Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowlings.

Thanks to anyone reviewed; this has been a lot more popular than I thought it would be already.

I do have some bad news now. My rate of posting might slow a little as I begin to wrestle with details and things go more AU and I'll be in Tanzania for a couple of weeks which will make posting and writing new chapters tricky.

Chapter 6

October came fairly quickly, despite Harry managing to slip in an extra four hours each day in the Chamber of Secrets with his newfound time-turner. Scottish summer was short at best and the light, warm rain gradually transitioned into heavier, cold rain. The leaves of the Forbidden forest began to change, the Whomping Willow moulted and an autumn mist began to settle over the Black Lake in the mornings.

No matter how swiftly Harry felt the month had gone it seemed it had not been fast enough for Ron. The coming of October was synonymous with the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament this year and its approaching advent had been all anyone was talking about.

Gryffindor Tower had separated into three groups: Ron, Seamus and the majority of the house who had already decided to enter their names and were looking at previous tasks from before the tournament had been cancelled, Hermione, Neville and those who had been unable to resist the growing interest, but had no desire to actually enter, and Harry, whose desire for eternal glory had permanently died at the age of eleven.

Today was October the first and according to many, especially Ron, the beginning of the legend of the coming and inevitably glorious Hogwarts' Champion. Harry had had severe reservations about that and had tried to warn his friends by pointing out that most of the old Prophet articles they were using to research the old tasks were about the death of a champion, but they refused to listen.

He had given up after Seamus told him that most of the creatures were fairly harmless until provoked in a manner so like Hagrid Harry had to shake his head in disbelief. His scepticism hadn't been particularly helped by the fact they were looking at a piece about one of the final years of the tournament. The first event had resulted in all three champions being killed by an irate sphinx.

Harry reassured himself that the organisers would have learnt their lesson and it was unlikely they would include some form of large, dangerous magical creature in the opening round this time. It made it marginally less likely that whomever was foolish enough to get selected would die straight away.

'The other schools are coming today,' Seamus crowed excitedly from a little way down the table where he, Dean, Neville and Ron were enthusing as normal. Harry returned his gaze to his book, pausing only to glance down the table to where everyone else was sitting and dodge Katie Bell's best attempts to spill pumpkin juice over everything nearby. A deft touch she might have with a quaffel, but goblets seemed to be a long way beyond her if the trail of juice that was edging its way towards him was indicative.

Harry vanished it distractedly, registering Katie's surprise and gratitude at his use of a vanishing spell, before re-burying his head in his transfiguration book.

Salazar had told him he had something a gift for transfiguration. The founder's portrait had been quite tetchy about his aptitude for one of Godric's favourite subjects, but encouraged him to spend time on developing and practicing the art nonetheless. Harry's ancestor's own areas of study lay mostly in quite obscure fields, most of which the Ministry now considered dark.

The painting had taken that piece of news quite indignantly, but assured him had Rowena been told her response would have come with far more vitriol. Magic was about power and intent and he had accepted that so as long as his intent was good, no deliberate harm could be done. Neville had done his best to shake Harry's belief in this ideal, normally in potions, but with a burgeoning knowledge base that had swelled to encompass a small selection of some quite nasty curses Harry had quite firmly stuck to his justification.

His newest project was to adapt a spell of his own. Salazar had suggested something to do with snakes and conjuring, no doubt having a smaller version of his basilisk conjuring feat in mind.

Harry had chosen a butterfly summoning spell, something he would develop from the bird conjuring spell he had seen and learnt out of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. His choice had given the portrait of Slytherin a fit of apoplexy before he had explained that a swarm of butterflies would make an almost impervious shield to the Killing Curse that had its roots in soul magic, the Cruciatus Curse that he was keen to never re-experience or any of the other dark curses that caused no physical damage. A blasting curse would tear through his butterflies like paper, but most such curses could be deflected with practice, unlike the Unforgivables. His ancestor had eventually agreed, but was still begging him to reconsider his choice of creature every time they discussed it. Harry had relented only so far as making the butterflies black.

'Papilionis,' he said firmly, drawing a very narrow, close-bottomed vee in the air with the tip of his wand.

A single, rather lopsided looking butterfly, more grey than black, lurched in comical spiral around his head.

Not quite what I was hoping for.

The tragic creature corkscrewed across the table, narrowly avoiding Ron's fork, to collapse in front of Hermione who poked it curiously with her wand. It burst into a wisp of black smoke. Harry frowned and scratched his head, for some reason the spell just wouldn't work no matter how he tried to visualise the movements of the insects.

Hermione shot him a rather smug look from where she sat. His failure to complete this spell had coincided with the aftermath of their spat over Harry's behaviour in classes. She felt he should be paying attention and trying harder and voiced as much, normally loudly in the presence of the teacher, but when she did force him into the limelight of the professor she got annoyed about his seemingly effortless success. Something he found rather hypocritical of her considering she often accomplished the same feat. Matters were made worse when he refused to answer how he was growing so much better in all of his classes, but it wasn't like he could tell her had an illegal time-turner and was spending an extra handful of hours a day learning. She'd made enough of a fuss over his surprise firebolt from Sirius last year, let alone something as serious as an illegal time-turner.

'Papilionis,' he repeated pushing more magic into the spell.

This time he was rewarded by an extra butterfly and a shriek from Katie Bell who had not expected to be accosted by an insect in the midst of her conversation.

They were a little better formed, Harry decided, as he watched Katie vengefully set his conjurations alight. The wings had been a better shape, and they'd actually managed to flutter rather than corkscrew listlessly. Hermione remained unimpressed.

I'd like to see her try and adapt something to make a new spell, he fumed. Between everyone else's obsession with the Triwizard Tournament and her reaction to his apparent sudden change in behaviour he had found himself with a lot more time to himself, just like things had been before; when he had been nobody.

It made it easier to study, but that just pushed him further away from her and compounded the problem.

At least when the champions are chosen the excitement will die down and Ron will start talking about something else.

'Aren't Beauxbaton and Durmstrang's students meant to be arriving today,' Alicia asked from across where he sat.

'I think so,' Angelina nodded, 'but I don't know how they're arriving.'

A burst of startled exclamations from by the window drew the attention of everyone in the hall.

'What is that?' Dean came to peer over his shoulder, apparently he had the misfortune of having a good view out the window from where he sat.

'It's a bird,' someone dismissed.

'No, it's a plane,' a muggle-born student cried out to a few sniggers and more than a few blank looks from those raised in the magical world.

'It's Beauxbatons' flying carriage,' a seventh year Ravenclaw announced in a very Hermione-ish manner as it drew closer. 'It's pulled by Abraxan horses.'

The coach was a pale, pastel blue and rather ornate. Its wheels reminded Harry vaguely of the Penny Farthing bicycle in that the rear pair were much larger than the front pair. The entire affair, both winged horses and carriage, disappeared behind the central tower and Harry returned to his book again. A few more unfamiliar faces hardly changed anything here in a school where he knew and recognised at best at a quarter of the students.

Somebody had informed Dumbledore because he and the majority of the Hogwarts staff were now entering the hall, trailed by what appeared to be the remainder of the student body. Harry was more than a little bemused by the air of excitement.

'Something's happening to the lake,' a first year squeaked from the other side of the Great Hall. There was a rush of noise as half the students flowed from one side of the room to the other.

'It's bubbling,' someone cried in surprise.

'There's a ship.'

'It must be Durmstrang,' the Ravenclaw from before declared.

'Do they know about the giant squid?' a girl asked innocently. Harry bit back a laugh. That could be a nasty surprise for the arriving contingent from Durmstrang.

'I heard Durmstrang is in the Czech Republic,' Ron announced loudly from down the table. Harry was almost proud of his friend for not joining the congregation around the window.

'The Czech Republic is a landlocked country, Ron,' Hermione declared with some incredulity. 'Travelling by ship would be very impractical.'

'Me mam said something about Scandinavia,' Seamus added.

'If everyone could find a seat on their house tables,' Dumbledore suggested, his wand held against his throat to magnify his voice over the hubbub. 'Let's give a good impression to our guests.'

There was a scramble back to the tables and Harry found himself squished very tightly in between Katie and another sixth year girl he didn't know. He tucked his elbows in as far as possible to try and separate himself from the warmth of the two of them, but as soon as he made space they seemed to encroach into it again. He took several deep breaths and tried to concentrate on his book as best he could to block out the uneasy nearness of the people around and the annoying tickling sensation of Katie's hair on his arm.

The entrance to the Great hall remained open as it always was, presumably to prevent first years from being trapped behind the heavy doors, so there was a good view of the new arrivals.

Katie's attempts to crane her neck around Harry were making him increasingly aware of her proximity and he leant a little further away.

'Sorry, Harry,' she apologised with a giggle when she realised she was all but lying across him. 'Didn't mean to be so forward.' He gave her a slightly awkward smile in return.

The Durmstrang students were dressed for cold weather the likes of which Scotland would never see and Harry thought Seamus' Scandinavian idea might bear some merit after all. Their headmaster, a silver-haired, sour-faced man with a short, pointed goatee came last, his arm draped about the broad shoulders of his final student.

'That's Viktor Krum,' Ron hissed. A murmur of surprise and admiration spread as the prodigious young seeker entered the hall.

'Igor,' Dumbledore welcomed, arms outspread and eyes twinkling beneath his spectacles. He received a sharp, curt nod in return, something Harry thought slightly rude.

'Madame Maxime, is on her way,' the foreign professor announced in surprisingly unaccented english. 'She stopped to give more precise instructions to your gamekeeper about her Abraxans.'

Dumbledore let his arms drop and continued to smile magnanimously as his counterpart joined him at the elevated table and his students, following Krum's lead, found space on the Slytherin table.

The hall began to fill with whispers as they waited for the French students to arrive.

Harry's attention returned to the pages of his transfiguration book and, consequently, he completely missed the arrival of the Beauxbatons pupils. Harry only realised anything had happened at all when the hall fell eerily silent and he caught Katie mutter, 'that girl is not normal.'

Looking up from his reading material for what he decided would be the last time his eyes roved over an unremarkable group of French witches and a number of glassy-eyed Hogwarts students. One of the witches had oddly familiar platinum hair and sat at the very end of the group of new arrivals on the Ravenclaw table. She looked a little left out of the conversation in the few moments Harry watched them and for a second she reminded him of himself and his currently distant group of friends, but he didn't see anyone to justify Katie's comment.

He raised his book to avoid the sudden arrival of food, something that proved to be wise as its spine only narrowly avoided the appearance of a large bowl of fish stew. It had the largest prawns he had ever seen arrayed neatly around the edge.

It looks quite tasty.

There wasn't any room to eat comfortably at the moment and between the elbows of Katie and his other neighbour Harry decided to wait until the table had begun to clear before eating. He had more time than most without any lessons later on in the day.

Everything around him went unnervingly quiet all of a sudden and a very soft, french accented voice spoke up in the silence. 'Do you still want the bouillabaisse?'

Bouillabaisse, Harry assumed, was the name of the untouched dish in front of him.

'Take it,' he replied, leaning out of the way of Katie, who swung the bowl dangerously over his lap, without looking up from his book.

'Merci,' the voice replied with an element of shock. Harry glanced up to catch a flash of platinum hair and Katie's awed stare.

'What?' he demanded.

'You're not acting like all those idiots,' she said, gesturing at the pair of fifth boys across from them who were still staring after the French girl.

Harry blinked, gave her a confused look, and then decided it was easier to read and continue trying his butterfly spell than puzzle out whatever Katie was talking about.

'Papilionis,' he murmured softly, drawing the wand action as carefully and gently as possible.

This time he managed to achieve a whole swarm of imperfect butterflies and those around him erupted in general disgust as they scattered across the table wreaking consternation.

'Sorry,' he apologised, after banishing them into black smoke. 'I wasn't expecting so many.'

'No more insects,' Katie growled. It seemed fair, especially since he had performed the incantation and wand movement perfectly and still not managed the spell. He would have to ask Salazar.

Another argument about butterflies beckons.

The food eventually vanished and Harry, who had only managed a few mouthfuls, was left feeling a little hungry.

'Now that our guests have arrived it is time we come to the main attraction of the year.' The headmaster approached the lectern at the head of the hall. 'It is time for the Triwizard Tournament to begin, but first, the rules.'

Dumbledore's words were largely lost on the hall as the majority of the students eyes were fixed on the goblet that now stood just in front of the lectern. An ancient, roughly hewn artefact made remarkable by the blue flames that twisted above it and the almost visible aura of magic projected around it. He glimpsed Ron staring at it with obvious, fervent desire. His friend's desire to stand out from his brother's and friends had grown stronger and stronger over the years.

'First of all it should be made very clear that nobody below the age of seventeen is allowed to enter.' The hall erupted into groans of disappointment and Harry was certain he heard the almost-seventeen Weasley twins complaining loudly.

'I have,' Professor Dumbledore continued, 'to ensure that no mishaps occur, taken the liberty of drawing an age line around the goblet here. Aside from that the tournament will proceed as it did before it was cancelled. Anyone wishing to be chosen as champion may enter their name into the goblet over the next two days and the names of the champions will be announced by it soon afterwards.'

Most of the table had already started searching for pieces of parchment, ink and quills as if the first few to enter might have some advantage. Harry pulled his book back out of the way of the ink bottles now scattered across the table.

It might be best if I went to the chamber, he decided.

It was loud in the Great Hall, the food was gone, and he was finding it hard to concentrate on his book or his butterfly shield spell. He made his way out, pausing only to overhear Ron launch into an outraged rant about the age restriction. His red-haired friend had been quite convinced that this would be the moment he stepped out of the shadow of his older brothers and made a name for himself.

As he had predicted Salazar's portrait had once again conveyed its dismay at his choice of butterflies.

'They're such feminine insects,' he moaned as his snake eyed the lone, imperfect conjuration that fluttered around Harry. 'Can't you use dragonflies, or bats, or anything more respectable.'

'Butterflies are simple and their wings cover a lot of area,' Harry defended for must have been the twentieth time since suggesting the spell, 'now are you going to help or sulk?'

'Salazar Slytherin does not sulk,' the portrait seethed, crossing its arms.

Of course he doesn't.

'What are you visualising?' the painting inquired.

'Butterflies, swirling around me in a sort of demi-sphere.'

'How are you picturing them forming?' Salazar pressed.

'I wasn't really,' Harry admitted, 'it never mattered for the bird-conjuring spell.'

'You're conjuring from air,' the portrait sighed. 'A single bird or insect you can probably get away with, but for lots you have to focus on them being created from the air beforehand. It's harder to conjure from such an insubstantial thing.'

'Papilionis,' Harry uttered and this time he imagined the butterflies growing from the air, curling together as if made from smoke.

He was abruptly engulfed in a tickling cloud of wings.

'That's very good,' Salazar enthused once they had all dispersed. 'Practice directing them as a shield and you could use them to deflect some types of curses as you wanted, or even transfigure them and use them as weapons.' The latter sounded like quite a good idea. The ancient portrait had already deduced that any duel-style he developed would likely be highly based around a few powerful spells, transfiguration and conjuration.

'You've spent a lot of time down here over the last month,' the founder realised in Harry's moment of quiet contemplation. 'And that's excluding the use of the time-turner.'

'My friends are all obsessed with the Triwizard Tournament,' Harry shrugged. 'I don't particularly enjoy talking about it constantly and I need to get much better at magic than I was.'

'Don't forget your friends,' the portrait warned. 'You'll need them, especially with your record of ending up entangled in anything dangerous nearby.'

'I haven't forgotten them,' Harry denied hotly, 'but it's hard to be with them when most of them don't do anything I find interesting and the only one who does resents having an competition.'

'Choose better friends, then,' Salazar suggested calmly.

'There are no better friends,' Harry declared.

The founder shrugged, bouncing his reptile shoulder garment up and down. It let out an irritated hiss. 'If you say so.'

'I do,' Harry replied confidently.

'Papilionis,' he whispered, engulfing himself in a swirling cloud of black butterflies. This time he managed to direct the swarm to swirl around himself fast enough that he could see through the blur of wings.

With a flick of his wand he transfigured one of the butterflies into a gleaming, steel spike and sent it flying out of the shield.

It hissed viciously across the chamber and buried itself in the wall a few inches above the elaborate frame of Slytherin's picture.

'Be careful,' the founder exploded. 'I do not need one of those impaled through my canvas. Sometimes you're worse than Godric.'

Harry attempted it several more times using sponge balls rather than steel spikes. It was a lot harder than it looked to transfigure and then direct the former butterflies the right way and it took him many tries to get to grips with it.

'My Chamber of Secrets looks like a childrens' playground,' Salazar griped, gazing around at the brightly coloured balls strewn across the floor and floating in the pool. Harry gave the giant corpse of the basilisk, something unlikely to be found in any child's playground, a pointed look, but vanished the mess he had made.

'I think I've got the hang of that,' he mused. 'A little more practice wouldn't hurt though.'

'It's a surprisingly useful spell that you've made,' the founder conceded, 'despite the ridiculous butterflies.'

Staggering back across the tongue styled bridge under the weight of the painting, Harry considered his new spell proudly.

Hermione would throw a tantrum if she saw it working already. That made him smile despite himself.

Salazar was replaced back on his spot above the entrance and Harry slipped off the time-turner to replace it on the desk.

'Godric used to steal that and move my things around,' the painting told him, but for once he sounded rather melancholy when speaking about his co-founder. 'He thought it was hilarious until Rowena found out and yelled at him for messing with time for something so petty.'

'You miss them,' Harry realised.

'I'd miss anyone after half a millennium with no company but a mad serpent and a delusional child,' Salazar retorted, but the bite was missing from his tone. 'I'd even miss Godric's childish japes, Helga's mothering or Rowena's lectures.'

'I think,' the portrait decided quietly, 'when you have redeemed the title of Heir of Slytherin and no longer have need of my advice, I'd quite like to be moved somewhere else in the castle. Maybe you'll find a portrait of my old friends in the Room of Requirement.'

'I'll search for it,' Harry promised earnestly. He was a little uncomfortable with this slightly emotional Salazar. The sarcasm seemed more natural and was easier to deal with.

'You should go back to your tower and see your friends,' the portrait reminded him. 'Heir of Slytherin or not, you'll need them.'

Harry nodded, feeling a little guilty at leaving the painting alone again, but left anyway. Hopefully the age line had quelled the tournament talk down so that they could do something else. He'd quite welcome a game of exploding snap.

Most of the guys from his dormitory were in the common room by the fire.

'It's rather empty in here,' he remarked, crossing to join them.

'Everyone's still by the goblet in the hall and the younger years are in lessons,' Ron explained sullenly.

'Not happy about the age rules, I take it.'

'Bloody pissed off is more like it,' Ron responded. Hermione didn't even bother to scold him for swearing, though she did roll her eyes.

'Don't take it too hard,' Harry told him.

'It was my chance, Harry,' Ron sighed. 'You wouldn't understand, you've always been noticed and famous and had everything I want.' He didn't sound particularly jealous, at least no more than normal, just tired. 'I was going to be noticed too. I wouldn't just be another Weasley, or Harry Potter's friend, or something like that. I don't want the whole limelight or anything, just a glimmer for myself.'

'Honestly, Ron,' Harry began, 'I'd happily give you the whole thing.'

'It's easy to say that from where you're standing, mate,' Dean cut in. 'I'm just another muggle-born student that half the wizarding world doesn't think should be here, you've been a hero from birth.'

'I didn't want to be.'

'We know,' Seamus reassured him. 'It's just a little annoying to be in your shadow sometimes.'

'Well I can promise you all that we'll be in the shadow of the Hogwarts champion together,' Harry said. 'I've no desire to enter my name and I couldn't anyway.'

'Fred and George tried to cheat past the age line earlier,' Hermione announced. 'It didn't work, but I've seen loads of younger students trying everything they can to get in.'

'I'd take my hat off to anyone who manages to slip past an age line created by Dumbledore.' Dean didn't seem to think it was possible and Harry had to agree.

'Maybe next time,' Harry suggested, 'you'd have a better shot at winning then too.'

'It was held every five years back when it was running,' Seamus informed him quietly.

'I'm going upstairs,' Ron declared, shoving himself out of his chair and slouching off. Seamus and Dean shared a glance and trailed after him.

'Did you try and put your name in, or watch the others?' Hermione asked, gazing into the fire.

'No,' Harry replied. 'I've been trying to perfect my butterfly summoning spell.'

'That's really advanced transfiguration, Harry,' Hermione consoled him, unaware it had been successful. 'You shouldn't be trying it for another year at least. I'm impressed you managed to conjure anything at all.' Hermione didn't sound all that impressed. If anything it seemed more like she was trying to convince herself she was impressed.

'Thanks, Hermione,' Harry replied, smiling was the smile of his predecessor, all brilliant charm and obvious emotion. Tom Riddle had taught him one thing that was useful, he supposed.

AN: Please read and review. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed already.