Outtake – The first task

(During chapter 23, a little while after The Goblet)

"Professor...?"

"Harry."

The boy's slumped shoulders spoke of the exact opposite of the defiance he'd displayed only a few days before, but it wouldn't undo the harm he'd caused and wouldn't remove him from the Tournament. Not only had he found a decades-old broom and crossed the age line on it, not only had he driven the three headmasters to an endless debate and put himself in danger by throwing his paper in the Goblet, no. The Daily Prophet's latest editorial read 'Potter: Grindelwald's champion?' to which the boy hadn't even reacted with a headshake. Not one minute after the post arrived, the Weasley twins had released a firework that formed a brightly glowing Hallows symbol above the Gryffindor table, to which Harry only replied a quiet 'that's true' before Miss Granger had kicked his ankle under the table. Dumbledore had expected him to deny the tabloid's accusation. Harry was first and foremost a Hogwarts student. Or at least, he should have been that, and not a pawn in the game between two very old wizards.

"Professor, we just had Defence with Professor Moody, and he again said that it was my mere presence that made the Goblet of Fire think I was a candidate from a fourth school. That it would have chosen my name even if I hadn't thrown that 'Quidditch' card in it. Do you think that may be true?" he looked up with hopeful green eyes. And with a bleeding scar on his forehead.

"We will never know what would have happened, Harry," Dumbledore forced out, trying to appear less hostile than he had actually felt. 'Grindelwald's champion' wasn't someone he wished to share much kinship with. "Our world is based on consequences, you must learn that," he added in a cold tone.

"And intent," Harry replied. "I didn't intend to swear my magic into the Tournament." Steeling himself, he continued, "I know I shouldn't be sorry for something beyond my will, but I still am, Professor. I didn't intend to..."

"Who told you that? Gellert?"

Harry looked at the grandfatherly figure in front of him and shook his head. "Sirius Black."

The headmaster deflated visibly at the mention of that name. Sirius was a pain the magical world would yet again have to live with, but he wasn't a dark wizard by any means and accusing him of being the secret-keeper (standing idle as Crouch had sentenced him for life without a trial) was the worst guilt Dumbledore now had to live with. It was treason. Treason against a man who'd sworn his wand to him and to the Order.

"Sirius has always been a prankster and I wouldn't be surprised if he gave you the idea to use a broom older than seventeen years."

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore thanked Merlin – the entire broomflight was only Black's prank, not Grindelwald's manipulations at work again. "I understand you're sorry, even if it won't change the results. You cannot quit the Tournament now."

Harry seemed relieved at that. A tiny bit of forgiveness was what he'd been after, then, not an excuse to abandon the championship he had unknowingly turned upside down by entering.

The last letter Gellert had written Albus had been addressed as 'my (least) favourite hypocrite'. The headmaster grit his teeth and tried to be a bit friendlier with Harry, but at the same time he kept his occlumency shield up – as did the boy. Hopefully, acting friendly would help him defuse the situation to the point where it would no longer be an act.

"You're a brave boy, Harry. Maybe a bit too brave, but I'll never doubt you're a true Gryffindor."

"Thank you, professor," Potter forced out a smile. "I will compete as a Nurmengard's champion, but sir, can I still be a Hogwarts student when it's done?"

That was no acting. That was an honest and heartfelt plea of a boy who still wanted to belong, not just somewhere but here, to him...

"Hogwarts has been my first home," the youngster continued. He allowed a blink into his mind, but immediately was hit by a wave of pain. Rubbing his lightning scar, he slammed back his shields again. He tried to look as if nothing had happened, but dark blood was seeping again from where the killing curse had hit him. An unmistakable sign that Voldemort was growing in strength again, and all of a sudden Dumbledore found himself grateful for those months Harry had spent with his imprisoned private tutor. Grindelwald must have had Albus in mind when he had trained young Potter, but knowledge was knowledge and it was Harry's choice who he would use it against. And the boy (not for the first time) made his loyalty clear, even if he had too much of his father to be a model student.

On top of all that, he was fighting Voldemort day after day, closer to the dark monster than anyone ever, in constant danger, too.

"Hogwarts will always be there for you, and happily welcome you back," Dumbledore reassured him. "You belong here, Harry, no matter what robe you wear."

The boy gave him a very shy smile. "I haven't thought about a uniform," he admitted.

That was an opportunity to change the topic, and Dumbledore jumped for it. "Let me or Minerva know if you have any ideas."

"I don't suppose I can compete in my quidditch gear?"

There they were again, at quidditch – at flight and personal freedom. Harry apparently repelled all the world domination ideas Grindelwald must have tried inflicting on the boy; he really wasn't the power-hungry type. Albus considered it a miracle that Harry didn't drive the old enemy mad.

"We will arrange something similar," the headmaster offered.

He reached to see Harry's thoughts, now certain that the shield of occlumency wasn't intended for him. The boy's mind willingly opened up, letting him see the badly-ended prank in detail, although he fought not to give out any other student who'd followed him on the old broom that night. Of course, Dumbledore still recognized all three attending Weasley boys, two of the Slytherin chasers, and even a Ravenclaw girl who was only curious whether she could pass the age line but didn't throw in anything. Albus caught a glimpse of 'A hundred and one forms of magical fire,' a book that had been in the restricted section here but had to be easily available from the Black family library. He tried to re-focus on the pranksters, only to test how well Harry's shields could hold. Harry only supplied him with the words 'together' and 'friendship' and the next memory their shared attention grabbed was that of a summer almost a century before. Gellert, their blood pact, Godric's Hollow, then Gellert again... Harry collapsed on an alcove seat, exhausted, disappointment written all over his face.

The next moment, a dark manor appeared in both their visions. The boy gathered up his strength to occlude his mind again.

"Harry..." the headmaster gaped, terrified of what he'd now caught a glimpse of.

"I'm trying to keep him out," young Potter explained, clearly ashamed and unwilling to share more. He closed his eyes and focused on closing his mind, not because he wanted to block his headmaster out, but because he wouldn't let Voldemort further in.

"Take your time, Harry," Albus whispered. "Lock him out." He wandlessly cleaned the blood from the boy's forehead, then waited with a mixture of worry and patience. At least Potter's occlumency worked against the stray soul-fragment in his head, even though Dumbledore doubted that was why Grindelwald had taught it.

A traitorous thought, however, reminded him that Gellert was a seer and he was aware of Harry's extra splinter of a soul. He must have foreseen young Potter's need for mental shields. Another traitorous thought: during that horrible welcoming feast after Easter over a year before, Gellert had already stood up for Harry, enraged by the theft of the Cloak. Grindelwald had never been a selfless person, but maybe he was genuinely on Harry's side. A third thought: after forty-eight years in absolute solitude, the most horrible wizard of the century had willingly bonded with students who wouldn't be of use to any sort of goal to him.

Certainly, Gellert had changed, Albus quietly admitted to himself. Changed in his goals, changed in his ways, maybe one day they would even forgive each other.

Aberforth would explode in anger, that day.

After long minutes, Potter sighed and opened his eyes. His occlumency shields were up again, stronger than before. "Voldemort's regaining his power," he whispered. "He has a body now, weak, but it's his own. I've also seen a large green snake with him."

"Don't try to actively spy on him," the headmaster warned. "That would only strengthen your bond even further."

"I thought I already failed this year's no-looking-for-trouble challenge."

"Oh, is there only one per year?"

Remembering the previous subject the boy suddenly asked, "Headmaster, do you think Professor Wohl would approve of me wearing a robe with the Hallows sign?"

Dumbledore wrapped him in a heartfelt hug, the champion who had been fighting Voldemort all his life and now in a prank had landed himself yet again in a situation he'd been too young for.

"My boy," the headmaster whispered. "You have more right to it than I and Gellert combined. You're a Perevell by blood."

Harry nodded with a wide smile, and wiped away the last black drops of his scar with the back of his hand.