There was buzz all over the train about the Triwizard Tournament, though very few people actually knew what it was. Harry was one of them, and some of the Slytherins were the others. For those who didn't know, they explained that the tournament was exactly what it sounded like - a wizarding competition between the champions of three (at least three) schools. It was going to be held at Hogwarts this year, and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the other largest schools in Europe, would be sending potential champions to compete later in the year.

Hermione frowned at that. "It will be interesting to meet students from other schools, but I can't remember reading about this being hosted recently."

"Because it hasn't been," said Daphne, turning a page in her magazine, "It was discontinued around 1792."

"What? Why?"

"Because the champions kept dying," said Draco, flicking his wand to flip a few cards for Exploding Snap, "I think for the last few tournaments, no one ended up winning because no one survived."

"That's horrible! Why are they bringing it back, then?!"

The rest of them shrugged. "Competition?"

"Bragging rights?"

"Eternal glory?"

"Improving international relations?"

Everyone looked at Harry.

"What?"

"Nothing. Although you're probably not wrong," said Draco, "Father's mentioned some… issues… that the Ministry's been having with some of the other magical governments. Nothing major, but it's been causing some tension. Maybe they are hoping 'fun and games' at a 'sporting event' will help lighten things up."

"A competition between their children is supposed to lighten things up?"

"I never said it was a good idea."

Harry acknowledged that, then said, "So what do we know about the other schools? And how are the champions being chosen?"

"No idea about the champions, but Beauxbatons is in the Pyrenees Mountains in the far south of France," said Cedric, "That's actually one of the schools with continuing education for Healers."

"And Durmstrang is in the far north of Europe, somewhere in Scandinavia, I think," Draco added, grinning as the cards exploded in Ron's face, "Father wanted to send me there for school - he says that they have a much more sensible approach to some things - but Mother didn't like the idea of me being so far away."

"And by 'some things', you mean the Dark Arts, right?" Hermione asked, "According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on that."

"The term Dark Arts is relative," said Blaise, without looking up from where he was flipping through a magazine of his own, "If by 'Dark Arts' you mean magic the Ministry has declared illegal for arbitrary reasons, then yes, probably. If you mean magic like necromancy and blood cursing and ritual human sacrifice, then no, definitely not. I'm not sure there's any school in Europe - or even the entire world - that teaches those branches of magic. They're Dark even to those of us raised around the 'Dark Arts', and very dangerous; even in the Department of Mysteries, the Unspeakables using quote-unquote 'Dark Arts' to study the nature of Death have to be at least fifty years old before they can even be considered for that area, because that's when they're believed to have gotten all the vigor and impatience of youth out of their systems and gained mastery of more complex magic than they teach at Hogwarts."

"How do you know that?"

"One of my mother's husbands was an Unspeakable," he answered, "He couldn't tell me much - they take a number of vows of silence before even entering the department as so much as a parchment-pusher - but I did learn a little about it."

Hermione hummed and subsided.

"All right then, back on topic," said Harry, "What else do we know about the tournament? Anything?"

"There are supposed to be protections in place this year," Neville volunteered, "Only students who are of-age can compete."

That earned disappointed protests from the younger ones (except for Harry, Hermione, Blaise, Luna, and Ginny), including Fred and George who were only a few months away from seventeen. "You're old enough, right, Ced?" said Fred, "Are you going to enter?"

"I'll think about it."

"Oh, come on! Fame, gold, glory! What's not to want?!"

"If you get in, it would be good experience, even if only for learning what injuries look like; it wouldn't be much of a competition if it was so easy that everyone got out unscathed," said Harry, "and if you win, you could use the prize money to help with your education. I don't know if your father's the kind who would withhold his support because you'd rather be a Healer than enter the Ministry like he wants, but…"

Cedric took on a speculative look. "I mean, you're not wrong, at least about the experience, but my father's a good man. He'll be disappointed, sure, but he won't just drop me."

"Good."

Ron's dress robes were horrendous. The subject of conversation had eventually circled around to events taking place during the tournament, and apparently it was traditional for there to be a Yule Ball at the host school, much like the one the Malfoys hosted every year, only with (hopefully) less politics. Several of them had pulled out their robes to show what they were wearing, and Ron complained enough about his own that he was prodded into showing what Mrs. Weasley had bought for him (by virtue of being the only ones they could afford).

Blaise took one look at the maroon with lace edging and said, "No. If I have to see you at the ball in that, Weasley, I'll have my eyes put out. Give it here."

In minutes, he unraveled the lace and wove the recolored thread back through the robes in a subtle wave pattern to complement the now deep blue color of the actual fabric. He also had Ron put them on so he could alter the cut and let out the hems to compensate for the height he was sure to put on by Yule. "There. Still not ideal, but much better than it was. At least you won't embarrass the school and yourself in front of the rest of the wizarding world."

Ron mumbled his thanks and stuffed the robes back in his trunk.

"Us too?" George half-asked, showing his and Fred's robes, which looked to be from about the same time period as Ron's and roughly the same color. Blaise did theirs in black and dark green, with a leaf-and-vine motif that fanned out from the collars of the robes. Ginny didn't have any dress robes of her own since she was too young to attend the ball without being invited, but he did redo her school robes so they would fit her better and more attractively, since they were all hand-me-downs from her older brothers.

"Wow, Blaise," said Harry, admiring the new style as the twins modeled their robes in increasingly exaggerated poses, "They look really good, and that only took you a few minutes. I don't think you'll have any problem at all becoming the next big name in wizarding fashion."

The other teen sent him a subtle but appreciative smile.

Rain was pouring down out of the night sky when the train pulled into Hogsmeade. Before they left, Cedric quickly taught them all the Umbrella Charm (which they wouldn't learn until sixth year), so they could be relatively dry as they all ran to the carriages waiting for them beyond the platform. A few had difficulty with the spell, so they stuck close to those who didn't, and they made it to the carriages without looking like they'd gone swimming with their clothes on.

The thestrals were as they had been during the previous years, and Harry peered through the carriage window as they started an easy trot up to the castle. Hogwarts was also how it had been during the previous years, windows glowing with light as they all drew nearer. Once inside, they were forced to separate into their respective Houses for the Sorting and Opening Feast, but Harry and the Slytherins at least could still keep talking. Blaise was explaining a few different things about how he had altered the Weasleys' robes to Harry and a few interested Slytherins, mostly the girls but Draco was listening as well. Harry was more interested in how color-change spells worked, especially permanent ones like what Blaise had used - did it just change which color of light was reflected off the object targeted by the spell, or did it actually fundamentally alter the object itself to change the color?

Hm. Something else to research. This kind of thing was common enough that maybe there were answers in the library.

McGonagall eventually entered with the first-years, and they quieted down to let the Sorting Hat sing its song, then begin its sorting. Harry could feel Ron's impatience from all the way across the Great Hall; even though they all had eaten an array of snacks on the train, it hadn't been anything substantial. No protein, Hannibal would have said, and then possibly fed them all human ham. Will would have fought him on that, saying that they weren't going to make more wendigo out of schoolchildren-

But then Harry remembered. The goblins had said that even if he ate human flesh like his parents and sister, he wouldn't ever become a High Wendigo like them, or potentially even a base wendigo. 'I wonder why that is?' he thought to himself as "Madley, Laura" joined the Hufflepuff table, 'They said my native magic won't allow it, but why? And what separates those who become High Wendigo from those who become base? Is a similar situation as with Muggleborns versus regular Muggles-?'

That stopped him up short. 'Oh my. Oh. My. Do Hannibal, Will, and Abby have magical ancestry of their own?' He rubbed his hands together and suppressed a smile. 'Descendants of Squibs, with magic not yet returned… but enough magical blood to make a difference, to show in this, if nothing else?' He hurriedly patted his pockets, found a scrap of parchment and a Muggle biro and scribbled down base wendigo vs High Wendigo evidence of magical ancestry? He would have to send a letter tomorrow morning, advise them to get tested at Gringotts as well - and Abby, too, when she came home from university. It wasn't quite her last year; she was going into criminal justice, like Will, and planned on getting an advanced degree before venturing out into the field.

If they were descended from wizards, too, then that would be very interesting indeed.

But that brought him back around to why his native magic wouldn't let him become a Wendigo, when it was perfectly possible for him to become a werewolf if he was bitten. Was there something about the nature of the transformation that made it different? Perhaps he would have to ask the goblins, see if they knew, since they had been the ones to inform him he would never be a Wendigo like his parents and sister.

Finally "Whitby, Kevin" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and the feast appeared on the golden plates. It was delicious as always, and Harry chatted with some of his schoolmates about their summers and the Quidditch World Cup. Not many of them had attended, but they had listened to a commentator giving a play-by-play over the wireless. Terry Boot was crowing about the gold he'd made off betting on Ireland, and Harry smiled as he told them about what he was going to spend it on in Hogsmeade.

Finally, the food vanished off their plates, and Dumbledore stood up to make announcements, reminding the students that there were more banned prank items this year and that Hogsmeade was off-limits to first- and second-years, and the Forbidden Forest was off-limits to everyone. Then he said, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Draco yelped somewhere behind him; he'd finally made Seeker last year when the previous Seeker graduated - and now this year he wouldn't even get to play.

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you all will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

The doors of the Great Hall slammed open, and Harry's head whipped around, hand flying to his wand.

A man stood in the doorway, shrouded in a heavy cloak and leaning on a long staff. When he pushed his hood back and shook out his grey hair, Harry saw that he was heavily scarred from many vicious fights, though the wounds were long healed. His eyes didn't match, either; one was small and dark, while the other was huge and blue and whizzed around in its socket, independent of the other.

So this was Mad-Eye Moody. Or was it? Voldemort had been thinking of having Barty replace him…

Well, this was neither the time nor the place to find out. Harry let him pass without acknowledgement, and he shook Dumbledore's hand, then took a seat at the staff table. Dumbledore announced him, then returned to his announcement about the Triwizard Tournament. "As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held in over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're joking!" Fred Weasley cried from the Gryffindor table, which broke the tension brought about by Moody's arrival.

Most of the Great Hall laughed. Harry did not. If he had been a cat-Animagus like McGonagall, his ears would have been flat against his skull. 'Honor of hosting? Very great pleasure? Is he responsible for this, too? Lucius said that this was not Voldemort's will, and personally I doubt the Ministry would ever move to start planning such a thing without him approving - or agree to another country's proposal if he didn't allow it.' His eyes narrowed.

"...however our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt," Dumbledore continued, "We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

Harry's eyes narrowed further before he finally looked away from the headmaster. 'So it's the Ministry's doing - supposedly. I don't know if I actually believe that, but barring any outside information…'

But then something else occurred to him. 'Oh please no. Please tell me this isn't another test for me, or training. Please no. There'll be too much attention on me - I'll never be able to get away and talk to the Dark Lord.'

Dumbledore talked about the precautions being taken to protect the students, but Harry only just stopped himself from snorting derisively. There had been precautions taken in his previous years as well - just last year the whole damned castle had been surrounded by dementors! - but it hadn't stopped things from getting through the defenses and throwing the entire school into disarray.

After the headmaster dismissed them to their dormitories, Harry wrote a quick letter to his parents, telling them more about what was happening and asking them to have the wizarding solicitor they'd retained at the ready, just in case. He wasn't sure yet if anything was going to happen to him this year, but better safe than sorry. He would have sent it off that very instant if it hadn't been for curfew; it wasn't time just yet, but by the time he got to the Owlery, it would be.

But then there was a tap on the window.

He was the only one in the room at the time - everyone else was still down in the common room, at least for the moment - so he thought nothing of approaching and opening the window.

One of the Malfoys' owls stepped in and ruffled its feathers, then offered him its leg. "Thank you," Harry said, carefully taking the short letter from it, "Is a response requi - oh. All right then."

The moment the letter was removed, the owl had turned and departed, gliding back out of the open window and into the night.

Well, like their owners, the Malfoy owls always had had a bit of an ego, coupled with casual disregard for those not in their circle. Harry examined the letter - a blank envelope - and cast a few spells on it to check it - just in case.

There was only a single spell on it (or, at least, only one that showed up), preventing it from being tampered with in any way - including intercepting or redirecting it, or altering the contents. The magic of the spell was very familiar.

From Voldemort then.

Harry carefully opened it.

One of mine will be keeping an eye on you this year. They will let you know the date and the time of our meeting.

So Barty was Mad-Eye. With Dumbledore apparently believing the deception, he would be able to smuggle Harry in and out of the castle as necessary.

Do not do anything excessively foolish, the Dark Lord's letter went on, It would not do to draw attention - to either of us.

"I'm not gonna try to enter myself in the tournament," he muttered as if the elder wizard could hear him (maybe he could, through the same strange connection that had let Harry hear him), "That's asking for trouble, and I'd like to have a reasonably normal year for once."

Harry was grateful for his decision to withdraw from Divination the very next day, because Ron was going to be stuck in Double Divination this afternoon while he (and a few others) would be in Arithmancy. Personally, Harry was with Hermione in that it was a much more useful subject - or perhaps more concrete - but it was also more limited; properly, Arithmancy could be used in spell creation in various ways and also determining the size and necessary number of vertices for runic arrays, which was why students were encouraged to take Arithmancy together with Ancient Runes. When applied to predicting the future, however, it was both easier and harder than "proper" Divination; using certain number sequences - mostly the relative positions of the Sun, Moon, and planets (and a few other stars and celestial bodies) relative to Earth - it was possible to see strokes of what the future held… but only in the large scale, and only in the immediate future. Divination was more individual, personal, and could also stretch much further into the mists of time (at the cost of getting more and more vague), so there were benefits and drawbacks to both.

Still, Harry was glad to see the back of that class and its professor, even though Sybil Trelawney was indeed a true Seer. He was still going to study on the side, of course - he wasn't about to discount an entire branch of magic just because of one person - but he was going to do it on his own time, on his own terms, without someone sighing over his shoulder about how tragic it was that such a fine wizard was going to die so young.

He nearly rolled his eyes just thinking about it.

Hedwig came to visit him at breakfast - at least partially to steal his bacon - and he sent his letter to his parents off with her that very morning, a careful if inexpert duplication of Voldemort's anti-redirection spell on it. He didn't know if anyone went through the students' mail at Hogwarts or elsewhere - deities above and below, he hoped not - but given the risk this year might pose to him, more so than any other, he wanted to be prepared.

They'd been caught flat-footed before, but by some miracle it had ended reasonably well each time. That didn't mean the trend would continue.

Harry also sent off a letter to Sirius and Remus, asking how the remodeling of Grimmauld Place was coming along. Last he'd heard they'd finally cut down the last of the Permanently Stuck portraits and banished them to the attic in one of the other Black properties, before starting the search for contractors to fix the holes in the walls and other aspects of the townhouse. Will had offered to lend a hand, too, when it didn't interfere with his own schedule; he'd been teaching at a technical university not too far from the townhouse for about ten years now.

'My family is growing,' Harry thought to himself with a small smile, 'I doubt we'll ever be truly close with Sirius and Remus, but it's nice to know that I'm not the absolute end of my line - that I'm not completely alone.'

Harry joined the other fourth years in front of Moody's classroom, wondering how, exactly, Barty was going to make contact with him. He hadn't said anything so far - hadn't even slipped him a note - so maybe he would just ask him to stay back for a short while after class. It made the most sense, and was probably the least suspicious option.

When the bell rang, all the students filed into the classroom and picked their seats. Harry picked a spot to sit, and his friends fanned out around him, though he was careful to keep Neville at his side; he wasn't exactly sure what Barty's lesson plans were going to be like, but he did know that it wasn't going to be easy or pleasant for the kind Hufflepuff.

"You can put those away," the Death Eater growled when he clunked into the room, wooden foot landing heavily with every step, "those books. You won't be needing them."

Harry had suspected as much and tucked his away, and Neville's when the other boy fumbled with it.

Barty called roll, then said, "Right then. I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you're up-to-date on dark creatures and the like, but very behind on dealing with curses and other nasty things wixen can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark-"

"What, aren't you staying?" Michael Corner blurted out, and the entire class sat up straighter; they'd all heard the rumors running rampant about how amazing Barty's class was, and at least some of them had hoped he would be able to break or otherwise evade the curse that seemed to be on the DADA position.

The older wizard's magical eye focused on Corner for a moment before resuming its erratic and hypnotic scan of the castle. "The youngest Weasley boy asked me the same thing," the wizard grunted, "Yeah, I'm staying just one year. Special favor to Dumbledore."

Then he clapped his hands together. "So we'll have to move fast. Straight to it, then - curses. Many strengths, many forms, and more every day. According to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that - not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it 'til then, but Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves than they do. He reckons you can cope, and I say the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. Not easy to defend yourself against something you've never seen, hm? A wizard who's about to curse you isn't gonna tell you what curse it is or what it'll do unless he's confident you can't do anything about it, and you need to be able to prove him wrong. You need to be prepared - you need to be alert and watchful.

"Now, at least some of you are Ravenclaws, so you should be able to tell me which curses are most heavily punished under law."

A number of hands went up, and not just from the Ravenclaws. Barty picked a student at random - or perhaps not.

"The Unforgivable Curses," said Susan, "The Imperius, Cruciatus, and Killing Curses."

"Correct," said Barty, "Bones, right? Any relation to Amelia?"

"My aunt, Professor."

"And she's passed a bit of her wisdom on to you? Good. Could use more people like her. Those three curses gave the Ministry quite a lot of trouble not too long ago." He clunked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a jar of spiders. He unscrewed the lid and caught one, and brought it out for them to see. Then he pointed his wand at it and growled, "Imperio!"

In under a second, the spider began performing tricks - a trapeze act, backflips, dancing, other contortions that seemed almost impossible for its little body to physically do. Most everyone laughed at its little act, or at least snickered - everyone except Barty and Harry.

"Think it's funny, do you?" the Death Eater growled, "You'd like if I did it to you instead?"

Silence fell like lightning.

"Total control," Barty said grimly, pointing his wand and making the spider sit absolutely still, staring out at the class with eight unblinking eyes, "I could make it jump off of this desk and go under my foot to be squished, run headfirst into an open flame, throw itself down a predator's throat… Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperious Curse. The Ministry had quite a time of it, trying to figure out who was actually being controlled and who was lying.

"The Imperius Curse can be fought and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real internal strength and not everyone's got it. Better to avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped. Neville clutched at Harry's arm, and he gave the Hufflepuff a reassuring squeeze.

"Next, Cruciatus." Barty nodded, then focused on Neville for a moment. "Longbottom - you've had a worse time with this one than most. You need to look away, there's no shame in it, but I still think you still need to know what you're up against."

Neville nodded shakily, and Harry squeezed him again and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as Barty put the first spider back and caught a second. "Needs to be a bit bigger to really make an impact," the Death Eater said, "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled to the size of a melon. Then - "Crucio!"

Neville flinched even before the spider responded to the spell. All its legs curled up as if it was dead, but the appendages still moved spasmodically, twitching this way and that, writhing on the desk in visible if voiceless agony. Neville started to shake against Harry's side, and the boy lifted his eyes to meet Barty's. A moment later the Death Eater raised his wand, and the spider relaxed immediately, though it still shivered with the aftershocks of pain.

The class was utterly silent, eyes wide.

"Reducio," Barty said, and the spider shrank back to its usual size before he tipped it back into the jar. Then he reached for the third - but it seemed to know what was coming, because it scuttled away from his hand as fast as its little legs could carry it. He caught it anyway and put it on the desk, and it started to flee across the wooden surface - "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a rush of green light, and the spider tumbled to a stop, legs curled up, unmoving and unmistakably dead. There were a few cries from their classmates, but Harry, Neville, and their friends were largely silent as Barty swept the spider off the desk and onto the floor.

"Not nice, and - as far as we know, anyway - not pleasant," said the Death Eater, "No shield can block it, and no countercurse can nullify it. Only one person's ever survived being hit with it, and he's in this room."

Harry felt everyone's eyes on him immediately, though his friends at least had the courtesy to look away quickly. So that was how it had happened, then. That was how his biological parents had died. It had been hard to tell, it had happened so fast, but it hadn't seemed like there had been any pain.

A kinder end than some, even if the deed itself wasn't.

"All of them are curses that need quite a bit of power behind them - if you all tried, I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed - but it doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? You've got to know. You've got to see what the worst is, before it's heading for you. You've got to recognize the signs, and prepare as much as you can to face it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Those three curses - Imperius, Cruciatus, and Killing - are known as the Unforgivable Curses, as Miss Bones said. Using even one on a fellow human being'll earn you a life sentence in Azkaban - but it hasn't stopped people from doing it anyway. This is just the beginning of what you're up against - there are other ugly curses out there, some even crueler than these, and more being created every day. This is what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing, arming, and most of all vigilance. Now get out your quills and copy this down…"

Barty did indeed ask Harry to stay back after. The boy made sure that Hannah and Susan would get some tea or hot chocolate or something similar into Neville, who still looked ghastly. Both he and the Death Eater waited until the rest of the class filed out, then Barty lifted his wand and murmured a number of privacy spells. They prevented anyone from eavesdropping on them, but also had the added effect of muffling the castle's ambient magical energy, which Harry hadn't truly noticed until that moment. He supposed it had to do with how he moved into and out of the field; if he had ever been Apparated to the school, he probably would have sensed it before, but because the train brought them "slowly" in range, it hadn't been obvious.

But he could think about that later.

"You got the letter," the Death Eater rumbled, more of a statement than a question.

"I did," Harry confirmed, "and I don't ever plan on seeking out trouble, but it usually ends up finding me anyway."

That earned a quiet huff of laughter. "Fair enough. Nothing's supposed to happen with the tournament later this year - at least, not from our end - but if you do end up over your head, don't hesitate to ask for help."

"Understood," Harry said with a nod, and left soon after.

Harry joined all of his friends at dinner. Neville was still pale, but Hannah and Susan, together with some help from Hermione and Ginny and a little backhanded encouragement from Blaise, managed to get some hot tea and soup into him before herding him back to the Hufflepuff dormitory to rest.