KEYnote: The trace on apparition Harry didn't use to get directly to Hogwarts because then they would know where he is, and he's paranoid so he doesn't trust that they would all be allies. Which is why he lost them in London. Not totally rational, but he just died and he's been on the run for a year.

He can't use other magic in Privat Drive area without it being in the ministry's records. In London, the only thing they can track is apparition. From Dobby, we already know they can't tell who does the spells.

KEYnote: I want all animals to live. If you a sacrificing your animals in my honour, do so in worship. Lots of cuddles, pets, and treats.

Chapter 3 - Advance Warning

Harry had been living with Snape for three days. Three days that Snape had spent drinking, cussing, and picking his brain for any and all information.

The Crouch Jr. issue was solved because when Crouch Jr. showed up at Moody's place this time around, Moody managed to kill him.

Crouch Jr.'s death, and presumed escape from Azkaban, monopolized the news.

In his free time, Harry redid his summer work.

On the day before term, Snape 'dragged' him before Dumbledore, having 'found' him 'skulking' around Hogsmeade.

Dumbledore gave him disappointed eyes, and it was all Harry could do not to roll his own.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, "I'm very disappointed in you."

"Do you have any idea how worried we were about you!?" McGonagall almost yelled, Filtiwick nodded his support of this exclamation while Madame Pompfrey checked him over wordlessly with a truly impressive glower.

"Why, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "You know how many people could have taken the opportunity to hurt you."

Harry shrugged, "I decided I would rather fight than slowly starve to death, not have access to a bathroom or shower, or, you know, water at all. Hiking the Highlands, I can honestly say, is more pleasant than living with my relatives."

There was a long silence.

Then McGonagall spun on Dumbledore.

"I told you they were the worst sort, didn't I? Didn't I!?"

Harry stared at his Head of House. he had always known McGonagall was a badass,but until this moment, he hadn't realized that she cared about him that much.

At least, not enough to dress down Albus Dumbledore for him.

"Minerva-" Dumbledore tried to coax.

"No," McGonagall snapped, "I was James's godmother. Harry should have always gone to me. And next summer he will. Harry is my ward, my adoptive son, and that is not up for discussion."

Harry felt his heart swell, blinking back tears, he couldn't help smiling up at McGonagall, "Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall turned a scowl on him, but her eyes softened, "I expect you to take your studies more seriously this year, young man."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry said with a grin. This was a promise easily kept, seeing as he had already done all of this year's curriculum before.

"How did you get through the school grounds undetected?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"He didn't," Snape growled.

"I walked through the Forbidden Forest," Harry said pleasantly.

They all, including Dumbledore, with the exception of Snape, stared at him in shock.

Snape looked like he wanted another drink. Harry was, weirdly, growing to like the dour man.

"You went through the Forbidden Forest?" Pomfrey asked.

Harry raised his brows, "I know where the Acromantula are, and if you leave the Centaurs alone there isn't much else in there that would really hurt you."

They all continued to stare.

Snape drawled, "Shall we inform the Ministry now that we found him?"

That seemed to sum up the meeting. Harry spent the next night in his own bed in Gryffindor Tower, and though he would never admit it out loud, he almost missed Professor Snape's presence.

Because Snape was the only person who knew as well as Harry how screwed they all were.

"Mr. Potter, how did you apparate to London?" Flitwick asked.

"Oh, that?" Harry shrugged. "I learned how to do that when I was eight."

"How?" McGonagall asked, startled.

"I was running away from my cousin's gang. They cornered me behind the school. Next thing I know I'm on the roof. I tried it again when I figured the Ministry would be after me again. Felt a bit sick afterward, so I took a train and hiked the rest of the way home. Since, Fudge found me when I took the Knight Bus last summer."

"You could have splinched yourself," McGonagall said seriously.

"I don't know what that is," Harry lied. "But I didn't."

"Potters," Snape growled.

They let Harry go after that.

Hermione squeezed the stuffing out of Harry at dinner the next day. He had sent her a letter the night before to assure her he was in fact all right. She told him off, of course, but after the Sorting everything seemed to go back to normal.

He didn't tell her or Ron about the time travelling because he wanted to soak up the time he had to be normal. For a time, he could pretend everything was alright and Voldemort wasn't back. His only admission that things were indeed quite dire was his studying habits.

McGonagall wanted him to improve in his studies, well, Harry took it upon himself to master the fourth year material. It was quite gratifying when he was able to help Hermione through some of the practical aspects of his work.

Ron was put off by Harry's new 'hobby', but as Harry finished his homework more quickly, he had more time to play chess with Ron.

Though, despite being three years older, Ron still kicked his ass in chess.

'The Absurd Adventures of the Boy Who Lived' cycled out of the main gossip the day before Halloween.

It didn't seem to matter that there was so much new happening, Ron and Hermione were bickering -as always.

Harry was just happy at the thought that the spotlight would be off him for a while. The Triwizard Tournament was bound to hold most people's attention over whatever made up rumours about the 'Boy Who Lived' were cycling around.

At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

Harry lifted the plate before turning around. Shifting in his seat, he handed it to the girl who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech.

"Are you sure you are done with it?" she asked.

Her voice was the first thing Harry noticed about her.

He nodded, "There is always more food at these feasts than anyone could eat, anyway."

She smiled, her deep blue eyes catching the light, they were the darkest blue Harry had ever seen. It was then he placed her younger face as Fleur, Bill's wife.

But this was before she had met the Weasleys and been forced to deal with her in-laws.

"Merci," she said before turning to return to her seat at the Ravenclaw table.

When Harry rejoined the conversation he found everyone -excluding Hermione, to be staring at him oddly.

Ron's face was purple.

"What?" Harry asked, praying Ron wasn't about to stuff his foot in his mouth.

"She's a Veela," Ron said exasperated. The others at the table nodded but turned back to their food.

Hermione scoffed, "No, she isn't."

"Look around, Hermione! Harry is the only one who acted like his normal oblivious self."

"Oi!" Fred said, leaning forward so he could see down the table. "Who's calling Harry oblivious?"

"It can't possibly be our idiot little brother, could it be, Fred?" George asked rhetorically. "That's too big of an irony to be conceived."

The twins laughed at their own joke as Ron scowled at them both.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Fleur. She at long silvery blonde hair that fell to her waist and a lean form that made him think she would be a good flyer. Although it was true that she was beautiful.

Harry shook his head, he didn't envy Fleur at all.

Harry woke from a nightmare. He had been walking to his death and Voldemort had tilted his head a little to the side, considering him like a cat thinking of the best way to dissect its prey.

Green light swept over him, and Harry woke up panting, dripping in sweat.

He took a cold shower but it wasn't enough to simply wait until sunrise. He slipped out into the hall with some books and a potion's essay he needed to rewrite to Snape's seventh year standards. He would wait outside the library that opened in an hour and a half. Sure, he could still get caught for being out at curfew, but typically even the professors on duty were less likely to penalize an early start to the library of all places.

To kill some time he decided to get some breakfast, or at least a cup of hot cider from the kitchens before heading back up to the third floor.

Harry was so absorbed in his phantom nightmares that he didn't notice Peeves stalking him.

He did, however, notice being tripped and landing on face first, his books and parchment scattering. Harry hissed as he rose to collect his things. Peeves hackling wildly as scattered his essay about the hall.

"Ha ha," Harry muttered, "very funny."

He looked up sharply as he heard a ripping sound.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Going to enter you into the Goblet, Potty Wee Potter."

Harry paled, abandoning his books as he reached for his wand, "No! Peeves, please!-"

But Peeves had already taken off around the corner, Harry running frantically after him.

Harry watched in horror as the strip taken from his own essay, just as Crouch Jr. had likely done, was dropped into the Goblet of Fire.

His spell was too slow to stop Peeves, but it was still gratifying to watch Peeves freeze up and drop to the floor as the Goblet flared in blue flames accepting Harry's name.

Harry had very little hope that his name wouldn't be chosen tonight.

One, because it was fucking Halloween and nothing good ever happened on Halloween for him, and two, why wouldn't the Goblet of Fire pick the student that had already won the Triwizard tournament.

He left Peeves frozen and speechless on the floor of the entrance hall, within the age circle of the Goblet as testament for the professors to find and maybe believe him this time when he said he didn't put the name in the bloody competition.

Harry collected his book and climbed the steps to the third floor, praying that he might be wrong about his luck.

00000000000000000000000000000000000

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione asked at the feast that night as he stabbed his slice of pie with his spoon.

Harry hated this, and he hated Peeves who had put his name into the Goblet of Fire. He had warned Snape who merely sighed, then said, "You better win this time around. I don't want Hogwarts to lose to the French."

It was safe to say that while Harry and Snape no longer hated each other, their working relationship in this war could be described as a bit prickally.

"And for Hogwarts," Albus announced grandly. "H-arry Potter?" The Headmaster's voice stumbled and he turned a glare onto Harry. As did everyone else. Well aside from the foreign students who were all sharing the same thought.

A fourth year? He's dead, some whispered.

Harry sighed, not even slightly surprised.

Albus's face went cold, "It is your name that came from the Goblet, Harry."

"Peeves put my name in the Goblet, Professor," Harry said just as coldly, thinking about how very much he hated Halloween and how much he wanted to strangle a certain poltergeist.

"Did you instruct him to?" Albus asked.

Harry glared, "Of course not, he ripped up my potions essay up for my signature."

Dumbledore gazed down at him, doubtless knowing that Peeves had indeed been found stunned within the ageline.

Everyone looked at the poltergeist in question who was sitting on one of the chandeliers. Peeves said petinatainly, "How was I supposed to know the cup would consider him the best of the Hogwarts candidates. He only survived the Killing Curse because of whatever his parents did, not because he's special."

Harry half liked the annoying spirit just for that, for giving the credit to where credit was due; his mother.

But almost didn't change the fact that Harry had to risk his life, again, in this stupid tournement.

The rest of the room seemed too still, as if it were finally sinking in that this was a fourth year about to go into a tournament that had claimed lives before. Sure, it might be Harry Potter, but, let's be honest, how often in the last three years had Harry spent in the hospital wing?

Albus sighed, "If you don't compete, Harry, then you will lose your magic, such is the power of the Goblet of Fire."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. With Voldemort still out there, losing his magic would be an automatic death sentence.

Hermione squeezed his hand.

Harry's shoulders slumped. People got out of his way, no one cheered as Harry walked to the champion's room. He walked as a condemned man to the gallows.

"Looks like Hogwarts doesn't even have a chance at the cup, thanks, Potter."

Harry didn't know who had said it, but it didn't matter. He had won once, he could damn well do it again.

His only fear was that if Voldemort wanted to kill rather than use him as an ingredient for his ritual, the Tournament might provide endless opportunities for assination.

Fleur hadn't expected any specific student from Hogwarts, they were all strangers to her after all, but perhaps who she hadn't expected was the green eyed boy she met that first night.

"He's just a little boy," she heard herself saying.

His green eyes met hers and just like that first night, he didn't react to her the way almost every other boy did.

He looked tired, achingly so, but his words were sharp, "Old enough to be considered for this tournament."

"Nevertheless the Goblet chose him," one of the ministry men said, "The age line was put around the Goblet of Fire, not on the Goblet itself. If it chose Potter then Potter was the best suited out of the Hogwarts students."

Harry scoffed but didn't voice a complaint, all the adults ignored him. Fleur and Viktor exchanged a look. Where was the glory in beating a kid?

But then Fleur processed what the man said, "Wait, did you say, Potter? As in Harry Potter?"

"That's right," the man said proudly, "Harry Potter." He said it almost possessively as if Harry were some national treasure and not a terrified boy who might lose his life in a game he had no business participating in.

The raven haired boy rolled his eyes, "Yeah, the Great Boy Who Lived. The guy who's famous for causing the death of everyone around him on old Hallow's Eve."

There was such bitterness in his voice Fleur almost flinched. She knew the story, everyone did. After all, there was exactly one person who had survived the killing curse, and the story of a baby taking out a dark lord was quite fantastical. But looking at the legend in the flesh, she couldn't help but acknowledge that while the story was amazing, the boy who had lost both his parents probably wasn't awed by it.

How would it feel? She wondered, How would it feel to be constantly reminded that your parents were dead and be famous for the night they died?

The adults in the room talked on while Fleur and Viktor watched Harry.

He said nothing in his defense. Not when the professors yelled at him, accused him of wrongdoing, talked down to him, talked over him. It was like he wasn't there. But of course he was, and he would be at the mercy of whatever decision was made without him.

Fleur looked towards the Durmstrang Champion, and he was already looking at her. He met her gaze and gave a discreet nod. They might be competitors but they weren't about to let an innocent lose his life, not like everyone else in the room seemed all too willing to allow.

"How could you not tell me?" Ron asked Harry as they were going up the steps.

Harry didn't bother to answer, Ron would get angry, give him the silent treatment then move on.

Ron shook his head, "How could you not tell me you put your name in the Goblet?"

Harry glared at his best friend, "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, Ron."

"Sure, whatever. But you might act like the innocent victim but somehow you always get to play the famous hero, don't you?"

Harry's shoulders stiffened.

He had died for Ron, for every person in this castle, for the future of the Wizarding World; he had walked to his own execution, sacrificed his every happiness, and here was his friend saying he did it all for fame as opposed to dying for their very lives.

But Ron didn't know that, he was still a kid. So he met Ron's angry gaze, "I never wanted to be famous. I never wanted eternal glory, I just don't want the people I care for to die." He couldn't finish what he had intended to say; I don't want to die.

Because for some reason, that statement made him feel as guilty as the idea of wanting glory. He was Harry Potter, and though he was called the Boy Who Lived, it was not his fate that he would be allowed such a luxury.

In wanting to live, he had brought Voldemort back to power. When next they met, Harry would be sure to take the bastard down with him, and to make death stick.

Ron was staring at him, wordlessly as if he didn't know what to say.

Harry turned from him and was immediately swallowed by the roaring of the Gryffindor common room.

Ron made a disgusted sound, his ire renewed. He stomped off, able to escape the crowd while Harry was swallowed by the full-fledged celebration.

All he wanted to do was curl up in bed. But him getting what he wanted was a snow ball's chance in June.

As the weeks passed, people finally began to leave Harry alone even if they kept whispering behind his back. Some Gryffindors gave him well meaning advice and professors pitied him. Aside from being left alone, nothing helped. Well except for Hermione.

Hermione and Harry had the most rigorous study schedule out of anyone in the school.

Hermione didn't know what the task would involve, and Harry didn't tell her. He needed an excuse for advancing as far as he had in the three years he had travelled back in time.

Luckily, Hermione was in high heaven, especially as Harry was actively studying with her and not making her do the hardest lifting. He was even able to help her out through spells.

And just to prove to the professors, aside from Snape who was assigning him near impossible essays, Harry ate with a book in front of him. He stayed in the common room until midnight, relearning what he already knew and filling in the gaps of his theoretical knowledge that he had skipped last time around. Homework was easy, but the extra spells he was forcing himself to master, spells that weren't purely for defense, were actually challenging.

He had fallen behind in so many ways in a lot of his studies. He had the power to do anything assigned to him, but he had allowed every distraction to take him away from his studies. Which, unfairly, had put too much pressure on Hermione to save them.

Hermione's screams from Malfoy Manor still haunted him, and swore that he would never allow her to come to such harm again.

Never.

When the weather was good, Harry convinced Hermione to abandon her book to spare by the lake. Once she started enjoying their 'practical' spell casting, he showed her the room of requirement that he had 'found.'

The Weasley twins took to helping them out. It was indescribably wonderful to see them both alive and together. Somehow, it seemed crueller to kill one twin than not both. Practicing with them and Hermione brought back bittersweet memories. But the good thing about these three was that he didn't have to pretend to be less than he was.

As much as the twins joked around, they had a type of maturity that very few people ever acquired and Hermione had always had wisdom beyond her years.

Between studying and practicing magic with them, Harry was able to let go of some of the grief that even the magic of time travel couldn't erase from his heart.

One week before the first task, however, Harry felt immense guilt when Hagrid, who outside of Magical Creatures he had not visited once, sent him a note via Hedwig.

Knowing Maxime would tell Fleur, Harry felt it would be unsporting if Viktor didn't get the know somehow either.

Harry had the decided advantage, seeing as he had already faced the tasks before.

With this in mind, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak, concealing him as he snuck into the Durmstrang 'dorms.' Getting onto the boat wasn't that hard, finding Viktor was another task altogether. Eventually, Harry thought to use the point me charm. Which led him to the back of the boat and down two hallways.

When he came to a door that was identical to three of the surrounding doors he knocked, trusting his wand.

Viktor opened the door a moment later with his typical stoic expression.

"Who's there?" he asked in heavily accented English, drawing his wand.

Harry poked his head out from the cloak.

Viktor just managed to keep from hexing him.

"Potter?"

"It's about the task," Harry said in a hushed voice, "I have news."

Viktor stared down at him from his strong features and dark eyes for a long moment before pushing open his door, inviting Harry in.

Harry walked in and took off his cloak once Viktor shut the door. The room was quite spacious with large windows overlooking the lake.

Harry didn't waste time on idle chatter. "Dragons," he said simply. "The first task is dragons."

Viktor's eyes widened but beyond that, he showed no other outward sign of emotion.

Harry went on, "I don't think we have to fight them but we do have to get by them. Oh, and as an added threat they are all mother dragons."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, "Why tell me 'this?"

"Because," Harry answered, making direct eye contact. "I'm not the only one who could die here."

"Why not tell the Beauxbaton girl?"

"Her Headmistress knows, so I would imagine Fleur Delacour will know by the end of the night."

Viktor took in a deep breath, "No guts, no glory."

Harry almost laughed, but said, "I have enough glory and I would rather not be gutted."

"I meant, if it wasn't dangerous it wouldn't be an accomplishment," Victor explained.

"Well speaking as someone who was almost killed by a basilisk once, I would rather leave the dragons alone. It seems smarter."

Viktor gave Harry a sharp look, "A basilisk? They don't exist."

Harry smiled, "This is Hogwarts, my friend, many things that shouldn't exist, do."

Viktor looked as if he was getting the distinct feeling that 'Harry Potter' was a bit of a nutter. But then Viktor Krum was one of the youngest Seekers and Quidditch was not the safest game.

The Durmstrang student finally asked, "You would call me friend?"

Harry shrugged, "Why not? I care more about surviving than winning this tournament."

Viktor nodded, "Fleur and I have been training together."

Harry's eyes widened and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "I thought you guys would be enemies."

"Our professors don't know, but as you said, survival is more important than winning."

"Can't win if you're dead," Harry agreed.

Viktor flashed him a grin, "We thought of including you, but you are watched quite closely. But you should join us."

Harry hesitated for a moment, "Only if Hermione can join too."

Colour seemed to rise to Viktor's cheeks, he coughed to clear his throat before he spoke, "Acceptable, she seems to be a brilliant witch."

Harry smiled again, knowing all too well of Viktor's crush on his best friend, "She is."

"You had better leave before the dock is closed for the night," Viktor warned, scowling at him a bit.

Harry turned to leave, but on his way out he caught sight of Viktor's broom. He threw offhandedly over his shoulder, "We should go flying someday too, I bet the two of us could out fly dragons."

Viktor frowned at the idea, he glanced at his broom, ideas turning over themselves.

Harry smiled inwardly, it seemed unfair to cheat as much as he had, so giving up his idea the first time around seemed fair. Besides, he had another idea this go around.

AN: Review pretty please?