21.
The summer holidays began more solemnly than they did for the past two years. Absent were the end of year feast, farewell hugs, and house cup. Nobody seemed to care who won the house cup and house lines were never so blurry. Even the Slytherin table's seemingly impenetrable green ranks showed signs of breaking into large splotches of blue, yellow, and red. With Sirius Black exonerated and Professor Lupin placed on administrative leave for being a werewolf of all things despite his own exoneration, it seemed like a different world. Dumbledore remained absent from the school and McGonagall took over as the school's figurehead, maintaining her hold over the school's day to day operations.
The Prophet went wild with the results of the aurors' investigations, revealing a full-blown plot to attack Hogwarts. A ministry mugshot asking for the capture of Antonin Dolohov covered the front page, just above the headline, which read, "An Unthinkable Plot." It was unclear what the death eaters' goal was, but documents found on a body revealed that their original plan was to invade the castle by night and kill students indiscriminately. Dumbledore's absence catalyzed the operation and it was simple work to bring the dementors on board and break Vernon out of prison. The most shocking part of the whole fiasco, however, was written mention of a dark artifact that connected this new group of death eaters to the basilisk attacks from the year before.
Harry's unconscious form in Shacklebolt's arms had made it onto the newspapers the morning of the last day of school and every student in the hall that day sat stonily still, stealing occasional glances at Harry's vacant spot at the Gryffindor table. The proceedings at the hearing were secret, of course, but that didn't stop the students from figuring out that he'd saved the school again, and this time from death eaters and dementors. The biggest difference, however, was that there was also his uncle, who was supposed to be his family, who almost beat the life out of him.
Harry spent the last few days of the school year in the infirmary recovering and went home to Malfoy Manor by way of floo powder. His physical injuries were healed, but the exhaustion and weakness caused by the dementors' kiss persisted, compounded by renewed nightmares that kept waking him up in a cold sweat. Ladon, sensing Harry's distress often woke him from his dreams in the dead of night by caressing his cheek gently with his rasping tongue. The little snake had grown over the past year and was easily as long as Harry was tall. Harry slept often for the first few weeks of summer with Ladon wrapped protectively around him and whenever he jolted awake, there was a different person by his bed, sometimes Draco, sometimes Lucius or Narcissa, and in the late hours of the night, Legion.
Most of Harry's dreams consisted of indistinct screams accompanied by blinding fear and sorrow. Each time he woke, he forgot what the dream was about, but his scar burned like it never had before. When he was awake, he found that being near other people, even those he loved most, was trying because it was as if he could feel every worry, every secret sadness that they carried with them. One evening, Harry woke with a start as he did most nights. Legion sat in a chair by Harry's bed and whispered comforting things to him until his shivering subsided.
"What's happening to me?" Harry croaked, blinking up at the canopy of his bed. Legion cocked its head and gestured to something on the domed ceiling. Alistair floated in ghoulishly through the glass and was at once at Harry's side.
"We do suspect your nightmares are caused by the wraiths' touch on your soul, child," Legion said, welcoming Alistair with an outstretched arm. Alistair bowed to Legion and turned to Harry, once again looking apologetic.
"The old ones are correct," he said, softly shaking his head, "and it is...regrettable that we have caused you such pain."
Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "How could this be your fault?"
"When you took the sickness away, you locked it in your own body. As a necromancer, it should not have affected you. However, we saw it necessary to touch your soul to save you. You are experiencing some of what we experience as guardians of souls, but the sickness you took from us is affecting you badly."
"Am I going to go mad like the dementors? Is there anything I can do?"
"You are not a dementor, deathseeker," the wrath said tilting its head owlishly to the side. "You should not succumb as we did, but you require training to manage the stream of emotions coming from the world around you. Please let us help you, for it was our fault."
Over the next few weeks, Harry meditated with the wraiths, usually in a circle of them, and with their help, the pounding ache of negative emotions faded into the background and Harry could sleep and stand to be near people again. It was a ritual that needed to be maintained, but he was grateful to feel some normalcy returning to his life. In a few short weeks, he was recovered enough to engage in the activities of the previous summer and even Draco lost some of the stricken expression he'd adopted ever since the attack. His scar still pained him throughout the day, but he could only hope that it was a sign that Tom was making moves to return to him. His friends had kept their distance to allow him to recover, but every exuberant letter that came his way cheered him up a little bit every day. The most exciting news, however, came when Draco leapt onto his bed waving something in his face.
"Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry!" he cried.
"What is it, Draco," Harry asked, chuckling as he threw a book he was working on to the bedside table.
"We're going to the Quidditch World Cup!" Harry was still new to all the teams and was barely aware in the periphery of his memory who was playing, but he laughed in spite of himself at Draco's excited squeals, which he would later force Harry to redact from his memory because Malfoys do not squeal. Even so, when Draco put up a poster of Victor Krum in his room, he couldn't help but marvel at the powerful figure, robes billowing, fist upraised, sweeping the room with an inscrutable gaze.
"Molly, that's wonderful news!" Narcissa said, head stuck into the fireplace.
"I know! Isn't it? I don't know who made the error, but we got box seats and I'm not going to correct them!" Molly Weasley was fanning herself excitedly with tickets to the world cup.
"Molly, those seats are right next to ours! We should set up camp together as well." Harry and Draco each coughed and shielded their eyes from Narcissa's display.
"Don't worry, Harry," Draco said, "I'm sure it's more convincing from Mrs. Weasley's side. The green covers up the smile. It's creepy. Mother really shouldn't force it."
"I heard that, you," Narcissa said, sauntering up to the pair of them. "It's all settled! We're taking the family tent out to the Quidditch World Cup. I'll have you know my acting skills are top notch. She didn't know what hit her." With that, she flipped her hair and wafted away.
The day of the match came and the families set out bright and early to get the tent pitched. Despite the Malfoys being one of the richest wizarding families, Lucius and Narcissa donned hiking gear, albeit designer hiking gear, and made the trek out to their designated portkey.
"What novelty!" Lucius said, legging it up the English countryside. "This is such a wonderful experience. We really should do this more often."
"I agree, dear. The scenery is so quaint and refreshing." Narcissa held a walking stick in one hand and looked quite fetching in a pair of trousers. Harry and Draco both groaned behind them.
"Mother, couldn't we have apparated there? We could even have taken the Weasleys' bloody car. My feet are sore and I'm covered in...nature."
"Draco, the sun is good for you," Narcissa said.
"What about Harry? He's still convalescing."
"Dear, at this rate, he will never be done convalescing. The sun is good for him too," Narcissa replied again, expression hidden behind large sunglasses.
"I don't mind it so much, Draco," Harry said, out of breath. "It's nice. I haven't been outside for so long in a while. We're almost there, anyway." They soon made their way to a small clearing where they were met with a gaggle of redheads, Hermione, and the Diggorys.
"Hey there, Ced," Harry said, extending his hand.
"You must be Mr. Potter," a man next to Cedric said.
"This is my father, Amos," Cedric said hastily. Before Harry could reply, Amos interjected.
"I heard so much about you from my son. It's too bad that quidditch match was muddled by dementors. He might have won, you know."
"That's enough, father. He was busy saving me from dementors," Cedric said terseley. The grin on Harry's face had started to warp despite his best efforts and he could feel the perspiration forming on his forehead as the awkwardness of the conversation gripped his body. Amos Diggory grumbled an apology and a begrudging thanks.
"Mr. Diggory, please. I should be thanking you. Cedric was such a great help during final exams. I'd missed a few lessons after that game and I was in a complete mess before he offered to help me." Mr. Diggory was instantly more cheery and even offered to teach Harry how to use the portkey, not that it stopped him from falling face first into the grass when he landed.
"That's alright, Mr. Diggory," Fred and George said, laughing as they picked Harry up by the armpits. Fred feigned an agonized expression and said, "you taught him well, but-"
"our Harry's wobbly as a newborn deer at the moment," George finished, picking grass out of Harry's hair.
"What's with all these tents?" Harry asked, batting away George's hand. Before the group stretched a vast expanse of white tents sprawling all over the hills leading to the stadium, which was a massive structure to dwarf any muggle football stadium. From a distance, the building looked to be an impossible structure that should never have remained standing, but Harry knew it was probably held up by magic. The Top Box was every bit as luxurious as Harry imagined it would be, though he didn't miss Ludo Bagman winking at the Malfoys as the Weasleys walked in. The match started and Bulgaria's veela mascots had all the boys in the box in awe. Harry had to wrench the omnioculars from Draco's hands as Hermione put a finger under Ron's chin to snap it shut. A massive picture of Viktor Krum brought on a chorus of cheers from both sides of the stadium and Harry knew he was looking at the epitome of athleticism in the wizarding world.
"I'm not sure who won," Harry said on the way back to the tent.
"What do you mean? Ireland did, of course. Fred and George totally called it." Ron said, waving around an irish flag.
"What he means," interrupted Draco, "is that he's a seeker and from the seeker point of view, Bulgaria won because Krum caught the snitch."
"Yes, well," Hermione said, "from a numbers standpoint, quidditch isn't all about catching the snitch. If it were, the rest of the team would be worthless."
"I see your point," Draco said, nodding. "I guess it's a good balance to have. Even if your seeker is an incredible athlete like Krum, it means nothing without a good team. What Ireland pulled was crazy and a testament to their training, but Krum was the real hero of the match."
"So they both won?" Harry said, trying to put an end to what was sure to be a heated conversation. The Malfoys and Weasleys celebrated the night together in their deluxe tent, which Harry spent a few minutes ogling when they first pitched it. It didn't matter, really, which team won, because the point of watching the match was revelry, a lot of green face paint, butterbeer, and meat pies. It was all ruined, however, when the campsite erupted in screams. Harry was awake and he burst from his cot, waking everybody up, grabbing wands, and bundling up before bursting from the tent into the chaos. Hooded figures with skull masks marched in lines holding torches through the campsite setting tents aflame.
"Lucius, you need to get out of here," Mr. Weasley said, passing Lucius a hat. "If the ministry comes to stop the raid, they're going to take you in for questioning."
"I have nothing to hide, Arthur," Lucius said, slipping the hat instead over Draco's head. "I will stay with my family and take the children to safety." They ran for the woods while Arthur and the older boys tried to help the other wizards face the attacking death eaters. Harry's scar prickled menacingly and without warning, it exploded with pain and he fell. Dimly, he heard Molly and Narcissa screaming his name, but they were swept away by the crowd and soon, he was alone. All around him, tents were crumpled and trampled in smoldering heaps and he could hear men shouting. Above him, the sky was awash with green light.
"Get up and run!" a voice said. Harry was still lying on the grass, trying to get his bearings. When the pain in his scar subsided, a pair of large hands picked him up off of the floor.
"Vhat is your name," a thickly accented, deep voice said, gripping his shoulders.
"Harry. I got separated from my group." Recognition passed across both of their faces as Harry recognized the figure before him as Viktor Krum and Viktor recognized Harry as the Boy Who Lived. Neither of them had time to think about much else before the death eaters were upon them.
"Look out!" Harry shot a wandless stunner at death eater behind Krum and punched another coming from the side. Krum sprung into action, firing curses and shield charms. Between the two of them, they made short work of the death eaters attacking them. As Viktor worked on the remaining few, Harry grabbed a disabled attacker by the collar and ripped off his mask. He recognized him as a death eater that had attacked him at Hogwarts. Without waiting to ask, he dove mercilessly into the man's mind and saw Dolohov and a group of the same sleaze this man came from, but nothing of Tom. The man didn't even know what Voldemort looked like. Disgusted, he left the man's mind and released his hold, shooting another wandless stunner deftly at a death eater trying to take a pot shot at Viktor. Harry heard hurried footsteps approaching him and turned to look at who it was. When he looked back, Viktor had gone.
"Potter, what in blazes are you doing out here?" Harry heard Dawlish before he saw him, mist billowing out of his mouth in the cold night air. He looked around the clearing, flinty eyes counting the number of unconscious wizards lying in the grass. "I see you made short work of these louts. Still, aren't you on bed rest?"
"Hello, Mr. Dawlish, sir," Harry said, snapping to attention on instinct. "I've gotten a lot better since the last time you saw me."
"The last time I saw you, I was performing chest compressions for you, you were covered head to toe in injuries, and you had half your soul sucked out by dementors. As soon as this is over, you get your arse back to your family and get that healer of yours to give you a once over. You're no good to me dead, Potter."
"Now, Dawlish," a quiet voice said, "that's no way to speak to a child, and do remember that he is still a child." A tall man with thick chestnut hair and a well-maintained beard walked up to them.
"Hello, Robards," Dawlish said, "what brings you out here?" The two men shook hands and Harry knew straight away that the man before him was important.
"I'm here to relieve you. As far as we know, the situation is under control and Scrimgeour wanted to make sure the minister felt he had the best we could offer. You're needed at his residence."
"No casualties?"
"None. Unusual, isn't it? Dark mark in the sky and not a body to be found."
"Give it a few days. One might turn up yet." Dawlish aparated away with a crack and the entourage that accompanied Robards took over in apprehending the fallen death eaters.
"Mr. Potter," Robards said, offering a hand to Harry. "I'm Gawain Robards. I work with Dawlish. The others have told me so much about you. I must say, you don't disappoint. I have trainees who haven't downed as many death eaters as you have today."
"Thank you, sir, but I had help. Someone else was here, but I didn't see who it was. They must have run away."
As families emerged from the forest, Harry caught a glimpse of the Weasleys and the Malfoys and called out to them. Draco, Ron, and Hermione reached him first and practically tackled him. Lucius and Narcissa followed closely behind.
"Lucius," Gawain said, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you being here in the midst of a death eater attack doesn't look very good." He shot Lucius a wry grin and Harry wasn't sure he meant any of what he said at all. Lucius arched an eyebrow and smiled as he rolled up his sleeve, revealing his naked forearm.
"As you can plainly see, Robards. My allegiances are clear and I had nothing to do with this attack. I was in the forest keeping the children safe." Robards grabbed Lucius's wrist and inspected his arm, chuckling with disbelief.
"Well, since you obviously lack a dark mark, I see no reason to keep you or your family. I'll just pretend I never saw you tonight, eh?" The group returned to their tent and everyone tried their best to sleep except for Harry, whose scar burned persistently throughout the night and he was forced to retreat into his mindscape with Legion to rest.
In the next few days, more reports of the aftermath of the death eater raid came to light. Those captured were, again, more low ranking wizards who'd only recently joined up and no casualties were ever confirmed. There were, however, mysterious disappearances, including Bertha Jorkins, a ministry employee, and several former death eaters. A few days later, in the dead of night, Harry lay awake in his room when a dark figure appeared out of the corner of his eye. In the soft moonlight, the figure cast a long shadow into his room from the glass door leading outside. Harry didn't have to look twice to know who it was and sprang from his bed to open the door.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, sliding the door shut and casting all manner of silencing charms.
"I apologize," the remains of Gilderoy Lockhart rasped. "This visit was unavoidable and my master delayed it as long as he could, but it was necessary after the attack." The creature had changed, its features no longer resembling Lockhart at all. Its face had turned black and sunken so that Harry could make out most of the skull. Its body was similarly shriveled, but the muscle structure remained intact like a plasticized anatomical model.
"That's alright, as long as you took precautions. How is he?" Harry asked, gesturing for the creature to sit across from him by a small lamp. It hesitated before awkwardly sitting, hands placed formally on its knees.
"He possessed me for some time, but has been using a homunculus form for a few weeks. He can regain his body through an old ritual that required us to return to his father's old manor, where we set up our home base of sorts. We require the last ingredient from you, the blood of the enemy, freely given. Since you were the cause of his initial downfall, your blood would be the most appropriate." The creature spoke formally and professionally and Harry felt as if he were talking to a robot butler.
"I can do that. How are you faring, exactly? You don't...sound like Lockhart anymore, like you're a completely different person. Can you still use magic? How have you been moving about so easily?" The creature shifted and tilted its head back and forth.
"My master has asked the same things. You both ask...difficult questions. I am still him, or I remember being him, but I don't long for life like that anymore. I exist for the purpose you assigned to me, to find, obey, and protect my master. I know nothing else. I can still cast spells and they are much better than they were before. I do not know why. In the daylight, I wear a glamour and we have stayed in muggle territory to avoid detection." Harry nodded.
"What's he calling you, then? Knowing him, it's probably something dramatic." The creature worked its jaw, almost as if it were embarrassed.
"Locke," it finally said. Harry burst out laughing.
"That's just unimaginative. Alright, hold on." Harry conjured a vial and, using a letter opener, sliced a deep cut into his palm and squeezed the blood into the vial before closing the wound magically. Locke took the blood and got up to leave.
"Wait," Harry said, "how do you feel about the new you? I have to tell you, it was my first time reanimating a corpse. I understand if you resent me for it."
"My master has asked me this also. Again, I feel only my duty, but dimly, I think I favor this me over the me that I was. Like this, I am strong and I can help my master. I was weak before and I was far uglier than I am now." Locke drew up his hood and disappeared into the night. A few days later, the supplies list from Hogwarts came in with the morning post and the Malfoys were surprised to find that it included dress robes.
"Why would we possibly need dress robes?" Draco said, scowling at the scroll before him. They were in Harry's room late at night and they lay on the bed, Harry absentmindedly tossing his glass orb into the air and catching it as it fell.
"I don't know, maybe it's a school dance?" Malfoy scoffed, saying something about what a drag it would be and who would he even go with? Harry tried hard to concentrate on what Draco was saying, but something about his heartbeat was pounding a painfully loud rhythm into his skull and the edge of his vision was starting to darken. He missed the glass orb and it fell onto the door floor, shattering. Harry sat up, trying to get his bearings and Draco was immediately at his side, saying something he couldn't quite make out. Harry tried to stand as nausea hit him, but he was brought to his knees as his scar seemed to implode, swallowing him into a deep pit of anguish, a high-pitched ringing muffling all other sounds.
"Harry!" Harry could hear Draco say through the haze of pain as his senses came back to him after what seemed like ages. He was rolled into a ball on the floor, body locked in trembling rigor. His chest heaved as the pain slowly crept out of his body. Draco held his hand, which he gripped with white-knuckled force that must have hurt him, but Draco didn't seem to notice over worry for Harry. When it was over, Harry released Draco and pressed his forehead into the cool wooden paneling of the floor and squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'm getting mother and father," Draco said, rising. Harry stopped him and opened his eyes.
"No, it's-I'm okay. My scar's been hurting since the end of term. Tonight was just a really bad night." He didn't want to say any more, but the look on Draco's face told him that it probably wasn't going to be an option.
"Harry, you have to tell me what's going on. You've been having these terrible dreams all summer and now you're telling me your scar's been hurting again?" Draco took a handkerchief out from his pocket and dabbed at Harry's scar, which he realized must have been bleeding.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm still figuring out all this myself. I made you a promise, so I'm going to keep it. Last year, I found out that the person manipulating Ginny and Daphne was Voldemort." Harry went on to describe meeting Tom through the diary and that at some point between Tom making the diary and becoming the dark lord, he went mad.
"So you're telling me that you met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and didn't tell anyone about it? The man could have killed you! He almost killed me!" Draco's brow furrowed deeper with every word.
"He knocked you and Ron out after possessing Lockhart to keep you safe. He's different now and I agreed to help him kill the basilisk, but he fled after the fight and I haven't seen him since. Besides, I thought I was just going looney and I was scared! It's not normal for wizards to be hearing things, right? I thought it was just a random diary, but when I wrote in it, he answered back!" Harry hated having to lie to Draco, but the one thing he needed to keep guarded at all costs was his power over the dead.
"What's all this have to do with your scar?"
"I think he's found a way to regain his body. He's been working on some kind of ritual, which is all I can remember from my visions when my scar hurts. I think he did it tonight." Draco exhaled a breath of air and scooted closer to Harry.
"What was he like?" Harry couldn't guess at Draco's expression and faced forward as they spoke.
"He was a genius like everyone says. He was like a different person than the Voldemort I met in first year. He told me he came from a muggle orphanage and they mistreated him like I was mistreated. I think...maybe, if he hadn't gone mad, he would have become Minister or something and the wizarding world might have flourished." Draco nodded sagely and seemed to chew on every word. Harry knew Voldemort had always been an awkward subject for him because his ideals might have aligned with his parents', but it didn't erase the fact that Harry had lost his parents to the side Lucius played for.
"What do you think will happen?"
"I don't know. He doesn't want to be Voldemort again. He just wants to be Tom." Draco helped Harry into bed and left the room quietly, deeply concentrating on the things Harry said. Harry repaired his orb and laid on his bed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
The ride on the Hogwarts Express was tolerable considering the sheer amount of gossip that surrounded Harry after the events of the year before. Harry was relieved to find that other news quite overshadowed him.
"Mr. Malfoy mentioned something big brewing in the ministry that had to do with Hogwarts," Harry said, crossing his legs. Ron took another bite of his annual Hogwarts Express sandwich and shrugged.
"Dad doesn't mention any of this stuff. The only thing I really know is that Dumbledore is somehow coming back this term." Draco and Hermione balked, while Harry sighed and lazily played with the ends of his hair, which was now easily at his waist, much to his annoyance.
"What negligence! Sorry, Neville," Hermione said, stamping her foot. Neville hissed in pain as the toe of her boot struck his foot. The crowded compartment was filled to the brim with the usual crowd, with a few extras. Ginny and Cho were locked in conversation at the very far right, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle were asleep on the other side of the compartment, Pansy and Daphne gossipped on the far left, and Neville, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco were seated in the middle. Harry could only hope that they didn't all hit a growth spurt, otherwise, he would have shorter work just merging two compartments together.
"If it's a political move, you can bet I won't want anything to do with whatever the ministry has planned," Harry said, gathering his hair into a messy bun atop his head. "I just want a year to relax and be normal. I've had the dark lord, a basilisk, and a dementor. What could the universe possibly throw at me now?"
Upon entering Hogwarts, Harry was perturbed to find Dumbledore once again seated at the head of the staff table, albeit flanked by ministry officials. Dennis, Collin's carbon copy of a younger brother, trotted excitedly to the Gryffindor table, but not without snapping a picture of Harry on the way to his seat. Harry groaned, but smiled in spite of himself. Dumbledore stood after a few moments and more ministry officials appeared in the Great Hall, including the infamous Barty Crouch Sr. The famous auror, Alastor Moody, arrived with much commotion as he tamed the lightning coming from the ceiling of the Great Hall, which had taken to filling with angry clouds and sending rogue lightning shooting through the hall. Watching the man who sent his godfather to prison, Harry could smell a political maneuver. When the tournament was announced, Harry's stomach churned sickeningly and he dearly hoped that the age restriction was enough to keep him out of the trouble.
"You reckon Dumbledore is back because he's a diplomatic figure?" Ron asked sleepily from Harry's side. Behind him, Harry could see Hermione, Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Dean Thomas staring wide-eyed at him. Harry cleared his throat.
"Yeah, Ron. Spot on, I think. No way they would let him back here after last year unless they needed to use him for something.".
When the feast was over, Harry followed the rest of his housemates to the Gryffindor common room. He trailed behind in the back of the group, largely to avoid the stares. Professor McGonagall stayed behind with him to chat with him about the summer.
"Your godfather is recovering well, Harry," McGonagall said, hands behind her back. "I visited him the other day. He's been tearing down the wall hangings in his mother's old house."
"I thought he said he wanted to tear the place down." Harry had been writing Sirius all summer, but he figured both needed some space to recover.
"Well, he changed his mind. He thinks rebuilding the place in the image of everything his mother hated was better revenge than tearing it down. Besides, he and Professor Lupin wanted a quiet place that was out of the way and that house is as out of the way as it gets."
"I'm going to visit him over the holidays. Since Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are his relatives, they thought it would be nice to bring the holidays to him."
"Harry," McGonagall started, "I understand you completed your animagus. We never got the chance to talk about how that was. Would you like to come up to my office for tea tomorrow? We can pick a different subject to work on since you only took a year to achieve an animagus transformation."
"Of course, professor, that's-" Harry was interrupted as a rough and gnarled hand landed quite heavily on his shoulder.
"Hello, Mr. Potter, Professor," Moody said, his glass eye darting back and forth between Harry and McGonagall. "Harry, I was wondering if I could talk to you. I will escort him to bed at a reasonable hour, of course, Minerva." McGonagall waved them off and left for Gryffindor Tower. Harry didn't know what to make of Alastor Moody, but there was something off about the man. Though he hadn't felt the need before, Harry looked into Moody's magical pool using the sight and found that everything was the wrong shape.
This one is an impostor, Legion mumbled, though they didn't sound alarmed. Harry raised an eyebrow. Whoever was impersonating Moody was taking a great risk. The man was a famous auror, after all. Harry followed Moody to the defense classroom and waited expectantly a few paces behind the man as he halted, the rhythmic thumping of his peg leg coming to a stop. All at once, Moody cast three stunners, an expelliarmus, a body bind, and a few more lethal curses that Harry didn't care much for. Deftly, Harry flung up a shield charm, shot off a few counter curses, and dodged the last flaming incendio aimed at his head. Harry tumbled close enough to try to land a blow on Moody's face, but was stopped by a partial body bind.
"So it's true," Moody said, laughing as he pushed Harry's upraised fist away from his face. "The Boy Who Lived is a bloody machine. You almost had me, son." He released the curse. Harry arched an eyebrow and pointed up. Moody looked up and found that Harry had transfigured the chandelier above him into a long, sharp spear that was only a few inches from Moody's scalp. Still laughing, Moody pointed behind Harry, who spun around to find an icicle growing out of the floor, ready to impale him.
"Now that that's out of the way," Moody said, "let's get this room back together." Harry put out the fire in one corner of the room as Moody put the desks and chandelier back into their places.
"Professor," he said as they worked, "that was a lovely introduction, but would you mind telling me who you really are?" The man impersonating Alastor Moody harrumphed and produced a letter from his cloak. Harry took it and hastily ripped it open to read the florid script.
"I should have known you would figure it out. I just reckoned it would take you a few days." Moody leaned against a desk and inspected Harry as he read the letter once, twice, and again just to make sure he was reading everything correctly. The letter was from Tom.
"Sorry about that. He told me you were brilliant, but I just had to see it with my own eyes. He told me to watch you. There's something off about this tournament."
"He thinks somebody might be trying to kill me? With the tournament?"
"You were raised in the muggle world, so you wouldn't know. The Triwizard Tournament was discontinued because people kept dying. If there was any way to kill anyone and blame it on a dragon, this would be it."
"Shouldn't the age line keep my name from entering the goblet even if I wanted to enter the tournament? And believe me, I don't want to."
"The age line, is a joke, lad," Moody said, tugging at his too-tight shirt collar. "A half decent confundus could do the job, and any fool with his heart set on killing you could manage that. Dumbledore didn't cast the age line. Ministry's got a tight leash on him, so they made Crouch do it."
Harry thought the way Moody said "Crouch" was strange, as if the man was about to cry, if only for a split second. Moody took a swig from his flask and sat down heavily on an old chest shoved against the corner of the room. Harry could tell the chest was enchanted, but he didn't feel like testing the waters so soon.
"Anyhow," the man continued, "I can't tell you my name on account of how...precarious our situation is at the moment. I'm under strict orders to protect you and that job includes preventing the ministry from finding out about our Lord's rebirth and that you were involved. The less you know about me the better."
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, making slow circles about the small office. "Okay," he said after a few minutes, "I'll trust you because Tom obviously does." Moody seemed to relax incrementally and smiled crookedly.
"Were you...there when he got his body back?" Harry absentmindedly rubbed his scar. "Did he look like he was hurting?"
Moody nodded his head sagely. "Aye, it certainly looked that way. His face when he came out, though? Any pain is worth getting your body back, don't you think?"
The next day, classes began and Harry began to feel a sense of normalcy returning to his life. Having cut down on classes, Harry could study on a regular schedule and for the first time in a long time, wasn't as frantic. Remembering what he went through the year before, Justin Finch-Fletchly and his cronies backed off, though they sneered at him as he walked by. On Thursday, however, Harry found that maybe having a disguised death eater for a teacher was going to be stressful.
"I'm going to teach you about the unforgivables. Anybody know what that is? Before you start, Granger, this is my classroom and I can teach whatever I bloody want. If we're going to be learning counter-curses this year, we might as well start with the worst three curses. Then, everything else will be easy by comparison." Moody sat with one leg half-heartedly hitched onto the desk at the front of the class. The board was blank and there seemed to be no structure to speak of.
"Come on, now. The fate of the wizarding world is grim if none of you, the youth of wizarding Britain, can answer a simple question. What are the three unforgivables?"
"Imperio," Dean Thomas said. "That's the one that's like mind control."
"Correct, 5 points to Gryffindor. Anyone else? I can hand out points like candy all day. All I really care about is that you lot get over being shy quickly. I can't abide shyness. Speak! Somebody, come on. Longbottom! You must know one."
"C-crucio," Neville said in something of a whisper.
"Louder, lad. Can't hear you all the way up here."
"Crucio!" Neville said, louder, his voice cracking.
"And what does it do?" Neville couldn't answer. Both hands stayed bolted to his desk, fisted in a terrified rigor that turned his knuckles white.
"Torture," Harry said, wanting to end Neville's suffering.
"Correct, though I did ask Mr. Longbottom," Moody said, winking at Harry with his good eye. Harry scoffed and crossed his arms.
"And speaking of you, Mr. Potter," Moody said, glass eye swivelling to a stop at the sight of Harry, "the most famous curse of all is Avada Kedavra. The killing curse. The only known survivor of said curse sits in this very room. I'm sure you're all sick of hearing the story, so let's begin our lesson by reviewing the curses, their origins, and the development of magical laws prohibiting their use. Come on, pull out those quills before I take them from you and stick them where the sun don't shine."
"Did you have to do that?" Harry asked Moody as the other students filed out of the room at the end of class.
"Do what? Oh, the Longbottom thing? Had to. Couldn't resist."
"His parents went mad from the cruciatus. I know you're a cruel bastard as a general requirement because you work for Tom, but really. Low blow. He looked like he was going to turn into a puddle." Harry was bothered, but he knew it made sense considering Moody's line of work.
"I had to, Potter," Moody said, taking another swig. "I felt, I dunno, obligated. Boy like that's been weak all his life because of trauma. If everyone tiptoes around the subject like that, he'll never grow a spine. He needs to be more resilient and confront his fears. Besides, I gave him a book I nicked from Flourish and Blotts. Something about plants."
"I'm sure he appreciates the gesture. Just remember you're not certified to be a therapist. Your intentions are… I dunno, noble? Just try not to break him. He's my friend." Harry spied a book on dark hexes on the desk and picked it up, avoiding Moody's grasping hand.
"Ooh I'm taking this," Harry said.
"No you're not, boy. Half of those spells will take your head clean off. If I let that happen, the Dark Lord will skin me.
"Well, then," Harry said, tucking the book into his bag, "you'll have to teach me. Snape and Flitwick already give me extra revision because I'm too smart for this school. Go talk to them and we'll work out a schedule."
"What am I, a nanny?"
"Essentially, yes," Harry said, turning to leave. Over the next few weeks, Harry started taking lessons with Moody in the same time slot he used to devote to Lupin. Whoever the fake Moody was was surprisingly traditional, opting for a traditional dueler's stance and a minimalist approach to combat. It was the style of the upper class and Harry could definitely smell money.
"Who'd you learn to duel from, Tarzan?" Moody asked, expertly deflecting a curse Harry'd flung as he tried landing a blow at Moody's weak leg. Harry had to admit some of the things he resorted to when he was dueling were a bit unrefined, but it was something he picked up from Lupin that he was rather fond of. The duel ended when Moody had somehow managed to grab Harry by the ankle and dangle him in the air with one arm.
"Son, you need to eat more. If an old cripple like myself can dangle you around like a dead fish, you're too skinny." Harry scoffed and reached his hands to the floor to flip himself over again. "All that flailing is well and good, but you need some more variety in your style. The whole point of hand to hand combat is to catch people off guard, but if that's your only trick, I'm afraid you won't last very long."
"I noticed," Harry said, rubbing his sore shoulder thinking of when Dawlish and his men had incapacitated him the year before.
"Well, your classical dueling is fine. I know Flitwick's been helping you and there's no one better than the master himself at proper duelling." Moody took another swig from his flask. "You've got really unfairly good power and a massive spell vocabulary, which I can guess you got from, ahem, our mutual friend. Now, we really have to work on strategy. That last maneuver. Tell me exactly what you did and exactly what I did and tell me how I beat you." The lesson continued along this vein and Harry had to admit the man knew what he was talking about. It was all a little nerdy and Moody cackled easily at every impressive bit of dueling theory he could talk about.
Moody continued to surprise Harry when he leveled his wand at Harry and cast an imperius on him out of the blue in the middle of class. In a knee jerk reaction amidst the gasps of shock from the class, Harry retaliated and threw the curse from him violently, sending a shockwave that sent the papers on all the desks flying. He stumbled out of his seat, panting and looking frazzled.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" Harry snapped, glaring murderously at Moody. Moody let out a low whistle and turned a stopwatch around to show the class.
"5 points from Gryffindor for the language, but 10 points to Gryffindor for that impressive display. Now class, Mr. Potter overcame an imperius curse in under five seconds. I've had trained aurors who have never been able to fight off an imperius, let alone do it in five seconds. I'll bet you didn't even know that was an imperius, son." Moody cackled again as Harry sat back down, still seething from the surprise attack. From then on, Moody could be found at any hour of the day shooting any manner of curse at Harry from around the corner. It wasn't long before Harry started shooting back.
The welcoming feast for the two visiting schools was a tawdry affair and Hogwarts threw all manner of quaint charm at its more sophisticated visitors. Their entrance was spectacular, though Harry had to admit that the visiting schools had the benefit of the French diet and the harsh Bulgarian winters respectively to keep their students in better shape than any at Hogwarts. He also couldn't deny that they were a bit snooty.
"Ronald, honestly," Hermione snorted. "Did your mother teach you to look at a woman like that? Close your mouth and show some respect." Harry looked about him and found that the other boys were indeed staring slack-jawed at the Beauxbaton girls. He crossed his arms and gave Hermione a sympathetic look as she punched Ron in the shoulder. The Durmstrang students marched in with spectacular fanfare and military precision and Viktor Krum followed behind with his headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.
"We have the privilege of sharing Hogwarts with our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," Professor McGonagall said. "Please feel welcome within our halls and join us for the feast." The two schools spread out evenly among the four houses and for the most part, the Bulgarians kept to themselves while the French, being the French, embraced each table partner with hugs and kisses. Harry was about to tuck in to his roast when Viktor Krum strode to his table and offered his hand. Harry rose to meet him while Ron seemed to turn to a statue across from him.
"Hello Mr. Potter," he said, shaking Harry's hand. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly after our last meeting. I needed to make sure my team vas alright after the commotion."
"No worries, Viktor," Harry said, feeling admittedly nervous. "Thanks for your help with all those death eaters."
"The pleasure vas mine. You could have taken them on your own. It is good to know that Hogwarts has people who can fight." Harry introduced Viktor to the others and he was very polite, but he gave off a very man of few words aura that kept all but Harry and Hermione bashful and insecure. When he left, Ron gasped as if he'd been holding his breath for the duration of the encounter.
The next morning, Harry got up at the wee hours of the morning and flew out the window in his animagus form, revelling in the crisp morning air whipping through his feathers. He landed near the lake and unshrunk his broom,which he'd taken to carrying around with him in miniature. Flying as an actual bird was all well and good, but nothing beat flying on a broom. After a few laps around the castle, he noticed he was being followed and landed in the school courtyard. Viktor Krum dismounted his broom and approached him, an amused, roguish grin on his face.
"Forgive me for interrupting you, but I did not think anyone else would be up at this hour." All of Viktor's Ws sounded like Vs and every word ending in "ing" sounded like "ink," but Harry hardly noticed it at all.
"No, it's fine. I didn't think anybody would be out here either. The flying is the best when nobody else is around." Viktor nodded thoughtfully and examined Harry's broom.
"I agree. I've never been a fan of crowds, but the curse of fame is that solitude becomes precious. You probably understand that better than most. That's a broom? Who made it?"
"Oh I did. I lost my nimbus to the whomping willow, so I figured I'd make a new one. I'm fairly small and the current models are just-"
"-too long or bulky for someone your size. I see the problem. Still, this is an interesting solution. The length is proportional to your height and the lack of bristles cuts down on drag. You play seeker then? This curve… I've never seen anything like it." Harry passed the broom to him and Viktor ran his hand down its length admiringly.
"May I?"
"Yes, of course!" Viktor passed Harry his own broom and both took to the skies. Viktor's broom was a bizarre shape, but Harry rode at a comfortable pace while Viktor sped on ahead, whooping as the broom kicked into its top speed. When he returned, he was out of breath and smiling, the hairs of his still developing beard quivering with excitement.
"It's a thing of beauty, Mr. Potter," Viktor said as he handed the broom back to Harry.
"I can make you one, if you like," Harry offered, smiling. "It's not robust enough for a professional game, but it's fun."
"Really? You'd make one for me? We've only just met."
"You did save my life. Besides, it will probably be useful to you in the tournament."
Viktor grinned wryly. "What makes you think I'll be chosen?"
"I saw you take down half a squad of grown death eaters."
"Ah, but you took down the other half. Don't you want to compete?"
"No," Harry said, rubbing the ghost of the injury on his shoulder from the basilisk bite from his second year, "my body's taken enough of a beating. I don't think there's any more space on my skin for any more scars. I'm hoping this year will be the one year I don't land in the hospital wing."
Grimacing, Viktor nodded thoughtfully, looking Harry up and down. "Forgive me, I made an assumption. I'd read, of course, about the attack last year and the basilisk the year before, but I didn't consider how serious the consequences were for you."
Harry shrugged. "Well, why do you want to compete?" Viktor snorted.
"I almost don't want to, if I'm honest. My school is here to represent Bulgaria as part of an effort to repair the damage our dark history dealt to the national reputation. All I really want to do is play quidditch, but I realize that a nation at war cannot possibly carry on silly games. This I must do to make sure I can continue to play quidditch."
Harry nodded sagely, not wanting to press on something that sounded like a deeply personal issue. They stayed outside until near breakfast time and walked to the Great Hall together. Just outside the door, Harry stopped walking.
"I'm not going anywhere near that cup," putting on a face that was only half scared. "If I'm even in the same room as the cup, I just know something will go wrong and I'll end up being a part of this bloody tournament." Viktor laughed, but his brows knitted together in concern despite himself. Harry waved Viktor into the hall where students were making all sort of noises as the older students dropped their names into the cup.
"I fully expect a good show from you, Viktor!" Watching him get swallowed by the crowd, Harry turned on his heel and went to find Dobby, who was sure to have breakfast ready.
Harry met with Snape for his first lesson of the year and he was surprised by a new book on the mind arts. Arching an eyebrow, Harry looked quizzically at Snape, who cleared his throat.
"I know you're a natural legilimens, but it occurred to me after our little field trip into your mind that you never received any formal training on the mind arts," Snape said taking a seat across from him and thumbing through the well worn pages of what looked like a book from his personal collection.
"You're getting older now and you're precisely halfway through your schooling. In addition to our regular lessons, we will be working on this. Read the first chapter and when you have finished reading, read it again." Harry had never thought to seek help with his occlumency, mainly because he'd learned everything he knew from Legion. He thought his shields were good, but thinking back on his first mental defeat at the hands of Tom's soul, he wondered what it would take to get as good as Tom was. Harry turned his attention to Snape, who probably held his own in front of Tom, and came to the revelation that the man was probably a master of the mind arts.
"You've been holding back, Professor," Harry said, cracking the book open. After a while, Snape cleared his throat again.
"How do you feel about this tournament, then?" Snape asked, scribbling a few notes down on an ingredient inventory log. His face was angled suspiciously down at his work.
"If you're wondering whether I'm fool enough to try to participate, I'm not," Harry replied, his face also remaining buried in his book.
"I wasn't accusing you, but now that you mention it," Snape began. Harry raised his head to look at him.
"I've had enough of getting hurt and almost dying. I'm staying the hell away from that cup. I haven't even been in the Great Hall all day. I'm not hurting for money since I have both my inheritance and the sale of that basilisk corpse and I'm not looking to become more famous. If I could, I would hide away on another continent until this all blows over." Snape considered Harry's words and bobbed his head, gesturing for Harry to go back to his reading.
Harry knocked on the worn wooden door to Professor McGonagall's office during his free period later that afternoon and went in when her lilting voice called for him.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said from her desk, which was strewn with what looked like logistics for food and accommodations for the visiting schools. "I'm so happy you could make it. Let's see that animagus, then." Grinning, Harry set down his bag, transfigured a nice perch for himself, and performed his transformation, flapping his enormous wings a few times before settling on his perch.
"Magnificent," McGonagall breathed, watching Harry's hooked beak, round green eyes, and white-crested forehead with great interest. "You're a harpy eagle, Harry. That's very rare. Most large raptors are exceedingly rare and you're larger than most of this species. Your coloration is unusual, but I can see that it's influenced by your natural features. Excellent, Harry. Reverse the transformation, please. Ah yes, very smooth. I'm pleased your traumatic incident didn't affect your animagus form."
"It's brilliant," Harry said breathlessly, flopping down onto his customary seat by the fireplace. "I know people say it's the best feeling in the world, but it's even better than the best feeling in the world." McGonagall sat next to him, bringing the teapot off of the fire and pouring both of them tea.
"Yes, and you, my star pupil, mastered it in under a year."
"You did say you'd eat your hat." McGonagall swatted him on the knee. She transfigured a hat from the table next to her into a biscuit and ate it, winking at Harry, who guffawed and almost choked on his own biscuit.
"That breaks so many rules. How did you do that? I thought you couldn't conjure food. I've summoned food before, but I've never made it."
"Well, I conjured a hat and I took the matter that I made the hat with from another biscuit. I knew you would call me out, so I had it ready." Harry laughed incredulously and spent the rest of his free period talking over his next lessons with McGonagall, who was also keen to ask him about his career plans.
"I think I want to be an auror," Harry said, bringing one knee to his chest and resting his chin on it contemplatively. "My parents did it and I like everybody in the department."
"My, you know every auror in the department already? You're quite good at networking." McGonagall chuckled.
"Well, they've all had to tail me at some point and they've all seen me bloody and unconscious. We were way past introductions by the time I was up and talking again. I really like Tonks and Dawlish. They're pretty cool. Dawlish said I'm practically recruited. I met another guy called Robards over the summer. Now that guy is the kind of smooth I want to be when I get older." The conversation stayed on this vein until McGonagall mentioned the tournament.
"It's a shame you can't compete. I have no doubt you could trounce any competitor from all three schools." McGonagall's tone was playful, but she watched Harry's reaction warily.
"No thank you," Harry said, shivering. "I've had enough excitement and injury for a lifetime. I'm staying the hell away from the Great Hall until this mess is over. You know, I spent breakfast and lunch in the Gryffindor common room because I don't feel comfortable being in the same room as that thing. I get this sinking feeling that being near it will somehow get me involved in this whole thing." McGonagall watched as he brought his other knee up to his chest and practically rolled into a ball on the armchair he was sitting on.
"I can see you're bothered," McGonagall said, transfiguring the tea table between them into a larger table. She snapped her fingers and a hearty spread of food appeared before them. "As your head of house, I will do everything in my power to make you feel more comfortable, starting with asking you to be my dinner guest."
"Don't you have to be at the feast?"
"Oh no, since the headmaster has returned, he's the only one who actually needs to attend for formality's sake." After sending an owl to Snape, they carried on talking for a while longer as they ate, but their conversation ended abruptly when Snape burst into the office.
"Minerva," he said, slightly out of breath. Snape's gaze snapped almost involuntarily to Harry and he knew something was wrong. The three of them rushed to the Great Hall, where all eyes seemed to be trained on the door. Harry could sense the negative emotions permeating through the room, though he couldn't tell who they belonged to. Jealousy, anger, spite, and rage all seemed to be directed at him. All he could see, however, was an incredulous Dumbledore standing next to the Goblet of Fire which sat innocuously on a dais in the middle of the room.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, gesturing for Harry to join him. "The cup has chosen you as the fourth champion of the tournament."
Harry took the parchment, which had his name scrawled on it in a hand that wasn't his own in his trembling fingers and he thought he might be sick. Without thinking much about it, he thrust the parchment back into Dumbledore's hands.
"I refuse," he said flatly. The adults standing near Dumbledore stared wide-eyed at him. Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff both looked ready to protest Harry's entry into the tournament, but were left speechless at Harry's reaction.
"Mr. Potter," Barty Crouch Sr. began, stepping forward to look Harry in the eye. "The goblet forms a magical contract with anyone who enters their name. Since you-"
"I didn't put my name in there," Harry snapped. Above the gathered crowd, the magical replica of the night's sky was suddenly filled with angry clouds.
"Even if you supposedly-" Crouch was cut off when thunder and lightning struck from above, giving Harry a chance to cut in.
"I didn't. Veritaserum me right now. I didn't put my name in that blasted cup." Harry's voice remained eerily calm.
"I can attest to Harry being in my office for most of the afternoon and early evening," McGonagall said, stepping forward and partially shielding him from Crouch. "He was present in all his classes and took his meals in the common room because he was avoiding the Great Hall. As his head of house, I assure you, he had no time to enter his name in the tournament."
"He was with me in the morning," Viktor Krum chimed in from his headmaster's side. "He told me the same, that he did not wish to be near the goblet and did not set foot in the hall." Barty Crouch Sr's rigid moustache quivered as his upper lip fought impulse to form a tight sneer and he looked ready to say something when Moody of all people also stepped up to defend Harry.
"I was watching the hall all night and day," he said. "I mounted my eye in the corner and I have a full record of who entered and exited the hall. Harry wasn't here to put the name in and aside from the students who tried today, nobody who couldn't have crossed that age line made it past. If someone else put his name in, the goblet would have spit it out, which means-"
"That the goblet was tampered with before it ever came to Hogwarts," McGonagall said, fury coloring her voice.
"Regardless," Crouch bellowed over the growing murmurs filling the room, "the contract has been made and if Mr. Potter refuses the appointment, he risks losing his magic." A heartbeat went by, then two, and then the sky above them erupted in more lightning that struck the goblet, sending it flying off the pedestal. Harry's blood roared in his ears and Legion began its rumblings. Calm, it said. Students scuttled away from it as more lightning struck. Dumbledore pulled out his wand, trying to quell the storm in the conjured clouds. Calm, Legion repeated. Two more strikes impacted the goblet, taking chunks out of the floor, but leaving the cup whole. CALM, Legion repeated deafeningly. Harry slowed his breathing, forcing himself to calm down before his cover was blown. Moody made a show of taming the ceiling again and looked Harry in the eye with a gaze that read, "pull yourself together, man."
"Clearly, I have no choice," Harry sighed, defeated. He raked a hand through his hair, trying his hardest to avoid the faces of his friends.
Turning to the crowd, Dumbledore said, "The cup has spoken. All students, please return to your dormitories."
The students, still shocked by the events of the evening, shuffled away. Harry allowed Moody to lead him to the back room behind the staff table. McGonagall and Snape left to attend to their houses, leaving Harry with the tournament committee, Moody, the other school heads, and the other Champions. He was only dimly aware that Cedric was among them. Once the door to the back room closed behind him, the other adults gathered around a desk in another room, discussing amongst themselves in angry whispers while the champions sat waiting by the fireplace just outside. Harry sat staring into the fire, trying to warm his hands. Long, slender fingers gently took his trembling hands and blue eyes full of sympathy met his.
"'Arry," the woman said, "I am Fleur. It is unfortunate that we are meeting this way and I am so sorry this is happening to you. Let me assure you that the other Beauxbatons students and I do not believe that you entered this tournament of your own free will. I know that I am still a stranger to you and that you might not want sympathy at a time like this, but I am here if you need someone to talk to." Harry focused hard on her accent, all the "th" sounds turning into Zs and every "H" turning into hard As.
"Harry," Cedric said, joining in, "I want you to know before you start hearing the prats out there spouting nonsense. I don't think you put your name in there either. You've been through so much crap the entire time I've known you, you couldn't possibly have asked for this. Anyone who believes otherwise doesn't know you." Viktor nodded his agreement stoically and clapped a manly hand to Harry's back. Moments later, the door to the back room burst open, admitting the Malfoys, Solicitor Lawson, and Sirius. Upon seeing Harry's pale face, Sirius ran to his side.
"Harry, we came as soon as we heard," Lucius said, taking off his heavy outer cloak.
"How-what?" Harry was still reeling and thought the people standing before him and Sirius's gentle touch on his cheek must be figments of his imagination.
"We got no less than three owls," Narcissa said, straightening her hair. The four of them were covered in floo powder and seemed to have come in a rush. Solicitor Lawson dusted herself off and said, "Draco sent us a slew of urgent messages. Don't worry about this, Harry, magical contract or no, I will make them pay." It was times like these that made Harry believe that lawyers could bring the world to an end. Lucius, Narcissa, and Lawson stalked into the other room and the door behind them clicked shut.
"Harry, you're shaking," Sirius said, massaging Harry's hands. The man looked much better since the last time Harry saw him. He looked like a new man, clean, groomed, and no longer starving.
"I'll be okay, I'm just," Harry paused and shook himself, trying hard to focus. A brick seemed to be bouncing from his heart to his gut and his limbs were heavy. Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor sat awkwardly nearby as shouting could be heard from the other room.
By the time Harry returned to the common room, he was exhausted. As the Fat Lady's portrait swung open, however, any hope he had of hiding behind his curtains and curling into a ball was dashed.
"Our champion returns!" the Weasley twins exclaimed, wasting no time in hoisting Harry onto their shoulders. Harry was consumed by a whirlwind of emotions in the room. Much to his surprise, his housemates seemed to be happy, elated even, that they had a champion in the tournament. He could not ignore, however, the undercurrent of jealousy that rolled off of every single person in the room. After a whole lot of unwilling celebration, Harry was at last allowed to flop face-first onto his bed.
"I don't know how it happened, Harry, and I don't care," Ron said, flopping down next to Harry. "You're going to win the hell out of that tournament for Gryffindor. You must be so stoked, mate."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, turning his head to look at his friend.
"Well aren't you? This is the chance of a lifetime!" Harry buried his face back into the blankets and groaned.
"I've had enough excitement for a lifetime, Ron," he said, rolling back over to stare at the canopy.
"Yeah, well, if it were me, I'd take this chance and run with it. You're so lucky. Night, mate!"
"Yeah, good night." Harry kicked off his shoes and shut his curtains, wanting to close his eyes and never open them again. His housemates were so proud, but the last thing he wanted was to participate in a tournament that was surely another attempt on his life. The next morning, he waited for Draco early outside of the Slytherin common room. When his friend finally emerged, the first thing he did was hug him.
"What was that for?" Draco asked, laughing, but failing to hide his concerned expression.
"You know very well what that was for, Draco Malfoy. You called for backup." Harry was feeling a lot calmer after the events of the night before, but he was unsettled at how helpless he felt until the Malfoys arrived.
"Yeah, well, unlike your Gryffindor friends, I can tell when you're bothered. You're not stupid enough to enter your name in a tournament like that and you would have told me about it. What did mother and father say to Crouch?" Draco and Harry walked companionably through the dungeons as they spoke.
"Well, your mum gave him what for and cited ministry negligence during the past three years and chastised him for bringing Dumbledore back on. Then, she kicked out everyone except ministry officials and tried to get me out of the tournament. No dice, of course, magical contract and all that, but Lawson managed to slap them with a lawsuit for endangering all students in the school with a tournament that could not be turned down." Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.
"What will you do now?"
"I'm going to try my best not to die, I suppose," Harry said, shrugging. "Moody said he'd tutor me." When the two of them finally made it to the Great Hall, Harry noticed that many Hufflepuff students were sneaking looks at him over their shoulders. Cedric saw him and ran to him, face looking forlorn.
"Harry, I'm so sorry," he said, trying to block the Hufflepuff table from view. "Justin and his gang made these awful pins people are wearing and I can't get them to take them off." Harry saw them and laughed.
"I'm surprised," he said, plastering a patronizing grin on his face to flash at Ernie Macmillan, who was trying to flash one of the unflattering buttons at him. "I don't recall Hogwarts being a primary school. I'm not surprised Justin came up with this ugly thing, though. The poor boy has no taste, right Draco?"
"It's rubbish. Who chose this color pairing? I can't believe anyone would walk around with that on their chest. Cedric, I'm more upset for you. Look at your poor face on that ugly button. You deserve better."
"I made these to support Cedric," Justin cried, rising from his seat at the table. Hannah Abbot and Ernie MacMillan rose to support him.
"You're not doing me any favors, Justin," Cedric said, ripping a pin off of a nearby first-year. "You're teaching our younger housemates unsportsmanlike conduct and I don't appreciate it. Harry's done nothing to deserve this. You ought to be ashamed."
"He cheated," Justin continued, "so that he could be in the tournament. Everyone knows it. How could you defend him? You're a disgrace to this house." A few students rallied behind Justin and someone tried to throw a pin at Cedric, which narrowly missed his head. Harry caught the pin and set it magically aflame in his hand.
"Hey Justin," Harry said, giving Draco a pointed look. On cue, the two of them flipped Justin the bird. "Come along, Cedric, we have better company for you to spend your morning with." Relieved that Harry wasn't upset, Cedric gathered his things and followed Harry to the Gryffindor table, where he was welcomed with raucous cheers.
"Oy Hufflepuff!" Dean Thomas shouted over the din, "You lot hazing your own champion? That's no way to treat someone representing Hogwarts, right?" A loud chorus of boos emanated from around the hall. "Cedric here understands. There aren't house lines this year because a win from either of these two gentlemen is a win for all of us. No worries, Gryffindor has enough love to go around for both of them. Consider yourself an honorary Gryffindor, Cedric."
Despite the display of camaraderie from his house, about half of the school and a few from the visiting schools agreed with Justin and Harry recieved hateful remarks all day. The worst part of it all, however, was Ron.
"You know, you could have told me," Ron said suddenly as Harry was readying an ingredient in potions.
"I told you, I didn't put my name in the goblet," Harry said, sighing.
"I know that's the official story, but come on," Ron said, almost in a whine, "everyone knows it would have been too much of a shame for you not to compete." When Harry didn't answer, he grumbled, "I bet you told Malfoy." Harry set down his paring knife.
"I don't favor Draco over you if that's what you're implying," Harry said, looking Ron in the eye. "You're both my friends just as much as Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and the others are, and for the last time, I didn't want to be in this stupid tournament. You think I like coming close to death?"
"No, I didn't mean anything by it, Harry," Ron said, pouting. Despite Ron's words, Harry could still feel the negative emotions rolling off of one of his dearest friends. He wanted to leave the potions classroom and hide, but he stayed, not wanting to make the tension worse. Hermione looked sympathetically to Harry from the next table and shrugged. The class was interrupted when Collin arrived to fetch Harry for an interview and the wand weighing ceremony.
"Hello, Rita," Harry said, smiling as Rita approached him.
"Harry, darling, how did you end up in this mess?" She was dressed in her customary green suit and pencil skirt combo. "Kid, you keep doing things like this, you'll end up dead before I can write another article about you and we can't have that. Look at you, the stress really must be taking a toll." She brushed nonexistent lint from his shoulder and petted him not unlike a dog groomer. Without much fanfare, Rita pulled Harry into a closet for an interview.
"So," she said, wetting the nib of her quill, "you're not stupid enough to enter this hot mess of a tournament. What happened?" Harry cast silencing charms on the room.
"The cup was tampered with at the ministry before it even got here," he said at last. "This whole tournament is another ploy to kill me. Dig up enough dirt and you could bring down Crouch."
"That's good enough for me, Harry," Rita said, grinning. "You know me, if there's anything to be found, I'll find it."
"Thanks, Rita. Listen, go easy on the other champions, alright? They're my friends."
"Oh, Harry, that's adorable. You didn't think I would stoop so low as to slander students? Thanks to you, I've turned over a new leaf. No more tabloid journalism for me." Despite her words, Viktor Krum came out of his own interview shivering.
"That woman is creepy," he said, all of the hairs on his face bristling. Harry was in line behind Fleur to get his wand weighed. It was a strange little ceremony and one that dragged old Ollivander out from his wand shop for the first time in decades. The little old man looked as old and frazzled as Harry remembered, little tufts of white hair growing from his ears and his clothes, though neat and well tailored, looking to be from the wrong era.
"Hello Harry, how could I ever forget you," he said when he had finished inspecting Fleur's wand. He took Harry's wand, looked it over sideways and lengthways and tutted.
"You've done a lot since I gave you this, haven't you? The wand is absolutely perfect, lad. Both you and your wand are in excellent shape." He handed the wand back with a wink and turned to pick up Viktor's gnarled wand. Ollivander let out a low whistle.
"Oh, a Gregorovich." He tutted again, laughing through his nose. "How is that old bat doing? Enjoying retirement?"
"Yes, I believe so. I have one of his last wands. He is the best, though I mean no disrespect." Ollivander waved his hands, gently placing the wand back in Viktor's grasp.
"No harm done, young man," he said. "We may have disagreed, but from wand maker to wand maker, we respect each other. I know just by looking that your wand is in tip top shape."
Harry had to agree. With the Sight, Harry could see a dark aura around the wand that was volatile, but powerful. His own wand and Cedric's, both Ollivanders wands, were tame by comparison, like the difference between a sword and a scalpel.
The next day, the Prophet yielded exactly what Harry was hoping he would find. Rita had done her work well, calling for a protest of the tournament. A full list of all participants who had passed as a result of the tournament was pasted on the front page, along with the headline "Politics More Important Than Lives?" The shock value was certainly effective. Harry handed his copy to Draco, who was reading over his shoulder, with a satisfied smirk at breakfast while Hermione seemed fit to glare a hole right through the page. The whole hall was abuzz with talk about the article and those who spoke out against Harry before now sat silent. Justin especially looked particularly downcast. Ron, however, scoffed and snatched the paper out of Hermione's hands.
"What rubbish," he said, looking from Harry to Hermione, a sneer plastered on his face. "Everyone knows Skeeter only writes rubbish. Who would believe this? It's obviously meant to discourage you from competing. Don't listen to any of it, Harry. You're going to win this tournament for sure."
"Are you daft, Weasley?" Draco said from behind Harry. He waved the paper in Ron's face. "Didn't you read it? Harry could die because of this stupid tournament and it's obviously another attempt on his life."
"Nonsense. The ministry came up with the tournament. Why can't you just let a good thing be a good thing?"
"It's not a good thing, you idiot. He could die!" Both boys were on their feet, looking fit to kill each other. Hermione grabbed Ron by the collar and yanked him down onto the bench. From Draco's other side, Pansy did much the same, dragging him back to the Slytherin table, muttering darkly as she went. "I can't leave you alone for one second, can I, Draco Malfoy? You think fighting will.." Pansy's voice was drowned out in the bustle of the Great Hall, but Harry did catch her winking at Hermione, who saluted in return.
Harry couldn't look at either of his friends. The air around him felt stagnant and heavy and he could feel eyes on him coming from all directions, making him unable to think much about food. Not wanting to face Ron, Draco, or anybody for that matter, he muttered an excuse and left the Great Hall. He didn't know where his feet were leading him, but he ended up standing in front of the Room of Requirement. He pushed the door open, only to find a massive room full of what Harry could only describe as junk. As the door swung shut behind him, Harry let his bag fall to the floor and started wandering through the junk. Most of the refuse was, well, refuse, but Harry saw a few boxes of misplaced wands, books, quills, and even stacks of furniture. At the top of the tallest teetering tower of lost things, Harry saw something that nearly made his heart stop. Treading carefully, he climbed atop an empty bookshelf and made his way slowly up to what looked like a rusty tiara. As his fingers grazed the rough metal, the junk under him gave out and he fell from the pile in a mudslide of misplaced things, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped protectively around himself. When he finally stopped, he opened his eyes. Relieved that he was unhurt, he looked down at the precious object cradled in his arms. It was a piece of Tom.
Harry knew the life force pulsing within the dingy tiara like the sight of an old friend. It was colored with the tinge of madness that all the other pieces were, but Harry could tell it was a younger piece of the soul. He dug the little toy soldier out from his back pocket, where he'd taken to keeping it and quickly anchored the soul to it. Satisfied the soul was safe, he directed his attention to the artifact in his hand. Familiar with most of the old stories about the founding of Hogwarts, Harry knew what he was holding. Smirking, he said, "Nerd."
The following Saturday, Harry took advantage of the Hogsmeade visit to have some time alone. He'd been slowly repairing the soul fragment he found in Ravenclaw's diadem, but it was difficult to do since all of his movements were being watched so closely. With the dormitory empty, he could assume his meditative position to achieve a higher degree of focus. Within an hour, the work was done and Tom's soul was clean and renewed. Harry made his way swiftly to Moody's office.
"Now I haven't been in school for a while," Moody said, taking a swig from his flask, "but I remember having to knock before entering a professor's classroom."
"I need to get a message to Tom," Harry said abruptly. Moody's eye jerked. "Don't worry, I've silenced the room and the hall outside. Nobody's going to hear anything we don't want them to."
"Okay then," Moody said, his eye still jerking warily about the room. "What would you like me to tell him?" Harry produced his toy soldier.
"Tell him I found another toy soldier. He'll know what it means. Please," Harry said, "it's important."
Later that evening, Harry met Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, treading softly through the grass at Hagrid's side.
"What was it you wanted to show me, Hagrid?" Harry whispered, wondering why Fang wasn't with them.
"Keep yer voice down," Hagrid said, looking warily around him. "You'll see. I was worried about you, so I- Oh hello Olympe." Harry took his leave swiftly to avoid detection as Hagrid spoke to Madame Maxime. He looked back at the pair and rolled his eyes. They seemed like an unconventional pair, but he supposed Hagrid had a romantic side to him. Harry made it to a clearing surrounded by ministry employees and large cages. Then, he saw what Hagrid meant to show him.
"Fuck," he said cursing as the air around him glowed a fiery orange. Did it have to be dragons?