Author's Note: To be honest, it's been a while since I read the series through, despite being a frequent fanfiction reader. So yeah, keep that in mind as you read this. Also unfortunately JKR owns everything related to Harry Potter. Here's a shorter chapter to start off.

Chapter 1: Gryffindors aren't Hufflepuffs for a Reason

Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than he had — when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it . . . he'd fantasized about it . . . but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream . . . he'd never really, seriously considered entering. . . . But someone else had considered it . . . someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn't think so, somehow. . . . To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish. . . . But to get him killed? (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire).

Harry knew one thing - if we wished to survive this damn tournament, he was going to need help. He needed to step his game up - as Hermione would say, it was time for him to hit the books. Maybe he could contact Sirius, or literally anyone who could put him on the same level as the competitors. Despite everyone believing the Boy-Who-Lived had an edge over the other competitors, he knew that the years of classes and knowledge gave the edge to the other competitors.

Harry's musings were interrupted with a voice he knew all too well: "Well, well, well," said the Fat Lady, "Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?" (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire).

Shaking his head, he muttered the password with a heavy sigh, ignoring the Fat Lady's question. He didn't need the reminder. The pit in his stomach grew as the portrait swung open, and he braced himself for what was to come. Voices immediately overwhelmed him, each flowing over the other. He could barely make out what anyone was saying.

"Why didn't you tell us you -"

"- thought we were friends-"

"How'd you do -

"At least Gryffindor has a -"

"Seriously, how-"

"- can't believe you did that without -"

Harry fought to drone out the voices. Didn't they understand? The tournament was deadly - he could die this year. Not that his life hadn't been put on the line in previous years, but still. Why would they think he would want to enter this thing? He already had eternal fame or whatever.

Searching the crowd for a comforting face, he found the familiar redhead and bushy hair standing on the side. He looked at them, his gaze pleading, trying to convey the message, "you believe me right? You know I didn't enter this stupid tournament."

Yet, they didn't seem to react. Ron had a forced, seemingly strained grin plastered on his face, and shouted over at Harry, "Well I guess congratulations are in order. Why'd you do it?"

Harry froze - of all people, his best friend didn't believe him? What could he say? He sighed, "Mate I didn't-"

"Yeah, I really thought you weren't like the rest of them celebrities. Couldn't resist the chance at the attention, huh?" At that, Ron turned around and headed to the back. Harry cast a pleading glance at Hermione, but she shook her head with a sad smile and chased after Ron.

The voices of his housemates flooded him once again, and he knew if Ron and Hermione couldn't believe him, none of them would. Overwhelmed with the feelings of betrayal and fear of what to come, he cracked. Slamming his foot into the ground, he screamed, his voice rising over everyone else's, "Some lot you are - makes sense you aren't Hufflepuffs. Ever heard of loyalty? I didn't enter the goddamn tournament. Don't you get it? I don't want to die."

With that, he rushed out of the portrait hole, he needed to go - away. His mind separated from his legs. He didn't want to think, didn't know what to think, didn't know what he was going to even do, so instead of his thoughts racing, his legs did it for him. His legs took off, he barely knew where he was going, his eyes in a distant absent world.

"Jeez, watch where you are going!" shouted an unfamiliar voice, shaking him out of his worked-up state.

Blinking, he saw a stunning blonde girl - Daphne, maybe? - sprawled on the floor, "uh sorry, I didn't mean to."

Rolling her eyes, she retorted "Of course you didn't Potter, now give me a hand? Where are your manners at?" she paused, then shook her head and stood up as he began to offer her a hand.

"Potter," she said cooly, seeming to assess him. "What are you doing out here? Well, I suppose, knowing the company you keep, you need a breather?"

Harry stared, not knowing what to say, the green on her robes creating a wall between them. He probably had never spoken to her before. "If it makes you feel better, I also needed a breather. Malfoy couldn't shut up about you. Potter this Potter that. I mean it's nothing new, just at a whole new level. Might be some repressed emotions there, maybe he has a crush on you," she chuckled at the horrified look on Harry's face. "Look, I know a place - you probably shouldn't be wandering the halls mindlessly. Come on."

Not trusting her, but having nowhere else to go, he followed her. They trekked in silence, an obvious awkwardness between them, up to the seventh floor. He stared at her, worried she was going insane, as she paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times. To his shock, a door materialized. Opening it for him, she said, "Welcome to the Room of Requirement."