Crouching Lion, Hidden Serpent
By Lutris Argutiae
Chapter 5: The Proud and the Beautiful
September 2, 1994
Harry was up at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall already by the time the other students had just woken up. He sat amused, sipping his morning tea, and thinking of the reactions of the other pupils when they found that their newest celebrity student had gone missing. He gave a small chuckle, and set his Earl Grey down on the oak table.
He had been there since seven o'clock sharp; right when the Hall was opened to the students and staff for breakfast, although nobody had come in until close to seven-thirty. Of course, being first in the Hall, the house elves had pretty much bowed down to his every whim, and he indulged in their services of offering him more tea and biscuits.
Maybe being in the old coot's home wasn't as bad as he thought it could be.
It was now seven forty-three, and Harry was munching on a piece of buttered toast, prying his eyes over a timeworn copy of the standard Ancient Runes textbook. He hadn't had the opportunity to learn much of the subject while overseas, and had taken an immense interest in the course as soon as he heard of it, although that wasn't to say that what he had learnt away in foreign nations wasn't useful in another sense.
His father was a man of his word, and he had told Harry that it was his solemn vow that he would have him ready for a battle with the Dark Lord in time to meet his destiny, as dictated by prophecy approximately a decade and a half ago.
Oh yes, his father had gone above and beyond the expectations the convicted Black may have had. His body (Harry's) was a veritable killing machine, if he was to be attacked in the open. Nobody knew of his skills, aside from his father and the numerous tutors that had instructed him in their usage. After all, what good could come of leakage of information? He was to be prepared, and to be prepared meant the continued honing and concealment of abilities.
Others had been… disposed of, to say the least, when they chanced upon discovery of his strengths. Many of them, as a great number of people were likely to, and had found out about the secret training, whether through weaseling about, second-hand sources, or eyewitness accounts. The earlier ones he could not remember; his father had been discrete when silenced. Obliviation was a choice method, but there had been cases where the offending party had been permanently quieted.
But, as with any case of top-secret information, some of the more indefinitely silenced persons had been quite close to Harry as a friend or otherwise; the girl, as he now chose to refer to her as, had been one of them. No disrespect or any other offense was intended in the alternate naming, but to him, the name of the girl herself was still too painful to mention. He had slipped up on the train; he would need to find a way to keep his mouth shut during his sleep. He could not afford to blab out any secrets.
Sighing, Harry finished his toast, and picked up the teacup once more. He sipped the tea quietly, and sat there, decidedly changing the topic of his wandering thoughts. After pondering for a few seconds, the thought of what on earth he was going to do with his meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore later this morning came to him, which in turn reminding him to start practicing on the Mind Arts as soon as humanly possible. His father would not take it lightly if he was to be discovered, lest of all by Dumbledore, and even before the first classes had taken place.
He stood up and saw that a few other students had started to file in for their breakfasts, and decided it would be the opportune time to go and visit the elderly Professor.
Harry checked his thigh for his knife, in case he ever needed it. After all, being armed was strangely reassuring.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"Enter."
Albus Dumbledore's voice rang from behind the oaken doors adorning his office. Harry had come through the gargoyle guardian, and hadn't even announced his presence to the old headmaster, but it appeared that the rumors were in fact true; that the elderly bowling champion could somehow sense individuals, even through twenty feet of solid granite. No direct eye contact, he reminded himself.
Focusing his thoughts and organizing them before stepping in, Harry wondered what the office would be like. Quite eccentric, his father had said. Stifling a snort, as to protect his public image, he knocked twice (manners were manners), and pushed the doors open.
Here goes nothing.
The office wasn't nearly as crazy and strange as he had imagined earlier; indeed, it was… a bit off, but in a way that the decor seemed befitting of the wizard it surrounded. The Headmaster was seated in his chair amidst his various trinkets at the far end of the room, behind a huge wooden desk littered with papers, and peering over his half-moon glasses at the youth.
"Well Harry, come and have a seat, will you?"
"Yes sir." Harry tersely replied, and walked briskly across the length of the room towards the offered seat, which he noticed was a bright red plush chair. He decided not to comment on the use of his first name instead of the customary 'Mr. Potter'. The Headmaster leaned over the desk, and looked into his eyes. Harry quickly switched his point of vision to a spot on the man's forehead.
"So, Harry, how was your first night at Hogwarts? Enjoyable, I hope?"
"Yes sir. The dormitories are very nice."
At hearing this, the grandfatherly man looked noticeably pleased, and said, "Good, good. Now, to the matter of your classes, I suppose? As I understand, your father enrolled you here at the last minute, and therefore we do not have your preferred classes on record. Here is a list of possible courses, and it would be appreciated if you would specify a few to take this year." With this, he took sheaf of parchment from a pile on his haphazardly (he happened to prefer the term uniquely) organized desk, and handed it towards Harry, along with a Perma-Ink quill.
Harry took the quill and paper, and glanced through the offered courses.
There were the internationally required classes: Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions; and the additional basic Hogwarts curriculum: Herbology, Astronomy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures (this wasn't to say that other schools world-wide did not offer these courses). Then there were the advanced courses, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, and Muggle Studies.
The first courses were mandatory; Herbology would eventually be needed, in the rare event that he would be left out in the open, with only his wits for survival. Indeed, experience from the rigorous training regime he was put through during his travels dictated the necessity of knowing which plants were usable. History of Magic was already crammed in his formidable mind; his father had made sure of that. Care of Magical Creatures would be an interesting course to take… but at Fourth Year level, he doubted that the students would learn anything not covered in Newt Scamander's various bestiaries. Divination, the time-filler, was utter drivel, and he had lived amongst muggles long enough to not need to take Muggle Studies.
Ancient Runes for him was a must, and so was Arithmancy. That brought the course count to six classes, and he would need Defense, even if he was leagues ahead of the rest of the school in that aspect. You never knew; something he might have missed might pop up during the class, and he was sure that the famed Mad-Eye Moody could teach him loads more than any text. After all, if an Auror who had the current record for the most Dark Wizards arrested couldn't teach him anything, who could?
Harry quickly filled out his form, checking off his seven selections. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he cast a derivative of the drying charm on the parchment, and handed the paper and quill back to the Headmaster.
"Ah, well chosen, Harry. I shall transmit this to your new Professors immediately. Now, off you trot. You're sure you wont be needing a lemon drop?" He said, passing along a glass dish across the table, and once again attempting an intrusion into Harry's mind.
Harry responded, glancing at the proffered dish filled with the yellow candy to avoid the Headmaster's gaze. "No thank you, sir. I shall take my leave. Thank you."
With that, and a small bow, he turned around, and stalked out of the Headmaster's Office.
0o0o0o0o0o0
And so, it was a short half an hour afterwards that classes began (at eight thirty, if one were to pursue the matter with precision). Of course, with youth such as Harry, a parent's philosophies were transferred to precision. The schedule must always be followed down to the last second.
Harry's first class at Hogwarts took place in the famed Professor McGonnagle's Transfiguration room with the boisterous Gryffindors; the strict atmosphere of the class suited him perfectly, though the lions were not as comfortable for him. The stern woman alerted the class with a ringing sound from her wand, signifying the beginning of the lesson.
"Good morning, students. As you are all aware from previous years of your education, I am Professor McGonnagle. You are to refer to me at all times as either Professor, or Professor McGonnagle. Now, as is customary, we shall review what we have learnt last year. Mr. Potter, I trust you are following in your studies?"
Harry immediately looked up, and said, "Yes Professor. My father has had me instructed either by himself or any of numerous tutors provided in the various locations we had traveled in."
"I see." She responded, and with a stern look, continued to address the class. "At the end of last year, we covered object to animal transfigurations and all resulting entailments. Who can tell me the three fundamental rules in this type of transfiguration? Mr. Weasley, how about you?"
The redheaded boy, whom Harry looked at in disdain for his lack of composition in a public locale, yawned sleepily, before looking at his Head of House
"I don't know. Ask Entwhistle; he looks right ready to answer."
The professor glared at the boy, who, judging by his disheveled hair and… distinct scent, had not bothered to commit to his daily toiletries.
"Mr. Weasley, be as it may that you are in my House, I shall not tolerate that kind of behavior. Ten points for disrespecting a professor. And, Mr. Entwhistle, as Mr. Weasley has kindly pointed out your ability to answer, please give me the three fundamental laws or object to animal transfiguration."
Mr. Entwhistle, or Kevin, as Harry could remember from the Welcoming Feast, stood up, his relatively pale skin and thin composition standing out noticeably in his uneasiness.
"Erm… the three laws of object to animal transfiguration are that the base item and the result item must share similar densities, that the two items must share traits in appearance, and that the amount of magic depleted is dependant of the change in size of the items."
"Correct. Five points to Ravenclaw. Now, this year, we shall first examine the topic of animal to object transfigurations, as opposed to last year's subject. Later on, we will also be learning about cross-species switches. Take your wands out, and open to page thirteen of your textbooks," Here, she pointed her wand towards the corner of the room. "whilst I hand out these figurines."
With that, Professor McGonnagal levitated a wooden box filled with small woodcut figurines shaped as songbirds. She walked by each table, and handed a figurine out to each student, who after reading the designated text, set about on turning the wooden statues into real birds.
At first, most of the students had a hard time of trying to animate the birds, but after nearly a quarter of an hour of instruction, and shameless wand-waving worthy of an orchestral conductor, the first groups of pupils began shifting their figurines.
Harry pretended to join the rest of the class in their struggles. In truth, the greater part of his early training had consisted of adapting and changing situations to meet his needs, and then utilizing the new advantages provided. Being in several different countries over the first nine years of his Crouch history had helped to make him more adaptable to different environments, and so he was proficient into changing the nature of an object to fit his needs. Hence, transfiguration came easy to him, since he had been honing his skills since he was nigh four years old. Not that anybody knew that, of course.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"Harry, this next training exercise will have you stranded in the middle of the desert. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Abdul." A nine-year old Harry Crouch-Potter answered in close-to-perfect Arabic.
"Good." The tall man with a bushy mustache and matching beard, identified as Abdul smiled at the boy, before giving him his further instructions. "Now, if you run in to any sort of trouble that you can't get out of, send red sparks from your wand. We'll be watching close by."
"Yes, sir."
"You are to be left here," Abdul pointed to a place on a map marked with a red dot. "and you're going to try to get to here." This time a green dot.
"But what if I get thirsty?" Harry asked, his expression quickly filling with unease.
"That's why you are to use your wand to change things into food and drink, Harry." The Egyptian pointed out, demonstrating with his own palm wand.
"Oh." The young boy squeezed out.
Abdul continued, "Now, it's night time right now, and we should get you set up. We're taking a Portkey to the place, and we'll give you your sword there."
Soon after, they arrived to the designated location, and Abdul's men handed Harry a miniature, curved sword, fit for his size. They would not be seeing red sparks for three days, where they would find the child half-starved and barely hydrated enough to keep going.
Mr. Bartemius Crouch made sure Harry had learnt his lesson from the incident before attempting a similar training method.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry came out of his reminiscing just in time to see the first alterations began to appear in the figurines, fifteen minutes later. A feminine voice rang out from the back of the classroom. "Professor, I did it!"
Professor McGonnagal walked down the aisle from her perch at the front of the classroom, and once at the place of the voice's origination, peered at the now fluttering and chirping songbird.
"Let me see, Ms. Granger… very good. Five points to Gryffindor for your wonderful work. Everybody, could I have your attention please?" A mass of roughly fifty heads shifted around in their seats. "Ms. Granger has managed a perfect rendition of the skills needed to manage in this year's curriculum. Use this as an example. Continue working on your transfigurations." With that, she turned around swiftly, and stalked back to her desk, transformed into her tabby cat Animagus form, and jumped on the wooden table.
Harry turned his attention to the Granger girl seated at the back of the room, apparently with out any form of a partner. She was very bushy haired, and her locks were a deep brown color. He noticed that she seemed unaccustomed to writing with her left hand; at a closer look, he saw from under her rolled up sleeve that her right arm had been severed at the elbow. Perhaps it was from an accident of some kind? It was unlikely to be one involving muggles; although he never remembered seeing the name Granger on the Worlde's Greatest Families copy his father owned, he was sure that muggle medicine had not progressed far enough to be able to remove all of the scars that were sure to come from such an operation, should one have taken place. He would have to enquire around on that.
His thoughts were interrupted by a comment from a certain red-haired student sitting in the front row. "There goes the know-it-all again. Ooh, Professor, I did this, I did that. Aww, isn't that so sweet?"
At this, Professor McGonnagle seems enraged. "Mr. Weasley! A further ten points for verbal assault on a fellow student! And a detention with Mr. Filch as well."
The boy gave the stern woman a glare that could set tinder ablaze, and grumbled his understanding.
The rest of the class progressed as well as Harry could have hoped, and by the end of class, he managed to clock in at third to complete the transfiguration and continue the concealed state of his abilities.
His father needn't have worried.
0o0o0o0o0o0
The other subjects of the day, Charms, Herbology, and Care for Magical Creatures passed without much trouble, aside from a few glares from Daphne during Charms. Harry sighed as it was yet again proven to him that for all of his extensive training and intelligence, he still couldn't figure out the other sex at all.
Exhausted, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for his dinner with the other students. He hadn't had much of a chance to converse with his dorm mates; He had been paired with a Slytherin dimwit named Gregory Goyle during Charms, and had had his hands full with the idiot, and Herbology took place with the Hufflepuffs, with which he was paired with Susan Bones, the Law Enforcement leader's niece. Care for Magical Creatures had seen him getting several burns along with several Hufflepuffs from Hagrid's monsters, of which the giant had (affectionately) named the Blast-Ended Skrewts.
All in all, his hands were covered in small nicks and shiny burns, he had had his face pissed on by a certain maturing Mandrake plant they were repotting, and he had tired himself out by forcing his aura and energies down to mask his signature the better part of the day. Healing charms he could manage; he could cure his fingers himself. Anything else was nothing a good wash (which he had already taken) and a long night's sleep couldn't fix.
Harry pulled his fir wand out of its holster-area in his trousers, which he had sewed on beforehand. He muttered a Burn-Erasing Charm, and as soon as the shiny skin aberrations had disappeared, cast a Skin-Knitting Charm for his cuts.
He felt much better now, and so walked joyfully down the halls, whistling a merry tune.
After passing several corridors, he came to the double doors of the Great Hall, and walked in. Heading towards the Ravenclaw Table at where he had sat last night at the Welcoming Feast, he snuck a quick glance at the Staff Table, and saw that the Headmaster was serenely smiling at him.
These meals are the time to be at my most cautious. No eye contact, lest he discover our secrets.
Dumbledore announced the beginning of the meal with a clap of his hands, and food appeared on all the plates, much like last night, except on a much smaller scale.
Harry piled his favorite foods on his plate, and then addressed Terry Boot, who was sitting to his left. "Hey Terry, you know that Gryffindor kid with the red hair? The one in our Year? Do you know why he's just so… how do you put it, unsocial?" In truth, he knew exactly who the boy, and what his family background was. There even was talk of replacing the term 'bankruptcy' with 'Weasley-ness' amongst the more vindictive goblin accountants.
Terry quickly finished chewing his mouthful of chicken, and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Weasley, right?"
Harry nodded his affirmation.
"Let's see, I think it was our second year, what with the whole Heir of Slytherin fiasco, wasn't it Kevin?" Terry motioned to the boy sitting on Harry's opposite side.
"Yeah," Kevin answered through a full mouth. "Some maniac had Slytherin's monster running around the castle, from what Professor Dumbledore announced."
"Anyway, turns out that Dumbledore was able to track down the Chamber of Secrets to kill the monster, but only because Weasley's younger sister, Ginny, I think it was, had been taken by the Heir. I heard that the Headmaster had a small platoon of some Ministry Special Forces come with him to hunt the monster down." Terry continued.
Harry made the connection. "Let me guess; they arrived too late, but slew the monster, apprehended the culprit, and retrieved the body, right?"
"That'd be about it, yeah." Kevin said.
"Small wonder the bloke's all… uncooperative. What about Granger? From what I could tell, that arm didn't come from natural causes."
This time, a voice behind him replied. "That happened in our First Year."
Harry looked to the source of the voice, and was surprised to see Daphne facing him.
She continued in a morose tone unlike her previous attitude. "She and I are friends; she didn't have any friends at first; since she's so intelligent, none of the Gryffindors could stand her, and her heritage sure didn't help a bit. It was Halloween, and she was crying in the girls' bathroom on the second floor because some kids had teased her. She didn't know that a Troll had somehow snuck in the castle. The Professors managed to subdue it before it did too much damage, but her arm got mangled by the troll's club. "
Harry blinked. He suspected as much. Security was tight at Hogwarts, so there was definitely no way that a dumb creature such as a troll would be able to find its way in to the school without inside aid, or else a powerful wizard on their side. Apparently, someone had been keen on removing the item that Dumbledore had hidden in his castle three years ago. He stored the question to memory to ask the headmaster at a later time.
He came out of his ponderings, and the four could only finish their meals in sullen silence.
0o0o0o0o0o0
The following days were much the same as every ones before them. Indeed, the classes he attended changed every day, but the same patterns remained: wake up early, shower, read for a while, go down to breakfast, attend morning classes, eat lunch, attend afternoon classes, eat dinner, do homework, and sleep. His previous life before coming to Hogwarts had been much more productive. Everything that was taught at this institution was fed to the students at a relatively slow pace, as though the teachers did not believe that they could consume information at an accelerated speed. His instructors seemed to think that the fact that he had missed three years of learning at 'the best school for magic' in the world was inherently relevant to his actual ability, when he was in reality leaps and bounds ahead of most of his classmates, save perhaps Granger and some other Ravenclaws.
It sickened him.
So he delved further into his private studies; the only courses he intended to follow in earnest were Defense Against the Dark Arts and Ancient Runes. The others, he would sit back and pursue other venues while taking notes with a modified Quick-Quotes Quill.
Ancient Runes was a unique subject in that he was honestly eager to learn it; it had many similarities to other techniques and applications of magic he had seen in the East, but was so radically different that most experts on runic magic of different branches could not understand even the most basic characters. In the Fourth Year curriculum, the subject was still fairly simple, and while he could accomplish other courses with ease, his complete lack of knowledge and experience in the topic held him in rapt attention of the words of Professor Tully. Although, that didn't mean in the slightest that he wasn't courteous and formal in other classrooms.
A plus he had noticed was that Daphne was in the class, as well as Granger. These minds, he could work with. It had surprised him at first, when he had learnt of their friendship. After all, what self-respecting (the name Weasley came to mind) idealistic Pureblood would associate themselves with a lowly muggleborn? But when it came to terms of analytical intelligence, Granger was in a league further than his own. If he hadn't already assimilated most of the material contained in the textbook over the summer, he was sure that the Gryffindor would outclass him in sheer mental prowess. All that was left in the divide was the comprehension skills they possessed, and explanations from Professor Tully they both depended on.
The Greengrass heiress was of a similar caliber to his own. Rather than being more intelligent than him, she was at an equal level, although her easy-going nature was sometimes a liability. They had become fast friends during the Hogwarts Express ride, and the work they accomplished only brought them closer. Of course, Granger was often included, as she was of a longer acquaintance with the blond. Soon, she too became labeled as a friend in Harry's mind.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was another entirely, however. Moody was strict; even more so than McGonnagle, but his knowledge and expertise in combating the Dark and its servants was priceless to Harry. Ravenclaws were often slotted to share the class with the Hufflepuffs, and so he couldn't get as much out of the practical applications of the class as he could have with the Gryffindors, or even the Slytherins, if one could stand the pure arrogance of the Malfoy scion.
But teaching to defend oneself from the Dark Arts and teaching the use of the Dark Arts were two very different things; Harry almost had a heart attack when Moody announced that he would be casting the Unforgivables on them. If Harry had had his way, the retired veteran Auror would have been out of the classroom and in a cell in Azkaban quicker than one could say Quidditch, but it appeared that old 'Mad-Eye' was cleared to do so. But Harry quickly learned that such teaching methods were indeed effective. He was able to resist the Imperius Curse after only the first lesson, and had only gotten more and more efficient at blocking the effects out. It appeared that he was right about there being lots to learn from the war-expert.
That didn't mean he had to agree with the paranoia-infested man's teaching methods though.
But the things that took up most of his time were not related to class work at all. After all, his private studies (which he continued to cram into his mind throughout the more… uneducational lessons), were directly tied in with his combat skills.
As per his father's request, and his understanding of the necessity of being prepared for the worst, Harry continued to absorb and devour any new information that he could use that came his way. He often perused the generally barely allowed bookshelves in the Library; minor Dark Arts books often showed up in them, as nothing from the titles could somehow testify to the tomes' contents. But it was there, and Harry had the aid of a resourceful mind and tactical spellcasting on his side, and these books usually came to him after only after minutes of searching.
Of course, there were also some 'safe' curses that he searched for that could be used in combat and survival situations. Even on his first visit to the Hogwarts Library, Harry found a book on construction enchantments that revealed a powerful explosion curse for clearing out large spaces. The effect one such curse could have on the human body would be interesting, to say the least.
Seeing as there wasn't much time in betwixt classes and curfew that he could spend training up his knowledge, the only other option was to review his information during class time; indeed, his method had been formulated in the fist five minutes of his initial analysis of the classes at Hogwarts. He would find the books during his allotted 'homework' time, copy the whole text out into a blank diary spelled to have never-ending pages, and read off of it during class, while the Quick-Quotes Quill took his notes for him.
Eventually, this fell in to routine, and he quickly adapted to life in the castle, or his very skewed version of it.
Thus began his first months of his Hogwarts education, where he would continue stealing morsels of information and tactics from every opportunity that presented itself, be it teacher, book, or general student behavior…
0o0o0o0o0o0
October 30, 1994
Harry awoke to the sound of birds twittering outside his window. Strange; he never slept in this late… it was already past seven thirty. Hurriedly, he flung his dark navy blue covers off of himself, and sat upright on the side of the bed, thinking. He'd have thought he would already be used to this kind of school schedule after a few weeks, but apparently he just wasn't accustomed to waking up at seven and eating breakfast at eight in the morning. It was a little too late for his liking.
Harry pulled his fir wand from its resting place on his dresser, and pointed it at his slippers, which had somehow wound up on the other side of the room during the night. He cast upon it a pointed glare, then with a quick jab of his wand, and a clearly enunciated Accio brought the offending footwear zooming towards his feet at the edge of the bed.
Much better.
He slid off the bed, and into his slippers, as he pulled off his shirt and reached into his trunk to grab a clean dress-shirt and black uniform trousers. He then walked towards the showers situated at the east end of the boy's dormitories, where he would go through his daily washing. He padded along the blue-velvet carpeted floors with a slight scuffle, and yawned sleepily. All right, maybe he wasn't as unused to this schedule as he'd claimed to be.
Eventually, he reached the showers, and reached for the knob on the wall. He grasped it, and pushed it into the stone wall; a small click could be heard. The wall disappeared, and he walked into the changing rooms. He set his clothing on an empty shelf, and stripped down. Walking into his stall, he waved his wand at the shower head, and grinned as the hot water erupted from the nozzle.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Feeling refreshed, Harry padded along back out of the shower rooms toweling his sopping wet mess of raven black hair. He checked the date on his bed-side calendar, and sighed. Today was the thirtieth of October, and also the day that the delegations from the Ministry, the French school of Beauxbatons, and the Serbian school of Durmstrang were arriving at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament announced at the beginning of the school year. It was sure to involve his father; three internationally acclaimed schools of magic, and a potentially lethal tourney had to be infringing on some minor laws that nobody would know about. Except his father, that is.
Thankful that it was a weekend, Harry pulled his brother's book out of the hidden section in his trunk. He had remembered its presence two weeks into the term; on the train, all he could find were simple curses that most seventh-years knew, and had dismissed the journal on that account. Oh, how wrong he was. The small, black leather-bound book was seemingly endless and filled with notes on anything his brother had ever studied. Harry snorted. Of course it was recommended; it was a veritable treasure trove of information concealed within the covers of a muggle novel. Of course, not all of the contents were Light oriented, but Harry still read through it all, determined to find some new way to utilize a technique or spell to his advantage.
He took the book, and headed back to his bed, where he was sure to not be disturbed whilst reading. A quick swish of his wand later, his curtains were shut, and he had applied a minor security ward to the bed's covers.
And then, he read.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Apparently, the Beauxbatons' carriage had been sighted not fifteen miles from the castle, judging from the racket Kevin, Terry, and another boy named Anthony Goldstein were making.
"Harry! Come on mate, you'll miss the arrivals!" The three cheered on outside his hangings. Grumbling, Harry slid out of bed, and after returning the book to its shelf in the trunk, joined the others in walking down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, if his dorm mates' actions could be classified as simply walking.
Ten minutes saw Harry and his companions at the Entrance Hall, jostling through the crowd gathered at the doors. For some reason, his dorm mates seemed keen on standing at the front of the crowd, and were pulling him by his wrists and using his celebrity status as an excuse to 'see the event from the best seat' as Anthony had put it. Eventually, they reached the front, right by the heavy wooden double doors of the Entrance Hall.
Terry nudged him in the shoulder. "How do you reckon they're coing, Harry? Portkey?"
"Nah, international Portkeys can't transport that many people from the same location to another at once… I'm betting on unique forms of transportation."
Daphne, who had joined in their group sometime during the savage shoves forward, continued. "Like what, Harry? Dragons dragging carriages through the sky, or maybe even one of those Star Trek things they use in the muggle movies eh? What'll they think of next?"
Harry gave a pointed glare towards the trigger-happy blond, although there was a hint of a grin on his face. "You. Shut up. I was thinking of something more… patriotic, is the word."
Daphne made a show of conjuring a conductor's baton and turning to the rest of their group and singing a very out-of-tune-but-somehow-recognizable arrangement of 'Rule Britannia'.
The raven-haired boy grumbled. He looked at the shorter girl, and asked, "By the way, Daphne," She ceased her avid music making and turned around to salute him. "Stop that, and I meant to ask, where's Granger?"
"Something about her arm acting up. Hermione's in the Hospital Wing again."
"All right." Harry acknowledged. "Hey Kevin."
"What?" The brown-haired youth responded.
"When were the delegates coming again?"
"Professor Dumbledore said that they would be here sometime 'round six, I think."
Harry thanked him, and cast a Tempus charm to check the time.
Five fifty-seven.
Three minutes left then, he thought to himself.
Should've brought a book.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
Dumbledore called out to the crowd. Students clamored around to locate the transport, and started to shout.
"It's a dragon!" A first year shrieked out, while a Gryffindor Harry recognized as one of the pesky, camera-obsessed Creevey brothers shouted over the previous youngster, "Don't be stupid… it's a flying house!"
Harry saw that the 'flying house' was in fact, a flying carriage lead by a pack of what amounted to about a dozen winged horses. The carriage landed after a few rounds around the airspace in front of the castle, causing deep ridges to appear in the normally meticulously trimmed grass.
A boy in pale blue robes hopped out, and laid out a stool in front of the carriage door. Harry recognized the huge figure that stepped out of it.
Madame Olympe Maxime.
Dumbledore welcomed her with a kiss on the hand, and started, "My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts."
She responded in a deep voice one could easily mistake for a male one, if not for the slight musical quality of it that only a female voice could have. "Dumbly-dorr, I'ope I find you well?"
The tall and wizened wizard continued on, "In excellent form, I thank you."
"My pupils." Maxime waved her hand at the carriage, and a further dozen students, all in the pale blue of Beauxbatons, stepped out of it, and moved behind their Headmistress.
"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?' The probable half-giant enquired.
"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm u pa trifle?" Dumbledore offered.
"Warm up, I think. But ze 'horses---"
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them. When he returns from dealing with a situation with his, ah, charges."
"My steeds require--- er--- forceful 'andling." Maxime continued. "Zey are very strong…"
"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job." Dumbledore smiled once again.
After informing the Headmaster that the horses only drank single-malt whiskey, (Harry lightly smacked Daphne upside the head for muttering, 'damn French. Even their horses are…' That was as far as she got, however) she gathered her students and crowded into the Entrance Hall.
Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' partner in crime, shouted with a finger jabbed towards the lake. "The lake! Look at the lake!"
Harry could se that the surface of the water was being broken, and as a few seconds passed, a black mast and crow's nest poked out of the lake. A skeletal-looking ship all decked in black rose out of the lake, with water streaming down its sides in rivulets. An anchor was thrown overboard, and people disembarked from the seafaring vehicle.
Former Death Eater Igor Karkaroff led the couple dozen students towards the castle, all wearing dark red robes and shaggy fur cloaks.
Karkaroff called out to Dumbledore with merry tone. "Dumbledore! How are you, me dear fellow, how are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff." Dumbledore replied passively.
"Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said, seemingly to himself, and led a hook-nosed,
well-muscled figure into the castle, with the rest of his pupils following. "Viktor, come along into the warmth. You don't mind, do you Dumbledore? Viktor here has a slight head cold…"
"Oh no, I don't mind. Please join Madame Maxime in the Great Hall please, Igor."
Karkaroff didn't reply, but continued to walk into the Hall.
With that, the Hogwarts professors started to file in as well, and the students also proceeded to enter the castle.
Harry sighed, and followed the others. The board was set up, and the players were matched.
The Triwizard Tournament, had begun.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Author Notes:
Sorry for the long break, folks. What with High School Applications and many long essays due this past month or so, I didn't have any time to work on Crouching Lion, or any of my beta-ing for vashtheunholy's Lust of a Dark Soul. I hope that my faithful readers (this would be a good time to click that button down there to the left, faithful readers) wont be too confused by all the mentioning of training I'm doing. Rest assured that I will explain that, and it's part in the story will come.
Next chapter, the Goblet of Fire chooses it's three, no wait, four champions, and we see the return of the Barty Sr.
Character development ensues.
Tata, toodles, tweet!
Adieu,
Lutris