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Stand Tall

Chapter VIII

The Fourth Champion


Despite all the excitement, very little changed at Hogwarts for the arrival of two foreign contingents of students. Meals were busier, but they didn't feel it especially - the Great Hall was expanded magically to accomodate and the new students kept mainly to themselves in the week that followed. Not that they were rude - far from it. Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang children kept a finely controlled veneer of politeness at all times, and in that regard, they certainly were the better of the schools. Slytherin took to Durmstrang better for the most part, and sneered and quietly (whilst managing to be obvious all the same) mocked the girls of Beauxbatons and their giant of a Headmistress.

Harry didn't think Gryffindor were much better mind you. They were just the same, but in reverse; with utterly conspicuous murmurs about Durmstrang being a school for the Dark Arts.

The only members of either school that seemed above reproach were Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, a teenage Quidditch star that had played in the World Cup this Summer, and Fleur Delacour. Delacour was from a politically powerful family in France according to Hermione, and several Slytherin as well as a smattering of the other houses had already tried to make some kind of connection for themselves or their families. Added to that, she was a Veela, and so had a terrible effect on pretty much the entire male population of Hogwarts.

This naturally included Ron, much to Hermione's... Frustration.

For his part, Harry kept up his attitude of wanting as little to do with the tournament and those who had come to compete as possible. He had been polite to all of the students from other schools, but refrained from involving himself in any of the conversation about or even with them. Instead, he focused himself on what he was actually at Hogwarts for - learning magic, and spending time with his friends. Of course, their practices had continued as often as they could manage in the weeks since the other schools had arrived, and all of them had improved. Neville could disarm even Harry now most of the time, and the group had worked through the basics studiously. Priorities had shifted though, and Harry had the group working on the Shield Charm more often than not, satisfied with the groups grasp of the disarming charm and the knock-back jinx. It was tricky, requiring a high level of intent and visualisation for even the most basic variation of the spell, but too important in defending yourself to be ignored.

Harry was once again in the library, this time looking over the Runes books that Sirius and Remus had sent him over the summer in preparation for this afternoon's work. He was just looking over some interesting variations upon some Nordic runes and their application in securing a valuable location when a silky voice interrupted his self-directed study.

"I see you've been keeping up with your study, Potter."

Harry looked up into dark eyes of Blaise Zabini with an easy smile that seemed to directly contrast the Slytherin's carefully neutral expression.

"Of course. Have to say though, it's much easier when you have such an accomplished mentor to point you in all the right directions." Harry wasn't overselling it either. He had been steadily working his way through the first year of the Hogwarts Ancient Runes curriculum. The nature of it, focusing on the translation of runic symbols and hieroglyphics lended itself well to self-study, but having someone there to smooth over any bumps and spot misunderstandings was an invaluable help. More importantly however, Blaise had been crucial in steering him towards some very simple defensive wardings that Harry could in theory start practicing creating (no actual magic involved at first, of course) right away.

"Likewise, even a half way competent instructor has made some improvements to my spell casting." Blaise's expression never shifted as he took a seat at his table but Harry thought a smirk danced behind the Slytherin's dark eyes. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the back-handed compliment and painfully cliche Slytherin equivalent to banter. Blaise peered at his scribbled notes from across the table and then shifted his eyes to regard the last Potter carefully. "I hear, " he began quietly, his voice sickeningly silky-smooth all of a sudden, like fine velvet. "That certain... unruly factions among the school population are participating in an underground dueling club with only their closest associates invited."

Harry's face remained carefully neutral. "And I hear that Hogwarts rumor mill is spectacularly talented at making a mountains out of molehills." Harry paused, and made a show of thinking for a moment. "Actually, scratch that, I know from personal experience that any second hand information 'heard' in this school is worth less than Hippogriff dung."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, and Harry shrugged. He had been stung a few too many times by the 'I heard Potter did/is/thinks' rumors that seemed to infect the school's populace in waves. Obviously, by this point he understood his own fame: why people seemed to think he was important and couldn't seem to let go of the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a physical, living representation of the ending of one of the darkest times in Wizarding History, whether he deserved any credit for that or not. But he didn't think that excused the transformation of that sentiment into an insane and sensationalised version of everything in his life by people who largely had never bothered to get to know him or verify the truth of what they heard and passed on.

"Ah Potter, so naive, so Gryffindor." Now Harry was certain that Blaise's perfectly over-dramatic Slytherin condescension was being played for comic effect. "You don't listen to rumors for the news, Potter. Of course there's no truth in the idea of an underground dueling club. But you do have some kind of defense club with only your friends invited. You listen to the rumors so you can pick out the truth behind their origins in case that truth might be useful for you to know."

Harry figured there was no point lying about it, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to. He liked Blaise, and he had a feeling he knew where the Slytherin was going with this line of conversation. "And what do you plan on doing with the truth you think you have discovered."

"Why, ask the leader of the band of miscreants if he would be welcome, of course. I told you, I want to improve my defensive wand work. I can't think of anything better than real, practical practice with somebody with at least a smattering of experience." All pretense was gone, and despite the potential back-handedness of his words, the Slytherin was being entirely straight in so far as Harry could tell. He genuinely wanted to be involved.

"I might be able to point you in the right direction, but we need to be clear on a few things first." Harry leveled Blaise with the most serious face he could muster, and for the first time in their acquaintance Harry noticed him shift a little bit in discomfort. "Everybody invited is there as an equal to everybody else, and with the sole purpose to improve and prepare for the future. Regardless of ability, house allegiance, whatever. If one of us is struggling, we support them, not ridicule them - sound fair?"

"When you said regardless of house allegiance, did you mean just that? Including Slytherin?"

Harry had an 'of course' on the tip of his tongue, but something made him hold it back. There was no venom to Blaise's question. No sarcasm. No Slytherin. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Look, Zabini, I won't lie to you. I don't especially care, but you know that among some of my friends old house prejudices run fairly high, and among others the treatment they've received from those in your house have done a fantastic job of creating new ones. I can't say that your taking part won't cause a stir, but-" Harry could see Blaise frowning openly but he pressed on before he could be interrupted. "But what I can promise is that if you come, you'll be coming as my friend. As long as you commit to treating those there with respect, than I won't accept any disrespect aimed at you - especially not because of something as arbitrary as what house you're in."

"I believe you Potter, for what it's worth. But I wonder if your friends will accept those terms."

"They won't have a choice. Our group has bigger fish to fry - there are more important things at stake than Gryffindor versus bloody Slytherin. If anybody isn't willing to put house rivalries aside, then they're not welcome - friend or not."

Blaise looked at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out a particularly irritating puzzle, before the look disappeared and he stretched out his hand. Harry smiled, and shook it firmly.

"You've got yourself a deal, Potter. I'll keep it civil unless any of the others become a recurring problem. I'll trust in you to deal with any issues from your side, but I won't refrain from defending myself indefinitely."

A few minutes later and Blaise had a time and place for their next meeting, and the two turned their attentions to the Runes books Harry had been studying. Before long, Blaise opened his own set of defensive magic textbooks, and the pair spent the next hour or so throwing each other the occasional question or pointer regarding their own particular area of expertise.

The last Potter had come to school this year with the game plan of broadening his friend circle to those outside of Gryffindor - he hadn't imagined for a second that he'd be starting with a Slytherin. But there was no other way to describe what Blaise had very quickly become.

Hogwarts truly was a place where the unlikely, impossible and just plain freaking weird happened.


Blaise Zabini watched Potter walk away after their little study session, as intrigued as he was satisfied by their time spent together. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was a very interesting person, and for just a moment, Blaise had been given a little glimpse into the kind of man that he would become. He had used no magic, but Blaise had felt the power that Potter had at his disposal, where Potter had realised it or not. And it wasn't simply magical, there was an intensity to the Boy-Who-Lived that was difficult to not get swept up in.

Even without all of that, he found it impossible to not respect Potter's willingness to defend him to his friends. As much as Blaise had helped him with his study of Runes - another interesting development all on it's own - he had never expected Potter to be so vehement in his insistence that everybody at his little club treat each other with respect. He certainly hadn't expected a promise to deal with Weasley should he become a problem - because there was no illusion regarding whom they had been discussing. Just as Blaise was certain Potter had been trying to protect Longbottom from ridicule when he had mentioned ability.

He started to make his way from the library, work done for the evening. He passed through oak doors, footsteps hardly making a sound as he walked alone through torch-lit stone corridors. He made a left, and started towards another wooden door at the end of a smaller hall in the castle. It led to a shortcut to the dungeon that Slytherins only tended to use, a side passage that wound round several times downwards until you got to one of the few staircases in the castle that didn't shift and move.

He reached for the well-polished bronze handle to pull the door open, only to have it sharply shut again by a hand from over his shoulder. It took everything in his power not to start visibly, and smoothly turned to meet the charming features of Gregory Goyle.

"Getting chummy with Potter, are we Zabini?" A sneer came from the side, and Blaise followed the sound of Malfoy until his eyes found the little weasel leaning back against the wall of the corridor, arms folded and face smug, like a rat proud of it's own flatulence.

"He has something I desire, so I have found an advantageous way of relieving him of it. Either way, it's none of your concern Malfoy."

The blond stood straight and walked closer, not stopping until Blaise could see just how much product was in the boy's hair. "Your mother never did choose a side, did she Zabini? Which side will you choose when the time comes I wonder, because it is coming. And soon." Malfoy locked eyes with him, but unlike with Potter, he didn't falter. "I hope for your sake you choose the right one, Blaise."

Blaise stared Malfoy down hard. "I intend to be on the winning one, Malfoy."

And it was no word of a lie, either. Blaise was kept well-informed by his mother, and knew well and good what was coming to Wizarding Britain.

No matter what, he planned to win.


This week's meeting place was a seldom-used transfiguration classroom close to the area where Harry and Ron reckoned the Ravenclaw common room might be. Hermione had cast charms to light the room, and out of nowhere Harry cast a few spells that would apparently let him know when other people were getting close. Ron raised an eyebrow at that. Harry really seemed to have changed this year. He was more focused on school, and that edge that he seemed to gain whenever something weird was happening at school seemed to become more of a part of who he was all the time, rather than just something that appeared when things were dangerous.

Ron didn't necessarily mind that, it was difficult not to follow Harry's lead when he was like that. In some regards though, it was becoming harder to deal with. Ron's role had always been kind of like a translator. Harry was the power, the leader. Hermione was the brains and the wandwork. They hadn't grown up among wizards though, and that was where he came in. He could always chip in with a different perspective, or a bit of knowledge that you could only learn by having grown up magical.

Things were changing though. His friends were becoming more and more special, and Ron didn't seem to be able to keep up and he didn't know what to do about it. He knew it was unfair to resent them for it, but it was difficult not to feel angry at being left behind. Ron had always been chasing the shadows of his incredibly talented brothers, feeling both proud of them and insecure because of them in equal measure. Now his friends seemed to be moving ahead in the same way.

Still, these were still one way that he could be useful. So he listened determinedly as Harry began explaining today's focus, and areas of practice for everybody there.

"Now," he continued, looking suddenly uncharacteristically serious. "There is one other thing before we start. Obviously, nothing remains a secret in Hogwarts forever and I have been... Approached by another student looking to join up."

Hermione seemed light up at that. "I'm not surprised Harry. The entire school has suffered because of the teaching. Even somebody who has no idea what's coming would be keen to join a group wanting to put things right. Are they anyone we know well?"

"That's the thing. This person is somebody I think I trust, and I think I can call them a friend, so I just want to make something clear before I invite them in." He took a breath, and Ron felt a distinct set of unease as Harry quite obviously psyched himself up to say something difficult. "At this point, given what we know is coming, existing prejudices mean nothing anymore. I think anybody that we invite needs to be treated with respect, no matter what. We work hard, and we work together, no matter what."

Ron had a horrifying suspicion that he knew what Harry was getting at, and he felt his hackles rise immediately when Harry fixed him with a warning stare. As if he was going to be the biggest problem when Harry brought a bloody Slytherin through the door - because Ron knew that was what he was telling them. He got what Harry was trying to do, he really did - but bringing in a Slytherin just wasn't the right move. Harry just didn't understand, and he knew Hermione wouldn't either - they just hadn't grown up like he had, didn't know just how awful the people who wound up in that house had ended up over the years.

They didn't realise the mistake they were making, and worse still, he knew they would ignore him when he tried to warn them.

Harry pressed on, and welcomed Blaise Zabini into the room and introduced him to the other three of them. It wasn't Malfoy, but Ron wasn't sure that made a difference. He scowled when Zabini came to shake his hand and turned away angrily. Zabini shrugged, and Hermione hissed a furious "Ron!" at him but neither phased him as much as the hurt he saw flash through his best friend's eyes. For just a moment, he felt a surge of doubt and guilt, and he did all he could to stamp it out. He loved Harry like one of his own brothers, and he wouldn't allow him to be betrayed and hurt by Zabini or any other Slytherin that he tried to be friends with.

For that is what would happen, Ron knew. His friends were special, and if keeping those friends safe from their own choices was the only role he had to play any more - if that was the only way he could be useful - he'd be damn sure that he would do it.

The session focusing on the shield charm had been the most awkward several hours of Harry's life, but thankfully after refusing Zabini's handshake Ron had kept his mouth shut, despite maintaining a vicious scowl in Zabini's direction. He'd really hoped Ron would put aside his prejudices enough to trust him on this, and it definitely hurt that his best friend hadn't been able to do that. On the other hand, Harry knew that he should have spoken to his friends about this rather than surprising them with it - Ron in particular.

Hermione and Neville had been wonderful in accepting Zabini on Harry's word, but he knew that surprising Ron with this had been the wrong move.

The Slytherin in question had left pretty swiftly, having said polite goodbyes to all but Ron, whose cold shoulder persisted; Hermione and Neville were just starting to make their way out of the room, not noticing that Harry hadn't moved and Ron was hesitating as though he had anticipated what Harry would want to do.

"Ron, could you hang back for a bit mate?" He asked in an all too light tone. Hermione's head jerked back and Harry shook his head. Neville simply paused awkwardly, not sure what to do. Their bushy haired friend chewed her lip nervously for a moment before nodding her head and smiling at the both of them before guiding Neville away back to the dorms. Ron turned to face him, ears pink-tinged from the anger Harry knew he'd be feeling.

"Look, I know I should have warned you I was inviting Zabini, but-"

"Warned me? Why are you the only one who gets a say in who comes and who doesn't? We were keeping this a secret until you suddenly decide to invite a Slytherin of all bloody people. Have you gone mad, Harry? A Slytherin!"

Harry sighed. "You're right, Ron. It wasn't right for me to invite someone new without talking to the rest of you about it first - we're a team, and none of us are in charge. If I can admit that, can you at least admit that treating Zabini like he's going to murder us in our sleep the second we give him half a chance, might just be a mistake?"

"Look Harry, I get what you're trying to do, but a Slytherin just isn't a good idea. I'm not stupid enough to think they're all Death Eaters, but they will put what they want ahead of anybody else every time - that's what a Slytherin is. You can't trust them, Harry. This is going to backfire, and I won't sit back and watch you be hurt like that."

Ron looked implacable at that, and Harry knew he wouldn't back down from this. "I think it's insane to assume you know a person by what house they're sorted into, but I get you're trying to be a good friend, in your own way." His left hand rubbed his eyes tiredly beneath his glasses, before he returned Ron's look with a sad one of his own. "But if you can't be with me on this mate, I need you to at least promise to be civil to Zabini. Not a friend, I'm not asking for you to trust him - just to be civil. This is too important to be ruined by stupid house rivalries."

Ron's eyes narrowed, and the red of his ears spread to his cheeks in a sign that his temper was starting to fray, which let Harry know that the Weasley had understood the subtext.

"Fine. I'll be civil to your new friend." Ron ground out, before marching past him towards bed.

He and Ron had been through a lot in the last few years, and Harry truly considered the Weasley a brother to him. For the first time though, Harry felt as if a wedge had been driven between them, if only the thin end. He knew he wasn't wrong - Blaise was a good person, and would make a solid addition to their group, Slytherin or not. He just hoped that Ron's friendship wasn't the price he'd have to pay for doing what he thought was the right thing.


Between classes, reading and the extra practice Harry had committed himself to; the conversation with Ron after Zabini joined their group had been the last conversation he'd had with his best friend in the few days between then and the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament competitors. In previous disagreements, this was their general pattern anyway. A few days were allowed to pass, and tempers were given a chance to simmer before the one in the wrong approached the other for a pick-up game of Quidditch or wizard's chess - and nothing else needed to be said.

Ron gave him a terse nod as he sat - not quite time for that game of wizard's chess then - and Hermione greeted him with a smile and an update on how her Arithmancy classes were going. As she spoke, he gazed around the room taking in the excited hubbub that had gripped the Great Hall, before the centerpiece of the occasion stole his attention.

The Triwizard Cup sat on a stone pedastal where Dumbledore would normally stand to make his speeches. It sat silver and angular, finely crafted Harry assumed by some impressive magic, burning a bright and effervescent blue. Harry couldn't help but admire the thing, but was infinitely glad that he had nothing to do with it.

Finally, the entire student body of all three participating school had arrived in the Great Hall which somehow always managed to feel full enough to feel lively and busy, but never so full you began to feel cramped and squeezed in. Dumbledore stood, and the room fell silent as if the man had cast a spell though Harry knew he had done no such thing.

"It is my pleasure to announce that it is finally time to draw our three competitors names from the Goblet of Fire." The object in question seemed to burn suddenly even more brightly, and a low murmur of excitement rumbled round the hall. He felt himself tensing slightly despite himself. Dumbledore gave a wave of his hand, and the torch lights around the room extinguished themselves leaving only the light from the Goblet. It's bathing the room reminded Harry of the moon illuminating the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Every movement in the roomed now a twisting shadow cast from flickering, supernatural blue light.

Harry began to grind his teeth.

"Our first competitor is..." The whole room seemed to wait without breath, and suddenly a column of fire shot from the Goblet towards the charmed ceiling eliciting a gasp from those watching and fully lighting the room for just a moment. The fire faded, and Dumbledore plucked a blacked piece of parchment from the air. "Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang." Cheers erupted through the room as the highly popular Krum was guided to an antechamber attached to the Great Hall. Krum was a popular choice in both Durmstrang and Hogwarts, thanks to his status as an international Quidditch star.

The tension never left Harry's body, even when Fleur Delacour was named as Beauxbaton's champion in the same manner. It was only when the third column of luminescent azure flame announced Cedric Diggory as Hogwarts' champion did he truly relax, basking in the fact that this was one major event he didn't have to be involved in.

A fourth column of fire reached for the charmed sky in the ceiling and burned away the relief he had been feeling, leaving only blackened, resigned despair. Dumbledore, bewildered as any of them read the piece of paper that floated from the ceiling and looked directly at him, questioning, and entirely absent of any grandfatherly twinkle.

"The fourth champion is Harry Potter of Hogwarts."

Silence reigned. Or, perhaps it didn't - he never would be able to remember when looking back. The only thing he registered from that moment, was the agonising look of pure, stunned betrayal written across Ron's face.