Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Sorry for the slowness in uploading and the shortness and disjointedness of this chapter - just working through a bit of a writer's block on this chapter, but I did write some sixth year stuff so hopefully things will speed up when I get there!

Posted: 08/08/2021

Quick Q: what's your guys favourite chapter (if you have one)? - just so I can try to mimic that writing style/tone/plot depth more :)

"I miss third year." Terry lamented.

Harry nodded fervently. Fourth year was hard enough with the whole tournament ordeal, the added workload the teachers were throwing at them didn't help. What also didn't help was that every other champion was exempt from exams, except Harry of course, due to the whole 'no one knows who I am' issue. Honestly, Harry was more inclined to just tell them his identity so he didn't have to do the end of year ancient runes exam than any other reason.

"Well, trying doing that whilst also dealing with the farm." The fourth year Ravenclaws had been forced to finally settle on an analogy for the tournament, and identity secret. Farm talk worked well enough at confusing the Slytherin purebloods in their group enough to get them to tune out.

"Hey, you're only doing two additional subjects." Terry accused whilst flicking through the pages of his transfiguration textbook. McGonagall had set them a particularly gruelling essay on vanishing spells.

"Woah," Harry slammed his book in mock offense, "are you telling me you don't count flying as an additional subject?"

"You and Draco just swan around doing tricks for an hour." Terry retorted, a small grin appearing on his face - once which quickly disappeared as he glanced back down at his textbook and remembered the gruelling hours he had ahead of him.

"He's dropping it next year." Harry said absentmindedly, chewing on the quill as he mulled over his conclusion. It was hard to concentrate too much on the ethics of vanishing spells when you'd been thrust into a deadly tournament at age fourteen and the only complaint any adults - bar your father - had was that you weren't putting in maximum effort.

"Well, that makes sense. Unlike you, he's doing three subjects."

"Mhm." Harry acknowledged. "I'll probably drop it too."

"'Cause Draco's quitting?" Terry raised his eyes from his textbook, narrowing them slightly in Harry's direction.

"Yeah. I don't think it'll be as fun with just Madam Hooch for company. Besides, if I need to fly I can always just, well, you know... go outside and fly." Harry said with a shrug.

"I suppose." Terry returned to his textbook and Harry sighed. He knew exams were important - and for Terry, especially so - but he really couldn't work up the desire to care about them. How could he, when he could be dead in less than two weeks?

"I'm going to head back to the common room, see if Anthony or Mike want to practice any spells." Harry said, packing his books into his bag.

"See you in a bit." Terry replied, his head still in his book.

"Apparently you're making a mockery of the wizarding world, the ministry and Dumbledore." Anthony said as Harry entered the room. "And you've got a letter from your dad." He gestured to an envelope on Harry's pillow. "I think Hedwig's been feeling neglected. She was not happy earlier... I gave her some food and she's back off in the owlery now though."

"Thanks 'Tony." Harry squinted at the letter - it looked, from a distance, as if Hedwig's talons had torn the envelope. Anthony was probably right (he usually was), Harry had just been so distracted with the tournament lately, it was hard to find the time. He'd go visit her after he did some tournament practice. "The Prophet again?" Harry asked, returning to Anthony's originally comment and taking the newspaper from him.

"They still oscillate every week between praising your very existence and wishing you would die so they have a more interesting story." Mike replied.

"Well, better than second year - unless there's been a call for me to be put in Azkaban again?" Harry surveyed the newspaper. The front cover was split into two stories, one about the second task and Harry's lack of involvement, the other a mad face cackling back at him. Harry gritted his teeth, and scrunched the paper in his hand.

"Not yet." Mike shared an anxious look with Anthony.

"You alright?" Anthony asked tentatively as Harry glared at the prophet. "I didn't think the article was that bad - or at least, nothing new."

Harry clenched his jaw and uncrumpled the paper, holding it up to show them his face. "It's been over a year, and the man that got my parents murdered is still on the loose, yet Fudge is spending all of his time trying to figure out where Harry Potter is. What the fuck is up with that? How dare he show up to the tournament with half the auror force when he should be finding Black." Harry spat angrily.

Michael and Anthony shared a bewildered look. They weren't used to dealing with Harry when he was like this. Mainly because they didn't use to know this side of him - or maybe this side of him just hadn't fully existed until the shitpile that was this year had started. Partially because Terry usually swept up the pieces when Harry got pissed at the world and how unlucky he'd gotten in it.

Harry sighed. "Do either of you want to practice spells?"

"Not it." Anthony replied instantly, shrugging as the two shot him surprised looks. "What? Angry Harry is not the guy I want as my duelling partner."

"Angry Harry?!" Harry exclaimed incredulously. Anthony just nodded seriously and gestured them out of the room. "Angry Harry?" Harry asked Mike as they exited the dorm.

"It's a thing." Mike affirmed with a slight nod.

"Since when?!"

"Well, I've seen it before in Quidditch matches - and training sometimes. You get frustrated at yourself, or your opponent, and then suddenly you go to this other level."

"Other level?" Harry asked, his stomach dropping. If 'angry Harry' was a thing did that mean his friends saw him as violent? As a threat? Did that mean Harry was more like Vernon than he'd ever imagined he could be?

"Yeah. You get into this zone of concentration. Did you not know this? You play freakishly well when you do." Mike continued.

"Oh." Harry leant against the wall as they waited for a couple of sixth years to leave the duelling room so they could go in. "It's not... You don't..." Harry took in a deep breath as Mike looked at him curiously. "You don't think I'm violent do you?"

"God no!" Mike shot back quickly, seeming surprised the question was even on Harry's mind.

"It's just- you said it was a thing. 'Angry Harry'." Harry continued, the pit of anxiety bubbling in his stomach still not entirely appeased.

"It's a joke. It just means you're a bloody pain to duel against because you're almost - well, no, you are - impossible to beat. It doesn't mean you're violent... just powerful." Mike explained, casting a concerned eye over Harry as the sixth years left and they made their own way into the room.

"Right."

The Hogsmeade trip rolled in at just the right time for Harry. With only one week left to go before the third task, he was grateful with the opportunity to distract himself. Even better, as Luke had confirmed in the letter, he'd be able see his father, who'd made the trip up to Scotland.

It did mean Harry had to covertly sneak off to the outskirts of Hogsmeade so that he'd be able to see his father without provoking any suspicions as to why the doctor had made a such a long trip so near to the end of term.

Honestly though, it was quite nice for Harry to be able to escape the buzz of the Hogwarts crowds for a while. To just be able to be alone with his thoughts, and push that scarily realistic dream about someone only addressed as 'my lord' putting the cruciatus curse on someone called 'Wormtail' - what kind of name was that anyway? - out of his head.

It was mainly nice just to be able to hug his dad again after the year he'd had. He hadn't actually been able to see his dad since all the shit went down with the tournament, the last time he'd seen him was in September at King's Cross. Since then Harry hadn't been able to leave Hogwarts fully, because of the Yule Ball, and then because he needed to spend Easter being able to practice magic for the third task - something he certainly couldn't do at home.

"How was the trip?"

"Quite fun actually." Luke said with an impish smile. "Took a plane up to Inverness. It was quite exhilarating."

Harry's eyes lit up in excitement. "Was it scary?"

"Take-off and touchdown were a little bit scary, if I'm being honest. Other than that it was quite nice. I imagine it being something similar to how you feel playing quidditch - though it's a lot warmer inside the planes. Softer seats too."

Harry laughed. "Nothing can compete with flying. I'm still annoyed they took away Quidditch this year." Harry complained. His mind hadn't really been fixated on the lack of the Quidditch Cup and inter-house matches - he'd been a little preoccupied with the whole tournament thing - but occasionally his mind did wander, and he'd find himself absentmindedly staring out the window in the middle of transfiguration, and wishing that he had a match on Saturday. Hell, he'd even take the 6am training sessions, if it meant that he'd actually be playing a match, a real match and not just one of the pick-me-up games he'd play with Mike, Terry and him against Draco, Blaise and Daphne - their own substitute for Ravenclaw-Slytherin matches. They'd even had one game against some of the Gryffindors - Ginny, Ron and Dean - as part of a three-way tournament to kill time one Sunday after the second task, but before Harry had gotten too nervous to waste anytime not training.

Luke's eyes narrowed, and the light mood dropped. "How are you doing?" He asked seriously.

"Fine."

"Harry..."

"How do you think I'm doing? I'm fucking terrified. The third task is next week, so in one week I could be dead. That's not exactly my favourite thing to think about."

"You're not going to die." Luke said firmly, gripping Harry's shoulder with his hand. The doctor even forgot to reprimand Harry for cussing - though perhaps under the circumstances Harry was allowed to swear once or twice. Harry scoffed. How could he say something like that with any sort of conviction? No one knew what was going to happen. "Hey, look at me. You're not going to die."

"That doesn't mean anything. You saying something doesn't make it true." Harry didn't know why he was arguing at this point. He should've just accepted Luke's wistful thinking and moved on, so he could actually enjoy the afternoon with his dad. Instead he was being confrontational and ruining what little time they had.

"Fine, you want to look at this the logical way?" Luke asked, and Harry narrowed his eyes, before nodding. "Well then, Harry Potter is a national symbol of hope, light and good. This isn't to put any burden on you. Because you're not Harry Potter, you're my son. It's just to say that to them," he gestured towards the buzz coming from Hogsmeade town. "to them, you are the Harry Potter. They love you-" Luke quickly waved Harry off, stopping him from interrupting him with a stern look. "They love Harry Potter. And those who don't, the prophet and whoever agrees with them, they might not love Harry Potter, but they need him. So there's no way they set up a third task in which they are going to risk your safety. So you're going to be okay. I promise."

Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath and nodded slowly. "How long do we have until you need to go?"

"We can stay until you have to go. I'm staying over in Inverness until the third task is over. That way, if you need me, I'm close by. I'm here with you - or as near to you as I can be - the whole time. Ok?"

Harry smiled softly, feeling relief flooding through his body. Just knowing Luke was going to be close by was more comforting than any fact he could spout about how the ministry and the magical world as a whole, needed him.

If his dad was here, maybe, just maybe, everything would be ok.

One Week Later

"Fuck." Harry hissed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm so screwed." He said to the wind. He couldn't hear the crowds anymore. He couldn't see anything but towering, dark green hedges enclosing on him. All he could do was move forwards, move towards the danger.