AN: Thank you, Sectumus Prince and BlackPhoenixI, please read their works, they are both fantastic.

ALSO: I updated Significant Brain Damage, it has two major chapters left and I would really appreciate a bit more feedback outside of 'poor Sabe' before completing that story.

Chapter 4 - An Excellent Start

Hermione was a bubble of happy energy. "Do you think they are super advanced? I wonder if they offer any classes we don't? How many languages do you imagine they speak? Do you think their Wizarding culture is different from ours? I've read mentions of the other schools, of course. but I never found any good books about them. I should have looked harder. Oh, I wonder-"

Harry smiled and pointed at the door, "We are meeting here."

"Do I look alright?"

He nodded, "You always do, except maybe during finals' weeks."

She blushed but grinned at him, "Well let's go make friends and learn something."

Hermione squared her shoulders and walked through the door Harry opened for her.

Fleur decided that she needed to abandon all expectations when it came to Harry, and even Hermione Granger for that matter. They were both mature for their age. Hermione had a tendency to babble but she was extraordinarily intelligent. Her wand work was exceptional and her ability to process instructions was almost frightening.

Viktor, who wore Veela charms that not only rendered her allure ineffective but would make her appear repelling to him, seemed very impressed with Ms. Granger. While her hair was distracting, Fleur could see that Hermione was quite pretty in her own right. She wondered if she should warn Harry that his girlfriend might be pursued by another boy.

Harry was like no one Fleur had ever encountered before. He was polite, soft spoken, almost shy, and had enough power to turn their practice dummy into powdered dust with a single Reducto.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking at the pile on the floor.

Fleur and Viktor exchanged a look, perhaps the Goblet had known more than the rest of them.

"No need to apologize," Fleur said, hating how the English words flowed. English was a frustrating language, with some recognizable words from French, the sounds were more awkward. She knew she must sound like a fool when she spoke here. The only thing worse than being a pretty face, was being pretty and dumb.

Viktor nodded and from a piece of wood he pulled from his pocket, he transfigured another training doll.

Hermione vanished the pile of dust and their training continued. They traded spells and battle tricks. Harry's addition to their training party turned out to be more helpful for them than the other way around it seemed. His understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts spells was intimidating. And the sheer variety of spells Hermione knew was practically humbling.

But Fleur and Viktor had Hermione and him both beat in Transfiguration. Which seemed more due to their age than anything they weren't capable of doing.

As they were competitors they did not discuss specific plans but they did mention things that would be useful against dragons. Starting with the details they found about each type of dragon they had identified.

"So basically," Hermione summarized at the end of their meeting. "Short of a seasoned team of dragonologists you three are in an incredible amount of danger no matter what you do."

"Oui," Fleur said, "But I suppose that's the point of the task."

Harry frowned at the book in front of him, "Why did they have to pick mother dragons? I bet we will have to get something close to the eggs, which means the eggs will be in danger."

"Are you honestly afraid for the baby dragons?" Viktor asked.

"The dragons don't want to be in this game any more than I do," Harry said earnestly, "The eggs just seem cruel. Who wants the chance of dying before they even get to breathe in a single breath of fresh air?"

On one hand, Fleur thought that was very sweet, on the other, "Be careful not to worry for the dragons more than yourself."

"Well, I think Harry is right to be concerned," Hermione said, turning up her chin, "And I think it is cruel to put the dragons into a game and I think that all three of you should come up with plans that keep the eggs safe."

"And ourselves," Fleur said under her breath to Viktor.

But Viktor only had eyes for Ms. Granger. Fleur knew from the years after she turned thirteen from having boys direct that look at her what Viktor Krum might do to impress a pretty, clever girl like Hermione Granger.

Fleur just hoped it wouldn't get him or poor Harry killed.

"I predict-"

Death, Harry thought, completing Professor Trelawney's 'prediction' boredly in his mind. This class wasn't nearly as much fun without Ron to goof off with.

"Death," Trelawney ranted on.

Harry was staring out a dirty window, thinking he should quit this class the way Hermione had.

"Oh, my boy! My poor, poor boy!" she shrieked.

He winced, he hated being called 'boy'. He glared at the professor, not in the mood for her attention.

Lavender was almost in tears.

Harry rolled his eyes which made the professor try harder.

"Fire," Trelawny moaned, "Fire my dear boy, I see fire, and by fire you shall-"

"Enough!" Harry shouted, standing, fists balled at his sides, "I'm sick of you telling me I'm going to die!"

He knew death, he didn't fear it, but he didn't enjoy being reminded of it constantly. He was also so sick of people telling him to fear it. Death was personal and none of their damn business.

A few people's mouths were open but Harry didn't stop there, "I am going to die, just like you and everybody else in this room is eventually going to die! But unlike you all who seem to get such entertainment from my life, I'm the one everyone seems to want to kill. So go ahead, predict my death, eventually, you're bound to be right, aren't you? I mean the odds are in your favour, you know if you're hoping for me to kick it."

He could make his own predictions, after all, he was from the future.

The room was speechless, staring at him in fascinated horror.

"My dear boy, I'm only trying to prepare yo-" Trelawny began.

But Harry was done. Done with her, done with his classmates gawking at him, and done with Ron averting his eyes around him. Harry was risking his life because the adults couldn't figure out a way to prevent another assassination attempt, this time by a fucking poltigiest.

Harry grabbed his bag and left the tower, tuning out Trelawny calls to return.

If Harry ended up getting maimed this time around, he was personally going to send Peeves to the next life.

Honestly, his near death experiences from this point in time were ridiculous. His broomstick in the first year, a troll, unicorn searching in the Forbidden Forest, the Stone, Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head, a house elf (and oh, hey, another friend who was alive again), a basilisk, giant spiders, Wormtail, dementors, werewolves, an army of dementors- the list just kept going on and on. Then the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry would not call his luck good, but then he did keep surviving, even the Killing Curse, again.

But what he had said had been true, the odds were against him, and the more chances there were to kill him the more likely someone was to succeed.

Would he die from dragon fire this time around?

Would he die because of some unforeseen trap Voldemort had laid out for him?

Or would someone pick him off quietly behind the stands when nobody was around to see? Hogwarts, after all, was not the haven he had been led to believe it was.

All this and more flooded Harry's mind as he went in search of his Head of House.

Minerva's sixth year class was quietly taking a test. Remarkable really, that any class with the Weasley twins -her favourite students though she would croak before admitting such to anyone, could maintain quiet for a prolonged period of time.

Thinking of her favourite students she couldn't help thinking of Sirius and James, followed by Hermione and Harry.

She wondered what James would say if he heard that his son had been entered into the Triwizard Tournament?

Minerva imagined he would have been horrified but secretly proud.

Albus had reconnected her to Sirius. On this issue, Sirius had been conflicted. Both worried for his godson's safety and were a little awed that James's son was the Hogwarts Triwizard Champion. In Minerva's opinion, it was a mark against the man's mental state that he sometimes confused Harry and James.

It was as if a part of Sirius was still trapped in his early twenties when escaping death's clutches was just another part of the game, another part of normal life.

Of course, Sirius was a Black, and having taught two generations worth of Blacks, Minerva knew better than most what that family was. She only had her suspicions of what secrets that family had guarded, what that 'family' might have done to their own to keep them in line.

Minerva was still furious with Albus and herself because they had left Harry with those people.

Harry was such a polite and well centred young man, it was hard to imagine he had been through anything to what Sirius had experienced. Hard, but there had been more signs that she hadn't let herself look at too closely.

She regretted that now.

The first time she had called him in to meet Wood, Harry had looked at her with eyes filled with such fear. Not fear that she might expel him, no, fear that she might physically harm him.

She never wanted any student to look at her again with such- such resigned panic, as if he would have stood there and taken any harm she dealt him with a stiff lip. A look that she had seen again when his name was called for the Goblet.

As if suffering and pain were a given.

Had James been alive he wouldn't have stood for it. Lily… Lily would have blown the roof off of Albus's office.

Minerva had tried to talk Albus into finding a way to let Harry free from the Goblet's contract, but Albus had been adamant that there was no way without risking not only Harry's magic, but the other champions' magic as well.

To be born without magic was one thing, but to have it taken away… it would be like losing all your limbs at once. And for Harry, it would certainly mean his death. Maybe not in his younger years, but eventually, he had far too many enemies to be defenceless.

As if the thought had conjured him, the classroom door creaked open. It wasn't terribly loud but enough so that a few people looked up. Harry's face flushed when he realized there was a class in session but Minerva caught his eye and waved him in. She was so relieved that she would be the one to protect him over the summers from no own. Perhaps, she might even earn his trust enough for him to lean on her a little.

She had foolishly dismissed him in his first year, but she never imagined children would go through the safeguards for the philosopher's stone.

Closing the door quickly as he was able behind him, Harry made his way to her desk.

She didn't have to ask the question aloud, she merely arched an eyebrow.

A look of defiance crossed Harry's face, making him look more like his mother in that moment than James. "I am dropping Divinations. It's a useless class," he whispered.

Only the first row could have heard him.

Minerva wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment, however, "Electives are required, Mr. Potter." Her own voice wasn't quite a whisper but it did not carry fully across the room. Still, more students looked up in curiosity. "Five more minutes," she called, causing everyone -excluding the twins, to turn back to their papers in earnest. The sound of quills scratching parchment was louder than Harry's next words.

"Then put me in another class," he said.

"You will be behind in any class I put you in."

"Then put me in with the third years."

"You will not be able to pass your OWLs if you are a year behind."

"Then I fail an elective test, not the end of the world," he said, a most un-Lily like statement.

Although Minerva was loathed to admit failing any class was dismissible, Harry was right, it wasn't the end of the world. Besides, they were talking about Divinations.

"Why do you want to leave Divinations so badly?" she asked, curious as to the breaking point with Trewlawny, he had put up with her for more than a year.

"You mean aside from not learning a blo- not learning anything at all? I am sick of hearing and creating ways for myself and the people around me to die. I would rather listen to Centaur poetry than looking into my cup for imagined shapes in my tea leaves."

Minerva gazed at him, there was a slight trembling in his shoulders, "What did she say today to upset you so, if this is such a regular occurrence?"

He took in a deep breath, and his shoulders steadied. His next words were clipped, "I've been having nightmares of late."

Minerva nodded and said, "Detention then Mr. Potter." She said it for the whole class to hear, "For every day you refuse to go to your Divinations class, you will have detention with me." She handed him a spare book of the sixth year Transfiguration textbook before addressing the class once more, "Quills up. Now we will be working on conjuring spells. -Have a seat, Mr. Potter, I don't expect you to keep up but I do expect you to pay attention."

Harry went over to sit with the twins who grinned at him. And though Minerva's face didn't show it, she felt like grinning too. The scheduling being what it was, she would now see Mr. Potter four days a week in her class. Separated from his usual friends he might just rise to the occasion. Though she admitted he had been doing much better this term. His essays were even legible.

Some might call it special treatment but not many would envy Harry the sixth year homework -excluding Hermione Granger, or the prospect of repeating the class if he never returned to Divinations.

But then who could say what the future held? At least with any certainty.

"So you are taking advanced Transfiguration?" Hermione asked for the dozenth time.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry said with an exaggerated sigh, but he was too happy to be truly annoyed. Sure, it was still a repeat class, but he hadn't mastered any of his sixth year spells in McGonagall's class. As in, he could perform them, but not to the level that Hermione had managed.

The twins, if it were even possible, were more fun in class. Harry had always known they were far smarter than anyone gave them credit for. It was also nice to be in a class that was closer to his age group.

That had been an unexpected bonus to sparring with Fleur and Viktor.

Harry didn't try to hold back in Transfiguration, after all, if he was supposed to be Voldemort's equal, he thought he could afford to be a little extraordinary without giving himself away.

"I wonder if Prof-" Hermione started.

"Don't even ask. McGonagall told me after class to tell you the answer is no. For me, it is technically detention and besides even if I do- which I will, complete and/or pass this class I'll still have to retake it in my sixth year. Can you imagine how bored you would be if you had to learn a whole year twice?"

Hermione deflated a little at that, "Won't you be bored?"

Harry shrugged and answered truthfully, "I don't think I would mind the extra practice, I think I'm always going to be behind and I think the second time around I would like to focus on more detailed work like you can do. My stuff is always pretty bare, and only functional if I'm lucky. Besides, McGonagall said I would have to use different writing prompts for all my essays. So it wouldn't be such a waste of time for me."

Hermione bristled, "Implying I would waste my time going above my year?"

"No, I'm saying for someone who eats textbooks and goes the extra steps in every direction there isn't a prompt you wouldn't have an answer to. I learn from researching for essays, you, well, you study so well that I think you should be writing the prompts," Harry said, dodging a ghost as they weaved their way through the crowd to the Great Hall.

"You really think so?"

"I know so, anyway Hermione, didn't we learn last year that you have quite enough classes to be getting on with?"

She smiled at him, "Guess you're right, but when sixth year comes around you will be the one helping me with my homework."

Harry smiled back and was about to respond when a rather tacky dressed witch grabbed him by the arm, her long pink nails digging into his arm.

"There you are," she said, her voice sticky sweet, "I need," she batted her long false eyelashes, "to talk to the Hogwarts Champion, about the Triwizard Tournament," and as if realizing she hadn't introduced herself she added in a purr, "I'm Rita Skeeter, I work for the Daily Prophet."

She made his skin cruel and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her, he also knew how to get out of this. He simply pretended she didn't exist and didn't offer her a single word to twist.

"Our picture is being taken outside," a welcomed accented voice said from behind him.

Harry twisted free from Skeeter's clawing grasp and turned to look at Fleur with nothing but relief in his heart.

He was thankful for the extra help in diverting Skeeter. But Harry's smile grew when he saw who Fleur was with. Gabriel seemed smaller than Harry remembered now that he was even older. Fleur was talking to her little sister in French, before turning back to Harry and introducing Gabriel to him and Hermione.

"It is an honour to meet you," Harry said genuinely.

Gabrielle flushed and murmured the greeting back.

Harry felt a sharp pang in his heart as he saw the Weasleys, Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Charlie, there waiting for him. Smiling, and though worried for him, they happy to him. They hadn't lost a son and a brother yet, the war was still young.

He cherished this, more than they would ever know. Also present was a man he did not know. He was a big man; as in tall, broad shouldered, and visible biceps under his plaid long sleeve shirt. His hair was black, streaked with silver, and his features were sharp, he would have been incredibly handsome had his largish nose not been broken and healed crooked. But despite his intimidating build, when Harry met the man's eyes he was instantly put at ease.

"Harry," McGonagall said, dropping his surname, "This is my brother, Malcolm McGonagall."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry," the man said warmly.

Harry decided he liked this man, and he didn't often have that

"We will be spending the summers with him," Professor McGonagall said.

"My sister lives at the school so much of the year that she simply keeps a room at my place," Mr. McGonagall said.

"What do you do?" Harry asked.

"I am a Metal-Charmer, blacksmith, and not a half bad jeweller. I am one of the few people who come to when they want metal objects charmed by government standards. I have a big business in charming snitches for Quidditch games."

Harry felt his eyes widen, "Really, that's so cool!" He had always thought the only real job option for him was an Auror. He was good at defensive magic and good at fighting, but Charms? He was really good at Charms. How many other types of jobs were there in Wizarding World?

For that matter, what had his parents done? What had his grandparents done for a living?

Malcolm laughed, "I can tell you anything you want to know. Minerva told me you're a Seeker?"

Harry grinned,

"Ron said you were fighting," Charlie said.

"He did?" Harry asked. "I mean, we haven't really been speaking much but I thought…" he would have gotten over it by now. After all, Harry hadn't had a blowout fight with him. Though, he supposed that he and Hermione had either been studying or sparring with Fleur and Viktor, which one didn't interest Ron at all and he might have been intimated by the second.

Harry remembered the disaster of Ron asking out Fleur in front of a group of people.

Harry shrugged it off, Ron would come around, he always did.

Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Malcolm spent the day with Harry until the very start of the First Task. Especially after surviving a war, Harry was profoundly grateful to these people who wanted to be a part of his life and support him.

Although it was good to see her parents and sister, the day of the First Task came too soon.

Fleur wasn't ready for this, but then who was ever ready to face a dragon on their own.

Had she been more or less spiteful of her classmates who whispered the champion was 'half-breed sure to lose because of her Veela weaknesses,' Fleur might have come up with a different plan. In fact, gazing down at the tiny Chinese Fireball dragon in her hand she was pretty sure her plan was both as likely to get her killed as prove her classmates right.

But she was sick of anything short of pureblood wizard-human being second class. Time to show the world what real magic looked like.

She didn't remember entering the ring, did hear the din of the crowd roaring, she could only feel the magic surrounding the dragon.

There were reasons why most magical folk avoided dragons and it wasn't because they were dangerous -though they assuredly were that, but rather because there was a respect for these creatures' power that could be felt bone deep.

So it was with every bone in her body telling her to run away that Fleur stepped in front of the dragon. She would have liked to have taken a less aggressive tact but with this particular dragon, its tail end was nearly as deadly as its maw.

The Fireball stared at her for a moment, a bit bewildered by a human so bluntly standing in its path without raising a weapon or approaching or screaming. Fleur stood before that might beast, and let the fear seep out of her. She would either live through this moment or she would die, but within this moment, she stood as equals before another creature of fire.

The Fireball's scales were deep scarlet, so deep as to be saturated in the richest of dyes. Its back was spiked, its nosed stubbed, but it's eyes were… if blue could be every color of the rainbow and remain blue, that was the color of the Chinese Fireball Dragon's eyes.

Fleur had one clear thought that this is beauty, this wild, untamed, small mountain of muscle, scale, and flame is beauty. True beauty is the life in this dragon's eyes.

And then the dragon blew a ball of fire at her and the spectators let out a collective scream.

But Fleur was ready with her own ball of fire, which rather than throwing at the dragon she threw around herself. For a Veela couldn't burn themselves with their own flames -and with the training, her grandmother had put her through, when the flames cleared, not even a thread was singed on her robes.

Fun fact, Veela blood -it skips a generation.

The mother dragon looked surprised and pissed.

It began to barrage her with ball after ball of fire. Fleur never took her wand from her wrist sheath.

Eventually, the dragon drew bored with this game and lashed out with its neck to try and take a bite out of Fleur instead, but the chain around its neck prevented that.

Fleur was far enough away to be safe from the dragon's teeth, but even still, the heat from a fire attack this close was asking for trouble.

Fleur held out her hands to the dragon, summoning fire to both, the dragon watched and perhaps had the beast been a bit more mammalian she might have called it humour dancing in its blue eyes, flecked with what she could now see -at a closer distance, appeared to be gold dust, adding to the odd blue rainbow effect.

She could just imagine the creature laughing at her, what could her tiny flames do to it? Her pitiful flames were no bigger than small stones. But once again, Fleur didn't use them against the dragon, she burned the flames brighter in her hand to hide her wand flicking out from her wrist sheath, directing her spells and her flame toward a pile of stones, she charmed and transfigured a stone into a golden egg.

The dragon cocked its head at the egg revealed by the disappearing flame, clearly not mistaking it for one of its own. Fleur shot another ball of fire at it with another spell, this time when the flames were clear the dragon watched the 'egg' appear to 'crack' open. What came out seemed to bewilder the dragon.

A sheep.

She didn't eat the sheep, she ignored it. Which is when the dragon proved that she was indeed more than a rage filled monster, that she was a clever magical creature who was as capable of taking a hint as the next.

Or maybe all mothers who cared for the young worried for them as much as loved them. Because the Mother Fireball curled in around herself, around her nest, tipped her great big head in to sniff her clutch only to whip back her head with a fury.

A golden egg came flying out of the nest, and Fleur scraped her knees as she dived to catch it. Fleur didn't wait to account for any other injuries she may have gotten, she hugged the egg to her chest and sprinted back toward the champion.

The Fireball roaring with a deafening rage as if she were yelling, "How dare anyone touch my young? How dare you come close to us!? How dare you!"

People were screaming as balls of fire hit the magical barriers keeping them safe as the dragon handlers tried to get the dragon switched out with another.

Fleur didn't care about any of it, her smile was brilliant as she crossed into the tent. She was alive and more than that she had succeeded.

Today was a good day.

AN: Thoughts and reactions, please?