well, mostly because he may have a tiny crush on the girl. Cho Chang, that was her name. She was Scottish-Asian, from Ravenclaw and also happened to be their quidditch seeker. That was about all he could think about when it came to his knowledge of her. He imagined that she probably knew more about him than he did about himself, which would have been pleasant if it weren't making him sound like a hero when he was just a baby.

She looked nice, with long black hair that framed her face in a way that made her look quite cute if Harry was being honest with himself. He stopped preening for a moment when she turned to look at him, standing in the doorway of his carriage compartment. She grinned, one which Harry couldn't refuse as he smiled back. "Hi, Harry."

"Hey, Cho." Hey, Cho? Excellent start, can't possibly go wrong with that starter. "How've you been?"

If he could feel eyes burning through the back of his head, it would have been the first time. Ron might have been rolling in his early grave. The more he looked, the more he kept adding to what he knew about her. She was at least a foot shorter than him, and her smile put butterflies in his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. She is pretty… pretty, Harry kept thinking, thankfully his thoughts were silent to everyone.

"Pretty good! Watched the group games of the quidditch, spent some time with Marietta and had a little holiday. What about you?"

Me? What about me? "Oh, not much. Relaxing after last year. Hopefully, this year won't have anything too stressful going on, eh?"

"No, hopefully not," Cho replied, a bright smile still on her face. She was always smiling, Harry noted. Soon, the lady had handed Cho her snacks from the trolley. "See you later, Harry."

"Yeah, see you later."

Harry turned around, closing the compartment door before he turned to Ron. The Weasley boy had very much enjoyed that encounter. Harry shook his head, ignoring the silent laugh that Ron was trying to keep silent before he failed. Harry soon popped open one of the bottles of butterbeer, taking a large swig from the bottle before he placed it on the table. Ron still hadn't stopped laughing, but he had finally managed to calm down.

"You are such a boy, Ron Weasley," Hermione commented from inside her book.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oooh, Cho…" Ron began before Harry closed his eyes so he didn't have to see Ron pretend to brush his hands through his hair. "I'm Harry Potter, how're you doing? Have a good summer? Me, oh, I only defeated a few dementors and saved my godfather from certain death. You know, the usual."

The Boy Who Lived placed his head in his hands. "God, I hope I don't actually sound like that."

Ron continued teasing. "Oh, Harry! How could I possibly not smile and bat my eyelashes at the Boy Who Lived?"

"Please, stop. This is painful."

Hermione decided to join in too, smirking. "So, when's the wedding, Harry?"

Thankfully, the train had pulled into the station not too long after Cho had left. He'd quickly gotten changed into his school robes. Harry had almost bull-rushed his way out of the compartment so he didn't have to suffer from Ron and Hermione teasing him. It didn't take long for them to regroup together on the way up to the main castle. The way up to the old, magical castle was one of his favourite parts of the year. It was his new home for the school year, free from the torture of the Dursleys as well as the isolation and boredom of the Leaky Cauldron. He had a plan for the year, to keep his head down and learn, to just have a peaceful, quiet year.

As the castle came into view in its entirety, there was something new that Harry could just about make out. A large, old ship that seemed to have risen right from the depths of the Black Lake itself. Like an old pirate ship, the sails had their own sigil. An eagle, entirely red. High in the sky, a large carriage being pulled through the air by a massive retinue of flying winged horses. He knew Hogwarts was special, but to have visitors? That was new, that was weird, that meant something big.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville had all piled into one of the horseless carriages, watching as Professor McGonagall had led the first years to the boats to get their first taste of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He could still remember that day like it was only yesterday. It was a new life, new avenues, an entirely new path for him to walk. He had nothing left in the world of muggles, but he could have something in the Wizarding World. The more he thought about it, the more he solidified his plan for the year. To focus and learn, to show everyone else that Harry Potter was the man that everyone would soon realise was a good wizard.

No, not a good wizard. A great wizard. He corrected himself, as the carriages wheeled through the gates, flanked by statues of winged boars. They soon arrived at the castle, each of them running out of their carriages and straight into the school to avoid the abysmal weather. Making sure his wand was still in his wrist holster, Harry led on as the group of four made their way to the great hall. A group of fifth-year girls were about to walk inside, before Harry caught a few balloons, filled with water and just waiting to be abused. McGonagall was at their side, welcoming them inside before Harry saw the first two balloons fall.

Without a word, Harry had reached out, willing it so that the balloons stopped dead in their tracks. He'd flicked them back, where they exploded instead on the corporeal form of Peeves, the resident poltergeist. "Potter! You're no fun!"

"Bugger off, Peeves. Stop being a bother." Harry muttered, in no mood to play around with the poltergeist that fancied himself as a jester. "Peeves…"

"Potter, see, I can say your name too!"

Another two balloons were launched, solely at him. Harry used his wand to flick them back, soaking the jester before the poltergeist disappeared from view. Neville, Ron and Hermione had already pushed ahead to get inside. As Harry walked past the Transfiguration professor, she'd given him a courteous smile. "A wonderful display of wandless magic, Potter. I'd give you points for that if the school year had started."

"You can put me in your good books if that works, Professor," Harry replied with a smile. "Unless I'm already there."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Don't get too uppity with yourself, Potter. I'll give you a free warning."

"That's it?"

"You want to be in my good books, Potter? Keep walking." The old Scotswoman gave a wry smile, as Harry walked on with a smile on his face.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the opening feast and well-lit so that all of the first years could see each of the four house tables. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw: the brave, the ambitious, the loyal, the intelligent. Professor McGonagall had quickly ticked off the first years, placing them in their houses where they could eat, drink and celebrate with their new friends and housemates. The Gryffindors and Slytherins booed each other with each call of their house names, and soon enough, the Sorting was complete. Dumbledore had declared it time to eat, and the banquet appeared before all.

Ron had been the first to dive into the food, as Harry had very much expected. Funnily enough, he'd managed to not unleash as much spittle as Harry was prepared for. He noticed that Cedric was with his fellow Hufflepuffs, a collection of fifth to seven years that he was very much enjoying his time with. Ron was turning to speak with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, whilst Hermione was talking to Neville and Parvati. On the Ravenclaw table, Cho was sitting alongside Marietta. Harry hadn't bothered turning to look at the Slytherin table. The less attention he got from Draco, the better, not that it would matter if he decided to pipe up. He knew Daphne would be somewhere, even if she was keeping to herself. Harry couldn't blame her for that, as long as she had a friend though, he wouldn't worry too much.

As soon as the pudding had been eaten and enjoyed, Dumbledore took to the pulpit once again. The teachers behind him were silent, where Harry (and the rest of the school) had noticed that there was no Defence teacher. Professors Hagrid, McGonagall, Snape, Babbling, even Flitwick, Sinistra and Vector were all present, but that one absence made Harry shiver just a smidge. Please don't let it be Snape, Harry thought.

"Now, that we are all fed and watered by the grace of our castle's assistants, I must ask for all of your attention." Dumbledore began. "Mr. Filch assures me that the list of forbidden objects has been extended and can be found in Mr. Filch's office if anyone has the need to see it. The Forbidden Forest, as always, is forbidden to all students. As is the village of Hogsmeade, for all of those below the third year. Now, my most painful announcement…"

Don't let it be Snape as Defence, please don't let it be Snape…

"It pains me to say, that there will be no Inter-House Quidditch Tournament this year."

What?

The students, all of them, were almost in an uproar. Dumbledore raised his arms, and silence fell once more. "Now, it will be replaced with another event. It shall begin in October and will be continuing throughout the school year. All of the professors will be working around the clock to ensure that it takes place. I believe Professor Moody is a little late, but he too shall be involved with helping make sure the event goes as planned."

"Moody?" Harry heard Dean Thomas ask. "Who's that?"

"Mad-Eye Moody, mate. Proper soldier," Ron whispered. "He's an Auror."

"Auror?" Dean had asked again.

Hermione huffed. "Dark wizard catcher. He doesn't sound like a bad teacher."

Yeah, with a name like Mad-Eye, what could go wrong?

"Now, this castle will not only be your home for the year. It will be host to some very special guests. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen, to host a legendary event. The Tri-Wizard Tournament. For those of you who don't know. The tournament brings together three schools, and from each school, a single student is selected to compete. If you're selected, be warned that as a champion for your school, you stand alone. Trust me, when I say this, that these contests are not for the faint of heart. Now, I'm sure you will all join me in welcoming our first group of guests: the lovely ladies and gentlemen, of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!"

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and out came a contingent of students, boys and girls all in their late teens. Each of them dressed in marvellous pale blue uniforms, hats and cloaks. They strode through, going to their assigned table with the full amount of grace and decorum that they oozed with every step. They seemed to look a little weary of the place, even if their giantess headmistress Madame Maxime had strode through without a care in the world. As she greeted Dumbledore, Harry felt another tug in his brain. He looked over at the table for the Beauxbatons, and one of the students had such an air about her that Harry couldn't help but stare.

Ron was also afflicted by the air, the difference being that he looked more like a lecher than anyone else in the hall. Even Draco seemed to be suffering in silence. Harry whispered to him. "Veela got your tongue?"

Ron shook his head, Harry giving him a pat on the back before steering him away from leering at the poor girl for too long. Eventually, with everyone from the Beauxbatons collective sat, Dumbledore moved on. "And now, greet our friends from the north. Please welcome the proud sons of the Durmstrang Institute, and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff!"

Turning around once more, a full company of students paraded through the hall of the Great Hall. All of them, dressed in drab brown uniforms, made to look more like army overalls than any wizarding garb that Harry knew. It was like they were marching in lockstep, some of them in the middle wore their fur cloaks, carried large sticks that seemed to spark with every contact made to the ground. Headmaster Karkaroff shook hands with Dumbledore before Ron noticed it.

"Blimey, Harry, Harry look! It's him!" Ron ragged Harry's shoulder. "It's Krum!"

"What?"

"That's Viktor Krum!"

He wasn't wrong, it was indeed Viktor Krum. He must have been in his last year of school, Harry reasoned to himself. He seriously was one of the best seekers in the world, especially if he was as young as Harry thought he was. Nineteen, eighteen even? Ron was right, that truly was bloody mental. Harry caught sight of the curved nose and thick eyebrows. He'd recognise that profile anywhere, especially when Karkaroff seemed to show him off with every turn. Viktor Krum was his student, and he knew it.

As the Durmstrangs took to their seats and took less time than the Beauxbatons students to settle. Dumbledore waved Filch and his assistants in with a large box. They laid it at the pulpit before they quickly left the area. With a mere slide of his wand, Dumbledore unveiled an old, yet massive, stone chalice. The bowl soon lit up, a spectral blue flame rising up, bathing the room in a bright aura of sapphire blue.

"This is how the champions of each school shall be chosen," Dumbledore announced with a wry smile. "This, my students, is the Goblet of Fire."