A trial had been had, and Sirius Black was found innocent, then taken to St. Mungo's, where he would remain for the better part of a year. Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to life in Azkaban. British Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had fought against having a trial at every step, and had apparently been incredibly pale at the conclusion, after the incompetence of his predecessor was exposed. Fortunately, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was no coward, and she ran roughshod all over the Minister's protests. It had cost her though, according to Dumbledore- the DMLE found its budget cut before the week's end.

Surprisingly, very few on the Wizengamot opposed Bones, regardless of their political alignment; even the Darkest of the Dark had been appalled at the possibility of the Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble being falsely incarcerated and exposed to Dementors for over a decade.

Meanwhile, Harry was in for another seemingly uneventful summer at Hogwarts. At the very least, he would be joined by Neville Longbottom, his apprentice of sorts. The boy had petitioned his Gran to stay at Hogwarts to try and make up for both his atrocious performance and nearly-criminal offense, and the old woman was all for it. She was, however, not happy that Neville had gotten another wand. Apparently, the one he'd been using had been owned by his father, a long-term patient in St. Mungo's Insanity Ward due to excessive exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. As Ollivander was fond of saying, the wand chooses the wizard, and in this case, the wand had not chosen the wizard. Neville's new wand was made of blackthorn wood, with a unicorn hair core, eleven inches long, and astoundingly rigid. Perfect for a warrior fighting to set this world right, according to the wandmaker. The boy had blushed terribly at the praise, and Harry had yet to see any of the unyielding bravery that the rigidity suggested.

However, the gentle boy was getting there. He was fairly fit now- he couldn't very well stay chubby when he was dodging spells for the majority of the day- and much less inclined to flinch in the face of overwhelming power. He gave as good as he got, and he was improving- that as all Harry cared about.

As for Harry, he seemed to have reached an impasse in his training. His exponential growth had finally finished, and he'd set into a more comfortable, constant pace of improvement. His mind, also, began to settle. He was no longer shooting from end-to-end of the emotional spectrum, switching between fiery rage and icy apathy at the drop of a hat. After finding out that he could perform the Killing Curse with hardly any provocation (Harry still thought that it was plenty justified when standing in front of his parents' murderer), Dumbledore had pulled the boy out of his classes for a bit and really put on the pressure for Harry to stabilize himself. Between fire and ice, Harry had reached a happy medium of slightly-chilled water, and was working on maintaining that balance in tense situations. The old man was pleased with his progress, so Harry assumed he was doing well in that aspect.

As for why he had such command over those elements, Dumbledore had explained to him that it was simply a trait amongst wizards- elemental preferences. They existed in all magical entities, determining their personalities, and slightly affecting their capabilities with certain spells. The Potters tended to lean more towards the side of fire, which is why they were well-known for their spontaneity. These traits very rarely manifested as strongly as they did in Harry, and definitely not to the point of summoning Fiendfyre, or the world would be a very different place. That was, Dumbledore theorized, a side-effect of his intense magical power.

However, despite the Potter family's tendency for heat, Dumbledore believed that Harry's natural affinity was that of ice. Wizards did not naturally have two, and it was likely that the fire came from being injected with two pieces of Voldemort's soul. The Headmaster remembered that Tom Riddle leaned toward fire, resulting in his short temper. It was possible that the black magic of Horcruxes had altered that fire aspect before it was implanted into Harry, corrupting it in such a way that it was able to summon hellish Fiendfyre as it did. It made sense to Harry, so he wouldn't question it.

Beyond the hows and whys of elemental affinities, it seemed that Harry was able to manipulate them, separately and in unison. With a combination of fire and ice, Harry could summon floods of water, which could then be flash-frozen into deadly icicles. Apply a little more heat, and steam would appear in great clouds, turning whatever room he was in into a Muggle sauna. Removing the ice completely, he could obviously turn his rage into Fiendfyre. However, according to Dumbledore, there was something called cold fire, which could only be utilized with a calm mind in the face of overwhelming rage. He'd work at it, but given his track record with controlling his anger…

On his fourteenth birthday, Harry received a letter from Ginny, which was slightly surprising. He was sure she had forgotten about him, considering the last time they talked was… Seven months ago? What was even more surprising was that she somehow remembered it was his birthday, and to top it all off, she was inviting him to the Quidditch World Cup. They would be joined by the rest of the Weasley clan, Hermione, and the Lovegoods.

Now, Harry may not have been especially fond of Quidditch, but that was more a dislike for actually playing the sport. He didn't exactly have anything against watching it, and a tournament on the professional level promised to at least be entertaining. On August First, Harry floo'd from the Headmaster's office to the Burrow, and followed the Weasley's to the mass portkey which would take all the wizards in the Ottery St. Catchpole area to the World Cup stadium grounds.

Mrs. Weasley crushed him in a hug, followed by an embarrassed/apologetic Ginny, an airy Luna, and a hesitant Hermione. Harry remained distant; aware, but unwilling to participate in the awkward silence that had descended on the group of former friends.

"Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Weasley. I appreciate the chance to get out of the castle every now and then," Harry said cordially, and Molly smiled.

"Oh, of course! No young person should stay cooped up in such a dusty place anyways- always nice to stretch your legs, I say."

Harry nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. He followed the group to the area where their tent was. Harry would be rooming with Ron and the Twins for the two weeks. Ginny, Hermione, and Luna would group up, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley obviously got their own quarters. That left Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father, to bunk with Percy, Charlie and Bill.

Harry felt a bit awkward sharing a room with Ron, who he was not particularly fond of. However, that was offset by his pleasant acquaintanceship with Fred and George, as well as his gratitude towards the Weasleys for allowing him to join. In the face of all that, he decided it would be a better idea to not antagonize the boy- not that he'd do so purposefully- because he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Plus, it took a lot less energy to ignore the ill-mannered redhead than it did to focus on all his faults. That energy would be better put to use with maintaining his physical condition, and reading a bit from the books he'd taken from Hogwarts' Restricted Section. Currently, he was looking into the types of things that could be done with runes and wards, to determine if it would actually be worth it to continue Ancient Runes after obtaining his O.W.L.

Bill Weasley was a particularly good resource for that endeavor. Bill had been working as a Gringotts Curse-Breaker for a little less than four years, since his graduation from Hogwarts, and had a slew of experience. He'd thrown himself fully into his work to get away from his overbearing mother, who would assault him with pleas to quit his current job and become a respectable employee of the Ministry of Magic. As such, there were quite a few things Bill knew about runes and wards, which he was more than happy to share with the curious teen. Fred and George also proved to be surprisingly knowledgeable, though their expertise was rather limited to things more useful for pranks. Still, that didn't have to be their only purpose.

Charlie Weasley was also incredibly interesting. He worked on a dragon preserve in Romania, and had gotten up-close and personal with more of the beasts than a thousand average wizards would see in their long lifespans. His stories were hilarious, detailing the foolish antics him and his coworkers got up to in their copious amounts of free time (dragons did not require much micromanaging), though he also had many good tales about the dragons themselves; mating rituals, behaviors both odd and normal, how they dealt with life in general… For majestic creatures that wizards seemed to be in awe of, they were actually rather peaceful. Very few dragons were mindless murder machines that spewed fire at anything that existed.

Like Bill, Charlie was incredibly enthusiastic about his work, and sharing it with Harry. The boy amusedly wondered if they were trying to promote their jobs, and see if they couldn't get him to follow in their footsteps. Considering the things they described, however, Harry didn't doubt one of them would be successful. He'd just have to wait and see.

Percy, obviously, joined in on the conversations, waxing eloquent about the benefits of a Ministry job, with Mrs. Weasley cheering him on in the background. Unfortunately, Harry simply could not see himself working under the same corrupt organization that had imprisoned Sirius Black- whom he'd found out was actually his godfather, as well as blood-adopted father- in Azkaban for twelve years. Especially not when people like Cornelius Fudge could get elected Minister. He didn't say as much, instead opting for silence in the face of Percy's rants.

Then, there was Ron, who for some reason still thought of himself as Harry's friend. It was likely because Harry had never said anything outright rude to him, and the young redhead took Harry's silence as agreement with whatever he was saying. The boy rambled on about Quidditch, as normal; player statistics, recent matches, which up-and-comer was likely to make it big, and, of course, the Chudley Cannons. The boy still thought they were good, despite them having never even come close to winning a game in at least fifty years. He also liked to mourn Harry's dead Quidditch career, and its incredibly short lifespan. Ron channeled his inner Oliver Wood whenever he lamented the pants-ness of the current Gryffindor Seeker, who'd lost them many a game due to his lack of talent. He'd even asked Harry, more than once, to consider rejoining the team, and received a simple shake of the head for his troubles.

Hermione seemed to be doing her absolute best to be near Harry, seemingly waiting for a chance to be alone with him so she could try and repair their twice-shattered relationship. Harry saw the significant looks she was sending him, acknowledged them, and promptly ignored them. He didn't fancy making himself vulnerable to her fickle friendship for a third time (Fool me twice, and all that…), and so simply made sure he was always in the company of one of the abundant redheads. Even Ron, because Hermione refused to be near him. Harry had no clue why, but it worked to his advantage.

Ginny, thankfully, understood Harry's silent grievances with her. She sometimes stared at him sorrowfully when she thought he wasn't looking, and her smiles were a touch sad when directed at him. That didn't stop her from being the rambunctious young woman she was growing into, but she toned it down a bit in Harry's presence.

Luna was… Luna. She'd taken to stroking his hair for some unfathomable reason. The odd actions were made even more strange when one took into account Harry's seemingly-spontaneous aversion to touch. These days, he always wore long sleeves and gloves, a black scarf wrapped around his neck and covering the lower half of his face, leaving very little skin visible. As a result, nobody could believe that Harry was allowing Luna to do as she pleased. Fred and George shot him sly smirks whenever it happened, but they were promptly ignored.

August Eighteenth, the day of the match that would determine the winner of the Quidditch World Cup. It would also put an end to the festival that was the World Cup. The prior two weeks had been spent playing carnival-esque games, watching the Quidditch teams practice, and even for the spectators to get the chance to meet the famous players. Merchandise was sold for ridiculous prices, along with sub-standard food that people still brought by the plate-full. Interviews and press conferences were had, where the pros talked about the upcoming match, sprinkling a healthy amount of flowery speeches, designed to show humbleness and sportsmanship and whatnot. It all lead up to the final match. The next day, the audience would return to their homes, and the stadium would be packed up, not to be seen for another four years.

This time around, the two teams that would be facing off were Ireland and Bulgaria. Ireland was an all-around powerhouse, with well-coordinated Chasers, deadshot Beaters, and an all-seeing Keeper. Meanwhile, Bulgaria had Viktor Krum. Sure, he was the best Seeker in the league, at the tender age of seventeen, but the rest of the Bulgarian team was rather mediocre, to be honest. It was only Krum's speedy-quick retrieval of the Snitch which had gotten them this far.

And, perhaps, the cheerleaders. A squad of leggy, curvaceous, luscious blondes captured the attention of the majority of the males in the stadium, including those on the pitch. Men around Harry literally began to drool as they stared at the gorgeous women, seemingly feeling no shame. The females looked properly outraged, many a witch slapping their male companions. Harry, having no clue what was going on, decided it would be better to not draw attention to himself by asking.

The game started soon after, and as expected, the Irish dominated the Quaffle game. They scored within the first five minutes, and only added to their point value after that. Meanwhile, the Seekers were cruising around. Every now and then, Krum would act as if he'd seen the Snitch, and take off at a breakneck pace, diving incredibly low to the ground, then pulling up at the last second. He was followed each time by the opposing Seeker, who wasn't taking the chance that Krum had seen the Snitch.

Krum was famous for his success with the Wronski Feint, having taken many Seekers out of the game after devastating collisions with the ground. Ireland's Seeker had enough sense to not follow all the way through, but it cost him an hour later, once Krum had actually seen the Snitch. The Bulgarian dipped low, enough that he could almost graze his feet against the grass, and snapped vertical in a split-second, shooting up like a rocket. The Irish Seeker had slowed down to avoid being caught in the Feint, but by the time he'd brought his broom back up to speed, Ludovic Bagman, the commentator, had announced that Krum had caught the Snitch.

Unfortunately, with the catching of the Snitch, the game ended in Ireland's victory. Bulgaria had only had ten points, with the Snitch bringing them up to one hundred sixty, just below Ireland's hundred seventy. Krum didn't seem discouraged, fist pumping and brandishing the golden ball for the entire stadium to see. The Bulgarian cheerleaders, on the other hand, were a fair bit more… Volatile. They morphed into odd, avian-like creatures, and began tossing fire at the opposing team's mascots, a group of haughty leprechauns. It was an amusing sight, but it threw the rest of the audience into turmoil, drunk wizards swinging at each left and right. Harry's group snuck out amidst the chaos, some horrified by the lack of decorum, while the majority of them were laughing loudly.

Terrified screams rang through the air, between the sounds of explosion, and Mrs. Weasley answered with her own shriek of horror. She leapt to her feet, and began running around the tent, yelling for everybody to get up and get out. Within less than five minutes, the entire group was outside, running for the forest at the edge of the stadium grounds, where they would presumably be able to hide. In the distance, Harry could see fires raging, the flames rising high into the air and consuming all they touched.

Despite Mrs. Weasley urging them on in a shrill voice, Harry paused in his stride when he heard cries of pain from nearby. Deciding that he could meet back up with the Weasley's if he found nothing, he veered away from the group, casting a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself just so they wouldn't see him. Of course, since they were all focused on not tripping or running into any danger, and Harry was at the back of the group, nobody noticed his departure.

A few minutes and a couple turns later, Harry came across what seemed to be a family of four. A grey-haired man was being held in place by a group of black-robed, masked individuals. One of them was holding the man's head so he was looking at the three females, who varied in age. One adult, one teen, and one child. They all had platinum-blonde hair, and the two older women looked strikingly like the Bulgarian cheerleaders. They also had more robed individuals bearing down on them, ripping at their clothes, while removing their own.

Harry had a fairly good idea of what was going to happen if he left now, so he intervened. A trio of Piercing Hexes shot through the heads of three attackers, killing them instantly and blowing their corpses away from the women. A high-powered Reductor slammed into a fourth, disintegrating his entire upper body in a bloody mist, and taking half the head of a fifth who was unlucky enough to be too close. The sixth began turning towards Harry, but was run through by a lance of ice. When he fell, and the women were safe, Harry ran over to them.

A wave of his hand Summoned the man away from the attackers, and another Transfigured a sturdy stone dome to cover the four. Meanwhile, the enemies finally got their wits together, and began firing spells.

Harry made sure to not dodge, as that would leave the immobile family behind him in danger. So, he stuck to shielding and spell-swatting, a trick he'd learned towards the end of the school year.

When a Killing Curse was launched, and subsequently blocked by a piece of stone, Harry decided to move on the offensive. A flurry of spells flew from his wand, matching the pace of the six men, putting them on the defensive. Any spells they managed to lob at Harry were slapped aside with his magic-imbued fingertips, or intercepted by Levitated rubble. Half of them were shielding, while the other half had to cast around the magical shields, lest they break their own cover. As such, return fire was rather inaccurate, since they quickly pulled back behind cover to avoid certain spells. Finally, once all six refused to come out from behind the rapidly-fading Protego, Harry Transfigured a series of dirt spikes behind the men, and pulled forward. His opponents were mauled by the javelins, and fell to the ground in pools of blood.

For a long moment, the immediate area was silent, the only noises Harry could hear being far in the distance. Releasing the breath he was holding, he waved his hand, removing the stone dome he stood next to. The family of four looked at him in shock. When they saw the corpses littering the ground, the eldest woman covered the young girl's eyes, pulling her close to her chest. Shakily, they stood up.

"Follow me," Harry told them, "We have to get the forest. We can hide there."

The man nodded shakily, grabbing his presumed-wife and presumed-older-daughter's hands, tugging them forward, while the wife held onto the presumed-youngest-daughter. They moved at a jog, and reached the edge of the woods in a few minutes, where the family stood, panting. The man turned to Harry.

"Thank you so much!" he cried, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezing. He spoke with a noticeable accent, though considering Harry's lack of worldly knowledge, he couldn't say where the man was from based on that. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't showed up!"

"Well, since nothing too bad happened, you don't need to worry about it," Harry responded evenly, unsure how to deal with such gratitude. The man nodded once more, and took a step back. His wife came forward, and squeezed Harry into a hug, followed by the youngest girl, who was babbling in a foreign language. The boy stiffened at the sudden contact, but eventually managed to force himself to relax. That didn't stop him from breathing a silent sigh of relief when he was released, however. The oldest daughter stepped forward, staring intensely at him.

"What is your name?" she asked softly. Harry titled his head, considering the question.

"Hadrian Black," he finally said. It wouldn't hurt to tell this little white lie, since he'd probably never see these people again. Plus, he rather liked the sound of that name. A damn sight better than Harry Potter, at least.

With some final words of thanks, the family departed, and Harry eventually found his way to the Weasley's, who berated and hugged him in equal measures.

Two weeks later, it was back to school. At the insistence of Mrs. Weasley, Harry stayed at the Burrow for the remainder of August, joining them on their Diagon Alley trip. Harry read Hermione's supply list to determine what he needed, and purchased it all in short order. He called on Pitts to bring him his trunk from the Room of Requirement, where he stored the new books, replenished stationary, and potion materials. He also made a quick stop at Madam Malkin's, to buy some new clothes. His old ones were getting a bit tight as he filled out and grew more, and he also had to buy a few more sets of gloves and scarves. Comments were made on his odd choice, but he simply told them he liked the style. They left him alone after that.

Taking the Hogwarts Express was rather nostalgic. He hadn't been to King's Cross Station in about two years, so he'd nearly forgotten what the red steam engine had looked like. That didn't make the trip anymore pleasant, however- not when he was crammed into a small car for over eight hours with people he'd rather not be near. He didn't exactly have anything against Ron, Hermione, and Ginny… Just their choices to abandon him. Well, he definitely didn't like Ron's eating habits, but that was an entirely different story. Luna scratching his hair and ears kept him from subtly displaying his displeasure by lowering the temperature in the enclosed space to an uncomfortable degree. What had begun as a simple tic had evolved into a full-blown habit.

Neville joined them at some point. He'd gone back home for the last two weeks of August so he could prepare his greenhouses for the rest of the year, as well as do his own shopping. He hadn't done much over the summer aside from the training Harry had set for him, but he seemed rather pleased with his progress. Harry said he'd be testing the brown-haired boy, and for once, Neville Longbottom didn't look worried. Obviously, his hard work had done wonders for his confidence.

Daphne and Tracey eventually popped in, sitting down like they had been invited. Ron glared at them, appalled at the audacity of the filthy snakes. Hermione struck up polite conversation, and Neville joined in. Harry outright ignored them, giving them the same cold shoulder Daphne had given him. Luna kept ruffling his raven hair.

Draco poked his head in, Crabbe and Goyle behind him, with Pansy on his arm, and began spouting off some such nonsense that Harry didn't pay attention to. He insulted Ron and Ginny for being dirt-broke blood traitors, Hermione for being a mudblood, Tracey for being a halfblood, Daphne for sitting with such filth, and Luna for being Looney. After his incredibly long tirade, he turned to Harry, who looked like he was asleep, since his eyes were closed.

For a long moment, the Malfoy Heir stared at Harry, and grew aggravated that his "rival" wasn't giving him attention.

"Wake up, Potter!" he barked. When that elicited no response, Crabbe and Goyle came in, arms outstretched with the intent to grab Harry and yank him out the compartment. However, Neville surprised everyone by shooting to his feet and whipping out his wand the instant the meatheads crossed the doorway, a Stunner glowing at its tip. Slowly, the four Slytherins backed out, and everyone praised Neville for his bravery. Except Harry, of course, but nobody could tell if it was because he was actually asleep, or just not paying attention. Behind his scarf, though, he was smiling ever-so-slightly.

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… Intense. Harry knew he was going to enjoy this year, especially if it continued in this vein. A retired legendary Auror doing a lesson on the Unforgivables? Hell yes!

Neville seemed a bit uncomfortable with Mad-Eye Moody's demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse, but Harry's hand on his shoulder calmed him a bit. Ron, who still hadn't gotten over his fear of spiders, shrieked when one of the arachnids scuttled over his desk in a display of the Imperius Curse. Everyone shuddered at the vile aura of the Killing Curse. Then, Moody further surprised the class by announcing that he would be using the Imperius Curse on the students.

Draco was commanded to spill ink all over his precious hair. Ron jumped up onto a desk and began clucking like a chicken, flopping his elbows in a poor imitation of wings. Hermione ripped a page out of her Defense textbook, and was distraught for the rest of the period. Finally, it was Harry's turn.

"Imperio!" Moody said firmly, pointing his wand at Harry. The golden spell shot from its tip, and slapped Harry in the face. The compulsion splashed against his mental barriers and dissipated, just as the light did with his head.
"Potter, come over here and lick my boot!" Moody barked, pushing his intact leg forward.

Draco stared with unrepentant glee, sure that he was about to see something absolutely fantastic. Unfortunately for him, Harry didn't move. Moody tried again.

"Get on your hands and knees and bark like a dog!"

Harry still did not move, and the Professor raised an eyebrow. Harry saw the silent question.

"I don't think it's working, sir."

Moody boomed with laughter, grinning like the loon he was. "Good, good! Wasn't expecting any of ya brats to be able to resist the Imperius- takes a lot of willpower, that. Something a lot of those so-called superior purebloods seem to be lacking, since they all got enchanted by the Dark Lord. Load of dragon dung, I say."

Draco, enraged by his hair being ruined and the jab at his ideals, stood up. He never did make the best decisions when angry.

"I may not be able to resist the Imperius, but I can still easily cast the other Unforgivables!"

The classroom was dead silent, as if everybody present had been hit with a certain green curse, and was laying in a pile of corpses. Slowly, Moody turned to the blond boy.

"You admittin' to me that you've got some practice, boy?"

Draco, somehow, didn't catch the threat. "No, but I know my skill level, and those spells are well within my abilities!"

Moody raised an eyebrow, insidiously this time, before he smirked cruelly. "Alright then, Malfoy- get down here and show us! I promise I won't report you to the Aurors."

Draco finally realized he was standing with one foot in the grave. Unfortunately for the ponce, he couldn't sit down without completely ruining his reputation. Not that it was in particularly good shape, mind you. So, with a gulp, he palmed his wand, and strode down the aisle to the front of the classroom with as much dignity as he could muster.

Moody Levitated another spider from inside his box, and moved it to an empty spot on the floor. "Here, I'll even make it easy for ya." With a wave of his wand, the man cast and Engorgement Charm on the arachnid. "There; now ya can't miss! So, let's see it! Start with the Imperious, then the Cruciatus, and end off with the Killing Curse. I hope you were paying attention to my wand movements earlier."

Draco swallowed heavily once more, audible this time in the quiet classroom. He waved his wand in the correct pattern a few times with shaky hands, muttering to himself. Finally, he seemed to steel himself. He performed the movement, but this time pointed the tip of his wand at the spider. "Imperio!" he shouted.

Nothing happened. Not even a spark shot out of the boy's stick, and he stared at it in devastation. Desperately, he tried the other two Unforgivables.

"Crucio! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Still, nothing happened. Moody shook his head. "Alright, back to your seat, Malfoy- and you better learn to think before you speak! Now… Potter! Get down here. Let's see you try."

The tension in the room skyrocketed. Draco was heartened, a bit. He may have failed miserably, but at least he'd be able to watch his nemesis do the same. If he, a born-and-bred Death Eater, could not perform the Unforgivables, then what hope did the Golden Boy of Gryffindor have?

Harry rose gracefully and strode down the aisle. His arms swung idly at his side, gloved hands perfectly relaxed. When he reached the professor's side, a few students could see his wand poking out from under the sleeve of his robe.

"Well, Potter, you know the wand movements?" Harry nodded. "Then get to it."

Harry did the same thing Draco did, practicing the swishes for a few moments, before pointing his wand at the still-massive spider.

"Imperio," he intoned, voice much calmer than Draco's. A ball of golden light blasted forward, washing over the spider.

"Jump three times and roll over," Harry commanded. The spider did as told. When Harry cut the spell, causing the spider to sag a bit as its muscles relaxed, Moody clapped a bit.

"Alright, now-" He was cut off when Harry raised a finger, in the universal one moment gesture.

Harry waved his wand again, a bit faster this time. "Imperio," he said once more, though it came out as more of a mutter than anything. The spell hit the spider, and it jumped when it was ordered to. Then, on his third time, Harry simply flicked his wand once, silently, and achieved the same results.

Moody was looking at him with an appraising eye. "So, did away with the incantation and the wand movement? Impressive. See if you can do it with the Cruciatus."

"Crucio." The spider dropped to the floor, writhing in pain, spindly legs scraping against the floor. Harry did the same as with the Imperius, casting it twice more until he could do so efficiently.

"Alright. Now, the Killing Curse. 'Fraid ya won't be practicing that one, since I don't wanna run out of spiders."

Harry nodded, then flicked his wand a single time. A green jet of light slammed into the spider, knocking it back. It was dead long before it hit the floor.

The first week of classes wasn't even over yet, and everyone was already avoiding him like the plague. That included Hermione. Apparently, she wasn't actually serious about trying to fix their friendship. Harry stopped nodding to her in the halls. Ginny also seemed frightened of him, despite her not even being in the classroom. Harry had to remind himself that, even though she'd been possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle, she did not have the maturity of a sixteen-year-old maniac. She was still thirteen at heart, so of course those things would scare her. He didn't hold it against her, but did nothing to try and bridge the gap.

Luna didn't seem to care. She still came by and scratched him behind the ear whenever she saw him, usually after he had hunched over a bit. He'd grown two inches over the summer, to a height of five-foot-seven, and Luna, who was short even for her age group, could not reach her favorite spot. She pouted the first time he refused to move, and he didn't want to upset one of the few people who actually approached him these days. So, he suffered the indignation.

Surprisingly, Neville was a steady friend. Even though he could have returned to Gryffindor Tower- since it was well-known that Sirius Black was innocent and Neville hadn't almost gotten them all killed- Neville stuck around in the Room of Requirement. He also put forth more effort into all he did, so Harry rewarded him by taking a bit more interest in his progress. He taught the brown-haired boy a few of his favorite (and somewhat Dark) spells, and some useful techniques. He even engaged in practice duels with the other boy, much to Neville's delight. It was good to have a measuring stick, Neville said, and Harry agreed. Speaking of which, he needed to reinstate his weekly duels with the Headmaster. It simply wouldn't do to deteriorate.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir?"

"Yes, Pitts?" Harry asked, a bit startled by the house elf's sudden appearance. He normally only came when called.

"Headmaster Dumbles is wanting you to go to the Great Hall."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Did he say why?"

Pitts nodded, large ears flopping a bit. "He be saying that attendance be mandatory tonight."

Harry sighed. That hadn't actually answered his question, but he knew it wasn't Pitts' fault.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

When Pitts popped away, Harry called upon the Room to clear away the debris from his training, and supply him with a shower. A flick of his fingers had soap scrubbing him down thoroughly, while a second washed it all away, and the third dried him off. He quickly dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a purple sweater, readjusting his robe so his hood hung over the back of it. He pulled on his gloves and made sure his black scarf covered at least half of his face, before finally leaving the Room of Requirement.

He slipped in through one of the side doors, of which there were many, and leaned up against a nearby wall. There were new people here, he noticed. Some were dressed in light-blue robes, and sat at the Ravenclaw table. A group of red-robed people sat with the Slytherins. Harry was a bit surprised to recognize Victor Krum, of all people, sitting next to Draco, which the blond seemed to be enjoying massively.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry, somehow noticing the exact moment when the boy came in, and smiled at him. Harry returned the gesture with a nod, since his mouth was hidden.

"Welcome, those of you from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang! It is my great pleasure to host you here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" A smattering of polite applause sounded, but died away quickly. "I am honored to be hosting the Triwizard Tournament here in England, especially two centuries after it was initially abolished! I understand that many of you here wish to enter this Tournament, in the hopes of earning eternal victory by claiming the Triwizard Cup, but I bear solemn news. Unfortunately, only three Champions can be chosen- hence why it is called the Tri-wizard Tournament." That earned a few chuckles. "You may be wondering how those three Champions will be chosen, and I say, allow me to show you!"

WIth a grand wave of his wand, the massive doors at the main entrance of the Great Hall swung open ominously, and in floated a platform, with a huge chalice resting upon it. It looked to be made of wood, and wasn't particularly pretty. The carved surfaces were uneven and roughly hewn, lacking any type of intricate design. The rubies embedded in the rim of the chalice were gaudy, compounding its ugliness moreso than helping. It wasn't even polished!

However, all that could be ignored in the face of the blue-white flames roaring from within the cup's bowl. They somehow seemed noble, sentient in a pure way, unlike Fiendfyre, which was decidedly demonic. Those who stared directly into the flames felt an odd, foreign presence invade their bodies, and looked away quickly. It was almost as if those flames were trying to peer into their souls with nonexistent eyes, to judge them and burn away those found lacking. The floating stone platform was set down in the center of the Great Hall, where the chalice flared silently.

"This is the Goblet of FIre, the impartial judge which will be choosing the Champions! However, there is one rule as to who is eligible to enter their name; all participants must be above the age of sixteen years old."

Many Hogwarts students began chattering at the imagined unfairness, and Dumbledore fired a cannon blast into the air, quieting them down instantly. The old man cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed at their lack of decorum.

"This rule is for your own safety! As some of you may know, the Triwizard Tournament was originally banned because of the high death toll among competitors- in fact, even the spectators have been put in danger from time to time. We have taken many precautions to ensure the wellbeing of everyone involved in this event, and this is just another one of those safeguards. To enforce it, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet, which will prevent those below the specified age from approaching."

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and approached the Goblet. He muttered a few words, then walked around the chalice in a circle, his wand pointed at the stone floor the entire time. When he was done, a chalk-white line appeared about five feet away from the Goblet. He continued his speech where he stood.

"For those of you above the specified age, you will be able to simply ignore the Age Line. To enter the Tournament, you must write your name, and the school you are representing, on a piece of parchment, which you will then drop into the Goblet. Multiple entries will do you no good, because the Goblet chooses based on the ability and skills of the wizard or witch, not the amount of times their name appears. For you younger students, you will not be able to ask an older student to submit your name for you; the Goblet will not recognize a person entering a name other than their own."

Further groans. Dumbledore chuckled this time.

"Well, that is all I have to say. The Great Hall will be open for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow, so participants may be able to enter at any time. We will be choosing the Champions at tomorrow's Halloween Feast. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Triwizard Tournament has begun!"

Harry was in a rather foul mood. He'd tried to slip back out of the Great Hall as soon as Dumbledore had finished his speech, but found the doors locked. A glance at the old man revealed that he was the one responsible for his imprisonment, if his twinkling eyes and amused smirk were any indication. Harry furrowed his eyebrows into a glare, and the Headmaster simply replied with a jaunty wave. A few teachers glanced his way, but returned to their meals quickly.

With a sigh, Harry resigned himself to remaining by the door, and waiting until it unlocked. It was a good thing he'd brought a book with him out of habit, because otherwise he'd be bored out of his mind. Conjuring a chair, Harry sat down and began reading up on some warding theory.

At the half-hour mark, his stomach began to constrict slightly with hunger pains. However, he didn't quite feel like going to sit down at one of the House tables. The staff would likely not appreciate his terrorizing the students with his presence, since it might make a bad impression on the foreigners.

An hour or so passed, and Harry finished the book, just in time for the Feast to finally end. He rose, Vanished the chair, and went to slip out the same side door he came from. Unfortunately, it was still locked. Harry looked back at the Headmaster, who simply nodded his head towards the wide-open main doors. Harry snarled, the noise lost in the general clamor.

It took another few minutes for the majority of the crowd to shuffle out, which is when the boy finally pushed off the wall and began his journey back to the Room of Requirement. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be yet. He could feel a pair of eyes boring intently into his back. A quick glance at one of the suits of armor lining the halls revealed his stalker in the reflection; a young lady dressed in those baby-blue robes. He vaguely recognized her as the girl whose family he'd saved back at the World Cup. A bit disturbed, he began walking faster, very thankful for his newfound height, which allowed him to move much faster than the girl.

She also lengthened her strides, and actually began jogging after him, earning startled looks from any spectators. Harry had no wish to exert himself at the moment, and reluctantly allowed the girl to catch up with him.

"Is there something you need, Miss?" he asked bluntly, not even bothering to turn around. She looked shocked that he noticed her, but pressed on.

"You are Hadrian Black, yes?"

"That is the name I gave you, yes." His wording threw her off slightly.

"I…" She swallowed heavily. "I remember that I never told you my name. I am Fleur Delacour. Thank you, for what you did for my family. We are in your debt." She bowed at the waist.

"Well met, Miss Delacour."

Harry walked away, leaving a stunned woman in his wake.

"So, Harry… What's this about you and a French girl?"

Neville was lucky he'd had his wand in hand, otherwise those half-dozen overpowered Stinging Hexes would have collided with him rather than his shield. It was a good thing he'd been expecting the attack.

"Neville, I've come to respect you over these past few months. However, don't think I won't beat you into the ground if you ever accuse me of such nonsense again."

Neville grinned. "Like you wouldn't anyways?"

"Correct." Harry turned to the Longbottom Heir, wand raised, and the boy was drowned in a flurry of spells. His shield shattered, and he was pelted with magical lights, thrown onto his back and into unconsciousness.

Worth it.

Dumbledore stood from his seat at the Head Table when all the students had eaten, and the remaining food was taken by the house elves. Harry was once more in his out-of-the-way spot at the edge of the Great Hall, sitting in a simple wooden chair.

"Welcome back, my friends! I do hope you've enjoyed your stay at Hogwarts so far?" Polite applause answered the old man's question, and he smiled jovially. "Good, good! Tonight, we are gathered here to determine which student from each school will participate in the Triwizard Tournament!" The clapping was now much more enthusiastic, and it took a good few minutes for everyone to calm down enough that Dumbledore could speak again.

"WIthout further ado, please turn your attention to the Goblet of Fire!"

The flames inside the Goblet shrunk until they were weaker than a campfire, then flared with the force of the sun. The blue-white flames became bright red. They pulsed three times, and a fireball shot out in Dumbledore's direction. The old man tottered back and forth, hand outstretched. Embarrassingly enough, he failed to catch the projectile, missing it by mere inches, and it hit the floor. With a sheepish chuckle, the Headmaster quickly swiped up the no-longer-burning piece of parchment, and unfolded it.

"The Champion for Durmstrang Institute is… Viktor Krum!" The Hall erupted into cheers, the majority of the noise coming from the Hogwarts Quidditch fanatics.

Bulgaria's star Seeker, huh? No wonder he was chosen. Too bad Oliver graduated last year- he'd have loved to meet this guy.

Another piece of paper popped out, which the old man actually caught this time. "The Champion for Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is… Fleur Delacour!" Most of those clapping were males, many of which leapt up, standing on benches and tables to give standing ovations. The girls of the Beauxbatons entourage began crying.

So, that girl is considered the best? A bit odd, considering she was overwhelmed by those bastards at the World Cup. Then again, it's likely she was ambushed. And what is wrong with all the guys?

The third, and final, piece of paper shot out of the Goblet, landing right in Dumbledore's palm. He seemed rather pleased that he didn't have to move, which made sense- arthritis was every elderly person's worst enemy. "The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WIzardry is… Cedric Diggory!" The entirety of the Hufflepuff table hopped up, hooting and hollering, clapping Cedric on the back and shoulders. He seemed rather anxious about all the attention, but enjoyed it nevertheless.

Hufflepuff's Seeker, I think. Heard he's a decent bloke.

The Champions entered an antechamber off towards the back of the Great Hall, joined by the majority of the professors. Dumbledore's grin threatened to actually show through his massive beard.

"Thank you for all your support! We will now-!"

The Goblet of Fire spat out another scrap of parchment. It landed at the Headmaster's feet, and he stared at it, stunned, for a good minute. Then, he looked around the Great Hall to find everyone just as perplexed as he was. He pulled out his wand and cast a series of diagnostic charms, eventually determining that the paper was harmless. With noticeable reluctance, he crouched down and picked it up. With shaky, wrinkled fingers, he unfolded the paper, reading it silently. His shoulders began to droop, and every year of his incredible age showed.

"...Harry Potter."