"I'm fine," Harry repeated, grateful when Neville found a tissue and Hermione wiped her eyes. He gave her a small smile, and was relieved to see she grinned back. He was never sure what you were supposed to do when a girl cried, but he didn't like it when Hermione did, and was pleased that his and Neville's response had seemed to work.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just…dragons."

"Bit bigger than Norbert, eh?" Harry asked, laughing for the first time in weeks.

"Just a smidge," Hermione returned, while Neville looked between them, puzzled. He was about to say something when Professor McGonagall entered the first-aid tent.

"Potter," she said, "Is Poppy done? You're needed for the scores."

They followed her out and Harry watched in disbelief as his scores were revealed: an eight from Madame Maxime, nines from Crouch and Dumbledore, and a 10 from Bagman. Neville was jumping up and down beside him, and Hermione was clutching his arm, tugging on his sleeve at each number. Finally, Karkaroff gave him a four, and to his amazement, all of the Gryffindors, and even many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, shouted furiously. It seems all he had to do was battle a dragon to get them on his side again, but he didn't care. He was no longer the school pariah, he had two friends at his side, and he'd survived the first task. More than survived, it seems, because as Charlie Weasley informed him, Harry was tied in first place with Krum.

"Brilliant," Neville breathed, as they started to walk toward the champions tent to see Bagman, as Charlie had instructed him to do.

"It certainly was."

After an initial jolt of shock, Harry felt even more cheerful when he turned to see that that voice did indeed belong to Professor Lupin, who was leaning against the now emptying stands, smiling at him.

"Professor," he said, stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"I got your letter," Lupin replied, greeting Hermione and Neville—the former looked elated and the latter looked confused—and Harry remembered, with some embarrassment, the missive he'd sent to Lupin in a panic. He barely remembered what he wrote and hoped it wasn't anything too certifiable.

"Just last night in fact, and I thought I'd come watch the first task," Lupin added. "I'm delighted to see that you performed admirably without my help, but of that, I had no doubt."

"Thank you." Harry grinned.

"I didn't realize anyone could just come and watch the match," Hermione said, a curious look on her face.

"They can when they're friends with the headmaster," Lupin answered her, smiling.

They had reached the tent, and Harry paused before entering. "Are you… will you be around awhile?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm having dinner with Professor Dumbledore," Lupin replied. "But if you have some time, I'd love to catch up beforehand. Though I daresay you probably want to celebrate with your friends."

"Oh, Fred and George never start the celebrations until after Professor McGonagall has retired for the night," Hermione said quickly. She paused before adding dryly, and with a hint of disapproval, "They don't see the point in having secret parties unless it causes her maximum aggravation."

"She's right," Harry added, grinning. "If you don't mind waiting while I do this?" He gestured toward the tent.

"Not at all," Lupin replied. And he, Hermione and Neville chatted amiably while Harry went inside.

The meeting was short. Bagman told them the next task wouldn't be until February 24th—three whole months of freedom—and gave them each an egg, instructing them that a clue was inside.

When Harry exited the tent, Lupin was alone. "Where'd Hermione and Neville go?" he asked, looking around.

"Hermione said there was something they needed to do."

Harry frowned. What could be so important that he didn't know about?

"I gathered she was trying to give us some time to talk without interruptions. She was rather unsubtle about it," Lupin revealed wryly, smiling affectionately.

They began the long walk up to the castle and Harry caught snippets of conversation around them, gratified to hear how many people were supporting him.

"And he just summoned a Firebolt—a Firebolt—from clear across the grounds—"

"Viktor Krum couldn't have done it—"

"And then he just dove—"

"I knew he could do it. The way he flattened me last year when I was tailing him for the snitch? He's amazing on a broom."

That last one was Cho Chang, and Harry felt his face grow hot and his stomach did a curious kind of flip at her praise.

Harry wanted to ask Lupin if he'd heard from Sirius, but thought it'd be better to wait until they were alone. As they rounded a clump of trees, Harry was suddenly glad that he had refrained because they walked straight into Rita Skeeter, Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready, wanting to ask Harry how he felt about the dragons and whether the scoring was fair.

She spoke quickly, animatedly, but Lupin frowned at her.

"I thought Albus Dumbledore forbade you from the Hogwarts grounds," he said.

"Oh, hello," Rita Skeeter sniffed, sneering at Lupin, as if she'd just noticed he was there. "Who are you again?"

Lupin ignored her. "Come along, Harry."

He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and guided him away, back toward the castle.

"It's just a quick word," Rita called out.

"Here's a word for you: Goodbye," Harry called over his shoulder.

They made it up to the castle quickly, getting stopped only twice. The first was Seamus and Dean. Both had congratulated Harry, and then Dean excitedly asked Lupin if he were coming back to teach.

"You were the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we ever had!" he exclaimed.

"Not that it's a high bar," Seamus muttered, before adding, "But you were really excellent by regular standards, too."

"Moody's pretty good—"

"Again," Seamus said, "the bar is basically on the floor—"

"But what they did to you is outrageous," Dean finished.

Lupin, for his part, seemed touched by the praise.

The second stop was Professor McGonagall, who offered up the use of her office for their chat. When they arrived, tea and sandwiches were already set for them.

"Ah, Minerva," Lupin said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "She really does think of everything."

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that," Harry warned. "You'll get a lecture on how house elves actually do all the work."

Harry put a stack of sandwiches on his plate, feeling hunger for the first time in weeks, as Lupin poured the tea.

"So Hermione has taken on the house elves' cause?" Lupin asked. Harry nodded, telling him all about S.P.E.W., and Lupin smiled wider. Harry looked at him curiously.

"You can imagine, Harry, that I'm somewhat sympathetic to witches and wizards who champion the rights of magical beings," Lupin said, in answer to the question Harry did not ask. "It does not surprise me at all that Hermione has taken up that mantle."

"But you're not like—you're a wizard!" he exclaimed, and instantly wished he hadn't said it. Harry recalled how Hermione had kept Lupin's secret for months, not even telling him and Ron, all because she didn't feel it was right to persecute Lupin for something he had no control over. It surprised him that Lupin identified so closely with the house elves, but then it struck him that it shouldn't—werewolves weren't exactly treated kindly by the wizarding world either, and with a flash of anger at the prejudice Lupin faced, Harry felt more positively toward S.P.E.W. than he ever had before.

Lupin smiled warmly at Harry, and then tactfully changed the subject.

"And I see you've become close with Neville, too?" Lupin asked, picking up a sandwich.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "He's really had my back with this whole Triwizard Tournament."

Harry felt a pain in his stomach as he finished that thought in his head. Unlike Ron. Something must have shown on his face because Lupin looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to talk.

"Professor?"

"I'm not your professor anymore, Harry; I'm just an old friend of your father's," he said wistfully. "Please call me Remus."

"Right," Harry said. "Well, it's just… It's Ron."

He didn't continue, not wanting to rehash this whole thing again, not wanting to think about the feelings he'd had the past few weeks, how rotten it had been. And yet, he wanted someone to talk to, someone who didn't have their own relationship with Ron influencing their advice. And Sirius wasn't exactly available at the moment.

"I noticed he wasn't with you during the scoring," Lupin said carefully, and then waited once again for Harry to speak.

"We haven't talked in weeks," Harry finally explained, sadness and anger warring for control of him. "He's jealous—he thinks I lied, put my name in the Goblet of Fire."

"Hmm," Lupin said, looking contemplatively at Harry.

"I know it sounds stupid," Harry said in a rushed voice. "Like it's not a big deal, but…"

"Your feelings are never stupid, Harry," Lupin said firmly, in a quiet, clear voice that left no room for argument.

When Harry didn't respond, Lupin asked, "How are you feeling?"

Harry could feel his face grow hotter—he wasn't particularly used to having this sort of discussion seeing as how for most of his life, he lived with the Dursleys, and they didn't care one way or another how he felt—as long as he was out of the way, that was good enough for them. He looked down at his teacup and shrugged, but that didn't seem to be a good enough answer for Lupin, who was still watching him closely.

"Angry," he finally replied. "Hurt."

Harry trailed off, unsure how to ask the question he wanted to ask. He'd never had a friend before Ron, and they hadn't fought ever. Sure, Harry had stopped speaking to Hermione last year when she told Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt, but on a fundamental level, he had always known that she had done it for him. Her actions aggravated him, but her motives didn't, and it made it easy for them to move on as friends when it was over. But this? Ron had turned his back on Harry for no reason other than jealousy. What was he supposed to do with that?

"You know, Harry, I didn't have many friends before Hogwarts. None, in fact," Lupin said quietly. "And I didn't expect to ever have any. I didn't expect to ever go to Hogwarts. Werewolves don't live particularly social lives."

Harry nodded, understanding that Lupin was putting into words how Harry felt, how life at the Dursleys had been like, without making Harry actually say it.

"And then I came here," Lupin said, looking around in wonder. "And I met your father and Sirius and Peter." His voice broke on that last word, a bitter sound that Harry felt in his very bones as he thought about the man who was the reason why Sirius was on the run, the reason why his parents were dead.

"It was the most wonderful feeling, having friends," Lupin said. "Even better when they found out my secret and still wanted me around. Friendships forged with that kind of bond—they're precious."

"So… you're saying I should forgive Ron?"

"I'm saying that I was a boy who had never known friendship, never known what I was worth," Remus continued quietly, eyeing Harry carefully. "We told you about the joke Sirius played on Severus."

Harry nodded. Sirius had told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow one night during the full moon, and Harry's dad had stopped Snape from being attacked by Lupin in his wolf form. And, he thought miserably, Snape had told him his dad had been in on the joke.

"When I found out about it the next day," Lupin said, "it didn't even occur to me to be mad about it. I was so used to thinking I was worth nothing, I didn't realize I deserved better from my friends. Your father showed me that, Harry. He was so angry at Sirius for what he'd done, all on my account, and it showed me that I should be angry too."

Harry looked at Lupin in wonder, hope rising in his chest. "But Snape said that my dad was in on it."

"No, Harry," Lupin said sharply. "Your dad wasn't perfect, but one thing about him you should never question: He would never harm a friend. And that's what Sirius' joke would have done. If I had attacked Severus that night as a werewolf, what do you think the Ministry would have done to me?"

Harry wasn't sure, but he felt his stomach lurch in fear as he thought of the possibilities.

"Now, I'm not saying that what Ron has done is anywhere in the same league as what Sirius did," Lupin said, shaking his head. "But, I know what it's like to have a friend do or say something that hurts you. And I also know what it's like to be a boy who's so used to being alone that he doesn't realize he deserves better."

Harry stared intently at his teacup, avoiding Lupin's face.

Finally, he asked, "So… you don't think I should forgive Ron?"

"I'm not saying that either," he said. "I forgave Sirius—your dad and I both did—but it took work. He apologized, he changed his behavior—"

"He didn't seem that sorry about it in the Shrieking Shack last year," Harry pointed out, remembering how Sirius had said that Snape would've gotten what he deserved if he'd reached Lupin.

"Yes, well, it's more complicated than that," Remus said. "Sirius was sorry for what he almost did to me, but he was never sorry for what almost happened to Severus. There was too much bad blood between them for that."

Harry nodded, trying to figure out how all of this applied to him and Ron. Ron hadn't almost gotten him sent to Azkaban or anything, but he had hurt Harry. It wasn't something he had wanted to admit to anybody—how sad it made him that Ron hadn't believed him after a lifetime of constantly being called a liar by the Dursleys for whatever accidental magic he had done.

"So… what do you think I should do?"

"I can't answer that for you," Remus said softly. "No one can. I do know there's no shame in forgiveness—I'd say it's one of the bravest things a man can do. But if your dad taught me anything, it's that we don't have to accept friendships where we aren't treated right. You don't have to apologize for who you are, Harry, and you don't have to settle for a friendship overtaken by jealousy or mistrust. There's no shame in forgiveness, but if Ron isn't willing to meet you halfway, to do the work, there's also nothing wrong with demanding better for yourself."

Harry nodded, feeling more confused than ever. Lupin—Remus—had given him a lot to think about.

"I do know one thing," Remus added, a smile upon his face once again, his eyes bright. "Your dad would've been very proud of you today."

Harry smiled, and his eyes felt uncomfortably misty as he glanced away, focusing on the golden egg Bagman had given him.

"What do you suppose it is?" Remus asked, following his gaze, and Harry was grateful for the distraction.

"Only one way to find out," Harry said, as he strode across the room to open it.

It was empty, but almost immediately a loud wail exploded in the room, shrieking and screeching like someone magnified the volume of nails on a blackboard to a deafening decibel. Harry slammed the egg shut, wincing, as Remus shook his ear out.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Harry spat, looking at the offending object accusingly. But Remus looked contemplative.

"I'm not sure," he said, slowly, and Harry could see his wheels turning. "This isn't my area of expertise, but I think it might be another language."

"Which one?" Harry asked. It didn't sound like any language he'd ever heard, but then, he didn't think the Triwizard judges would give him a clue in German or Japanese.

"No idea," Remus said. "But there are hundreds of magical languages. Leprechauns alone have 12 different languages that we know of, though they rarely speak any of them in front of humans."

Okay, so he was looking for some kind of magical language where the speakers made horrific, ear-splitting sounds. He could work with that.

"Thanks," he said, already feeling better about the second task than he had about the first.

They talked some more—Remus had spoken to Sirius, but didn't know exactly where he was—and when it came time to leave, Harry wasn't sure how to say goodbye—but then Remus patted him on the shoulder in what Harry could only imagine was a fatherly way, and handed him two sickles.

"For Hermione," he clarified. "For S.P.E.W. membership."

Harry grinned. "This'll make her day."

Harry ran up to the Owlery to write Sirius a letter detailing his performance in the task—though he maybe went into a bit too much detail of every curve and swerve of his broom, because when he was finished, it was much heavier than usual.

After dispatching one of the school owls—and feeding Hedwig some treats to keep her from being cross—Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room to find a "surprise" party for him in full swing. There were fireworks, banners detailing his success—compliments of Dean—and more cakes and butterbeer than they could possibly consume in a week. Lee Jordan tried to get Harry to open the egg, but Hermione reminded them that Harry was supposed to work it out on his own.

At Harry's reminder that he was supposed to work out the dragon on his own too—something he muttered privately to her—Hermione grinned guiltily. The others continued to call for the egg to be opened.

"Honestly," Harry warned them. "I've already opened it. You don't want to hear it."

George took that as some sort of challenge, opening the egg himself, and filling the party with the cries of the world's loudest dying cat. He swiftly snapped it shut.

"Right," he said, nodding, stepping away slowly. "Best not to do that again."

Everyone laughed, everyone but Neville, who looked shaken.

"Neville?" Hermione asked tentatively, drawing him and Harry to the side. "Is everything all right?"

"It sounded like someone being tortured," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears that he furiously tried to push back. "Like the Cruciatus Curse."

Hermione looked at Harry in alarm, then whispered, "Come on," grabbed Neville's arm and moved swiftly toward the boys dormitory. Neville sat silently on his bed, while Harry and Hermione shared his, facing their friend.

"Neville?" Hermione said, his name a question. Harry looked at his shoes, thinking Neville would rather not like Harry seeing him crying.

Neville was silent.

"Neville," Hermione tried again, glancing between him and Harry, pushing some hair behind her ears. "Neville, do you mind if I ask why you live with your grandmother?"

Neville had a stricken look upon his face, and Harry felt terrible for never wondering the exact same thing. How many years had he known Neville?

"You don't have to tell us," Hermione said quietly. "But, we won't… we're not…"

Harry looked up and caught Neville's gaze. "We're your friends," Harry said simply.

Neville nodded, and there was a strange look on his face, making Harry wonder with a sick twist in his gut just what Neville's first three years at Hogwarts had been like, sharing a dorm with Harry and Ron, and Seamus and Dean, two pairs of inseparable best friends.

"My parents were aurors," Neville finally croaked out, as if his voice didn't want to work. "They were tortured."

Hermione sprang from Harry's bed and sat on Neville's, clutching his hand consolingly, which seemed to comfort Neville a bit. Harry couldn't help but sit there stunned, mentally kicking himself for never asking, for never finding out. There'd been a war going on when he'd been a kid—of course he wasn't the only one with tragedy in his past. But he'd never bothered to ask.

"Are they—" Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish the question, to ask if they were dead.

"No," Neville shook his head. "The Cruciatus Curse doesn't kill. But if you use it on someone long enough, they lose their minds—can't remember anything or anyone. They're trapped in their own heads."

"What sort of person would do this?" Hermione asked, horrified, but she knew exactly who.

"The Lestranges," Neville said bitterly. "And Barty Crouch's son."

At their surprised looks, he added, "He died in Azkaban years ago. But the others are still there."

"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry said, and Neville looked up at him, shocked.

"Well, you—you have it worse than me," Neville replied, but Harry wasn't sure that was right. He remember Remus telling him about the dementor's kiss last year, how it sucked out someone's soul, how it was a fate worse than death. He couldn't imagine seeing your parents in the flesh, but having them be a husk of their former selves, not even able to recognize you or know you're important to them. Neville must've been terribly lonely.

"Nothing about what happened to either of you is right," Hermione said vehemently, her face a torrent of fury, sadness and helplessness. She shook her head violently, and then, looking for something to do, she handed Neville a tissue, and he wiped his eyes.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, though it wasn't an uneasy one. Neville's eyes were still red, but he looked contemplative and a bit like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. And, after the day Harry had, he was just glad to be sitting someplace safe with his two friends.

"Who's Norbert?" Neville finally asked, shocking Harry out of his musings. Whatever he was expecting Neville to say it wasn't that.

Harry looked at Hermione, who was looking back at him, silently communicating that they owed Neville the truth. Harry agreed.

"You talked about him in the first-aid tent before," Neville continued, incorrectly reading their silence as confusion.

"Do you remember when we got that detention in the forbidden forest?" Harry asked.

"How could I forget?" Neville shuddered.

"Do you remember why we got that detention?" Hermione continued.

"Yeah," Neville said. "I was trying to warn you that Malfoy knew about the… dragon."

He stopped, looking between both of them, and Harry remembered the look of betrayal on Neville's face when he thought he was just collateral damage caught up in their war with Malfoy. "So… there really was a dragon?"

Harry and Hermione nodded.

"And… it was named Norbert?"

Harry and Hermione nodded again.

"Where did you find a dragon?"

"Hagrid," they said.

"Oh," Neville replied, nodding his head. "Right. That makes sense."

He was silent for a moment more, confusion clouding his face. "You could've told me the truth," he said. "After Professor McGonagall was gone. I never would've said anything to anyone, and it would've been nice…"

He trailed off, but Harry knew what he meant: It would've been nice to know you hadn't been playing a cruel trick, not caring that I got hurt by it, too.

"We know," Hermione said quickly, with Harry nodding his agreement. "We're sorry."

Neville nodded, but soon the contemplative look had returned, as if he were working through something in his head.

Harry was struck once again by Neville's confusion earlier in the day when Remus had said he had received Harry's letter. Of course Neville was confused—he thought Harry's secret meeting the other night was with Lupin, but why would Harry be sending letters when he was supposed to be talking to Lupin by Floo?

Harry looked at Neville, this boy who had stood by him when no one but Hermione had, this boy who always tried to help Harry, who just trusted Harry with his deepest secret, his most painful truth. And at that moment, more than anything, Harry wanted to tell Neville the truth about Lupin before he could ask about it; he wanted to be the sort of friend Neville deserved.

"I wasn't talking to Lupin the other night by Floo," Harry said quickly. Hermione looked up, alarmed, while Neville looked curious. "I was talking to my godfather—Sirius Black."

"But he's—"

"No," Hermione said firmly, getting on board with Harry's plan. "He's not anything the Ministry's been saying he is."

And so they told Neville an abridged version of what had happened last year—the truth about Scabbers and how they'd saved Sirius and Buckbeak. Neville gasped and groaned in all the right places, and in the end, stared at both of them with wonder in his voice.

"How on earth do you two manage to get any work done ever?" he asked, earning a laugh from Hermione.

Then he grew silent, and his face was solemn as he looked Harry directly in the eye. "I won't tell anyone," he swore.

Harry nodded. "I know."

They returned downstairs where the party was still going in full force. Harry noticed Ron sitting in the corner, and while he no longer looked at Harry with sheer contempt, he still looked a bit sullen, and had made no moves to fix anything between them. Harry heard Remus' voice in his head—forgiveness had to be earned—and put Ron out of his mind.

Fred offered up a plate of sweets to them, pointing out the custard creams to Neville, but at a warning look from Harry, Fred told the shorter boy to go for a jam tart. A few minutes later, an unsuspecting Colin Creevey turned into a canary thanks to the twins' custard creams, which they'd aptly named Canary Creams. Everyone laughed, though Harry noticed Neville didn't until Colin had returned to normal, delighted at the transformation, and asked for another.

For her part, Hermione was very pleased because she managed to trick Fred into telling her how to get into the kitchens, and Harry, remembering Remus' sickles, handed them over to her, explaining that she had a new member for S.P.E.W. Hermione beamed, and as Harry looked around at his friends—Hermione and Neville chatting away over a plate of jam tarts, Fred and George delighting everyone with fireworks, Lee and Seamus holding some sort of butterbeer fountain-making contest that Dean was judging, and Angelina, Katie and Alicia tossing the last few remaining Potter Stinks buttons at each other over by the sofas—Harry couldn't help but feel that this had been a very good day.