A.N. Alright, new chapter! Yay!

As you guys can probably tell, I am a rather new author. I also have a rather busy life that I am trying to keep up with. I know that I need to get my priorities straight and spend more time working on these. I am sorry guys; I know I am a failure as a human. JK

That being said, you have probably noticed my chapters are somewhat short, and my upload time is rather sporadic. I am sorry about this, and am trying to improve it, but I really can't make any promises for the future. That being said, this chapter nearly doubles the total length of the story. I doubt this will be a common occurrence, but there it is.

I am also pleased to announce that we have gone over one thousand views. Really pumped about that, guys. Keep on reading, and I will try to keep on writing.

You will also notice that chapter two shares several similarities with chapter one in its unusual perspective. This won't be a major part of the story in the future, this is just to wrap up what happened in chapter one. Hopefully things will get clearer from here on out.

I have heard several people asking me to change my pairings up a bit, but I can't really make any promises as far as the main relationships go. That being said, I have an idea to POSSIBLY include others, so if you have any suggestions as far as additions, removals, or changes go, PM me. I can use all the help I can get. Also, if you see any typos or other issues, PM me. I'd say, put it in the comment section, but if you comment on a typo, and I remove it, that could get awkward.

Also, Bellatrix is going to stay mostly nutty, so expect her to be a bit… odd.

All that being said, NEW CHAPTER:

-ooOOooOOoo-

November 28th, 2012
Hogwarts Infirmary
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

He knew he was waking up, because his body felt like it was on fire. He also knew he was waking up in the infirmary (again) because of the scent of freshly-washed cotton sheets, the incredibly uncomfortable bed he was in, and the stench of foul-tasting potions, but he didn't know what he was hearing. Keeping half an ear on the strangely muted conversation and ambient noise to try and figure out what was going on, he busied himself to remember what had put him in the infirmary. It took a bit, and his memories were somewhat jumbled up, but he was getting something.

He was facing down the entrance to the arena for the first task. Ron had betrayed him. Hermione was calling his name, but the dragon was calling him louder. Time to see if he really was the Savior of the Wizarding World. If he was, this dragon wouldn't be an issue for him!

"Manticore Venom?" This voice, Harry called it Lawyer, was older, somewhat kindly, but full of knowledge, like his throat could barely keep from bursting with untold secrets.

PING, CLAP! "Looks like, no." Harry called this one Shamrock. Not to be racist, but the speaker was clearly an Irishman, and he couldn't think of anything else at the moment.

"Darn." Lawyer sounded very sad. Harry, however, was quite glad he had never met a manticore, and he probably would never want to.

As he was charging the dragon, wand stretched out like a sword, he felt a wave of power pulse through him like a drumbeat, pounding though his head, making him run even faster. The crowd was screaming in terror, the cacophony of voices making the dragon even angry, but also confusing it. A loud shriek of "HARRY, NO!" came from behind him, and Harry knew it was Hermione's voice. She sounded scared for some reason, but he couldn't see why. It's not like he was facing a Basilisk! Voldemort wasn't even here! And that power, that POWER, would see to it that he would win. This dragon would bow before him. Who was it, to say him nay!

Harry was quite concerned about this bit of memory. For one, in it, he was CHARGING DOWN A DRAGON! That felt vaguely important, if it was true. For another, in his memories he was either going insane, or was imagining things, because he seemed to remember expecting the dragon to give way to him, and that didn't seem sane or right.

"How about… Cerberus venom?"

PING, CLAP! "That's a winner, Nick!"

A scratching sound hit his ears, like a quill on parchment. Harry really hoped they weren't authors or journalists writing his 'true life story', but knowing his luck, if they weren't them, others would be around here somewhere. He could swear he could smell Rita Skeeter somewhere nearby. It was an unpleasant smell, even of it was faint, like… rotting apples.

"Hahaha, another one. Well, Mr. Potter, you are worth seeing. Now, Rick, how about hydra venom."

"Really? What is it with you and venoms?"

"Just find out, already!"

Harry was interested, to, but the memories he was having were getting serious, so, during the wait, he turned his mind back to figuring out what had happened

A wave of flames was rolling towards him, but he didn't stop, wouldn't stop' COULDN'T stop. He had to get the clue, the fire was in the way, so straight through the fire he would go! No half-hearted Dragon Fire would stop him!

'Yeah, that seems like a good place to pause. No Dragon fire for him, thanks,' Harry thought. He turned his mind back to the conversation, not really wanting to know what happened next in his memories.

PING, CLAP! "No again. Try something else this time, something REALLY odd."

"Fine, let me think a minute."

In this pause, Harry knew he should go back to remembering, even if he didn't want to. Something told him that the next bit was going to be important, and not very good.

The fire was burning him! It hurt! Why was it hurting? He always played with fire, didn't he? He sure felt like he got burned often enough. Everyone was always after him, blaming him, betraying him, hunting him, killing him, on bit at a time. He just wanted to rest, but the fire wouldn't stop burning! The confused dragon was staring at him as he burned, but he staggered onwards. HE MUST GET THE GOLDEN EGG! He needed it. He had to have it.

Yeah, that was that not good part he was worried about. Burning up by Dragon Fire didn't seem to be the cause of his injuries, however, as that would have been more likely to put him in an urn than the infirmary. Maybe all the contestants had flame-freezing charms cast on them to keep them alive? But no, all of the previous contestants had gotten burned. Maybe… no, he had no idea. He decided to table that in favor of the surrounding conversation for the moment.

"Dementor soul?"

"Oh, that's a good one. I'd bet good money he couldn't get that close to a greycloak wraith and survive."

"No bet. You rarely lose, and I don't feel like buying you alcohol after you stunt two days ago."

"FINE!" PING, CLAP! Ting, ting, ting. "Damn."

"Well, go get it, ya lazy git!"

"Fine..." Harry could here grumbling, then a chair creak as someone got up from it, then, shuffling footsteps. There was a brief pause, then: "DAMN! He does have it!"

"What! He snogged a greycloak and lived?! How?"

"How am I supposed to know, you idiot! We'll ask him when he wakes up!"

"And you were willing to bet on it, too. I can't believe I passed that up!"

"Don't feel to bad, Nick, it was the safe bet. How could you have known?"

The faint sound of grumbling once again reached Harry's ears, and Harry could hear the chair give a faint groan as someone sat in it again.

Harry chuckled in his head, remembering his last year. Snogged a greycloak, indeed! They hadn't stopped kissing him. His mind broke into gales of laughter as he realized this probably meant he was a good kisser! Feeling a little better after this epiphany (and still mentally chuckling about it,) he went back to remembering while he was in a good enough frame of mind to do it.

Harry knew something was wrong. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Why had it felt like the dragon's claw had passed right through his stomach? He dropped the stump that had been his wand, but now was more of a candle, to pat his chest, but it was in one piece, not bleeding, and still burning. He was too close to it for the attack to miss, but, besides the weird feeling in his core, he didn't seem to be hurting. That was also odd. He was on fire. Shouldn't that hurt? He was burning up, turning into ash, and drifting away, but he didn't hurt. How odd. He knew something was off, because it looked like the dragon was trying to hand him the golden egg. Still, it was a nice dream so he reached out to take the egg, lay down cuddling it in the nice, warm fire, and went to sleep.

Okay, so maybe he fell down a flight of stairs, and this was all a concussion-induced fever dream. That made a hell of a lot more sense than that being real. He would ask Hermione, she would know.

"Does he have Were Essence?" the inquisitive one asked again.

"Yesterday was the full moon. Of course, he doesn't!"

"Check anyway."

"Fine!" PING, CLAP! "Dammit! How can he have Essence of Werewolf and not be a bloody werewolf!"

"Fate, ya ijjut. 'Sides, why is that hard to believe when he has GreyCloak Extract in his blood"

"You know I hate it when you do that, Nick. Stop making sense, and talking like a bloody Yank, or I yank your tongue."

"That…. was very lame."

"Shut up."

Harry, with his head pounding, body aching, eyes sore, and everything else hurting, his head stuffed full of several very bad, extremely terrifying, and hugely surreal memories, had finally had enough listing to these people, whoever they were, drivel on. It was time for him to do something grand and decisive about it. Concentrating all of his willpower, strength and focus, he opened his mouth, gathered his breath, and groaned out: "Yes, please shut up." He was quite pleased with his efforts, but, beside a surprised gasp and a quite chuckle from nearby, it didn't seem to have the desired effect. To the contrary, an instant later several people surrounded him and started nattering away rather loudly.

"Potter, what did you use to survive the task? I should have expected you to cheat, you're just like you father!" "Mister Potter, have you beaten all of your previous enemies by using Necromancy?" "Harry, my boy, glad to see you are getting up. I hope you are feeling better. What was that piece of magic you used to pass the Task?" "HAARRYYYYYY!"

That last one was accompanied by Hermione, for it was definitely her voice, leaping on his bed and wrapping him in one of her fierce hugs. Strangely, this seemed to make his pain recede, not flare up. He pried his eyes open to look at her, noticing that she was still wearing the same clothes, and the shadows were long in the dim room, making it the evening of the same day as the task. Pleased with that fact (he still hated his three-day unconscious spell at the end of the first year) he thought he'd go with humor for the time being. If that was the case, he knew the perfect thing to say.

"Hey, 'Mione. How many points did I win?"

-ooOOooOOoo-

Hermione looked at Harry as if she was an about to strangle him. "Harry James Potter! What kind of a question is that?!" Harry sighed. Now that his head was clearing up, he realized that had been a monumentally stupid thing to say. He would blame it on the potions, but honestly, he was more than familiar with Foot-In-Mouth syndrome for that to be the primary cause. All he could do now was let her get it out of her system, and apologies after. "First, you go on a bender the day before a life-and-death tournament without me and with Draco 'The Ponce' Malfoy, then you practically ignore me as you head into the arena to charge down the throat of a dragon while yelling like a madman, and then, your first question when you wake up in the infirmary is about your points for the bloody First Task? What were you thinking?! You could have died! I could have lost you!"

With that thought, Hermione lost the battle she had been fighting with her emotions, and she collapsed face-first on to his chest, sobbing. Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were decent (or, in Snape's case, embarrassed) enough to shuffle off a bit to give them some space, but Rita bloody Skeeter and her faithful shadow, Bozo, decided this would make a perfect cover for the morning news. Thankfully, two people Harry had never seen before decided to take affront to that. A decent-looking older gentleman in nice wizarding robes jumped up from where he was sitting and side-swiped Bozo just as he took the picture. Not enough to hurt him, Harry realized with some disappointment, but the bump to the photographer's shoulder was more than enough to ensure he got a lovely picture of the ceiling, and nothing else; and just as Rita was about to cram her quick-quote quill down Harry's throat again, a red-headed gentleman in a green muggle suit and vest with a tasteful shamrock-colored hat stepped in front of her and flicked a galleon in the air. As soon as the coin hit the floor, Rita, who had forgone breakfast that morning to preserve her figure and had missed out on lunch in excitement for the tournament, turned pale, closed her eyes, and fainted from hunger. Mme. Pomphrey looked at her, sighed, and levitated her into a hospital bed nearby, accidentally bumping her head twice on the way there.

"Well," said the red-head, "that was unfortunate." He sounded sorry enough, but the grin on his face seemed to indicate no sorrow on his part, a feeling Harry heartily agreed with. Anything unfortunate, short of death, was just what Rita Skeeter deserved. However, he really didn't have much time to enjoy the situation, as Hermione seemed to be trying to drown him through osmosis, and he still was having trouble figuring out what had happened.

Harry was completely bewildered. Not as to why Hermione was crying, as he had been in enough life-and-death situations, and seen enough people almost die, that he could understand much of what she was feeling, even if she seemed to be overreacting just a bit. No, at the moment, he had two huge things he couldn't wrap his mind around.

First on his list, and quite important, was the Merlin-be-damned Tri-Wizard Tournament. This, too, had three big things he would like to know. One, and by far the biggest, was "Will I survive?" Very important, to be sure, but honestly, he was so used to almost dying, he really didn't care to much one way or the other. Not that he wanted to die, but "Will I survive?" ranked right next to "Did I do my homework?" or "Will Snape vanish my potion right before I finish it?". It was just another important day-to-day question, and he wasn't dead, or about to die, at the moment, so it could wait.

Far more important to him at the moment was the big question pair: "Who set me up to compete, and why?" This duo had been driving him nuts for weeks now, but he was no closer to figuring out now, and he had no new information, so it could wait for a bit as well.

The biggest question had as far as the whole tournament was concerned, at the moment, was "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED DURING THE FIRST TASK?!" Truth be told, he barely remembered any of it, and what he did remember made no sense. Had he really charged straight at the dragon? If so, why? Where was his wand? Did he really get burnt with Dragon's Fire and hit in the stomach with a dragon's claw? If not, what had happened, and why did he think otherwise? If so, why was he in good condition? And why did Dragon's Fire seem like a proper name to him? Also, had the dragon really handed him the egg? Could a dragon hand something with claws, or did they 'claw' something to someone? Something was obviously up, at it didn't seem to be his I.Q. at the moment, because none of this made any sense.

And, now that he brought his physical and mental condition up, that also raised several other issues. For one, he felt great, and was feeling better by the second. Part of it seemed to come with being so close to Hermione for some reason, but he knew that couldn't be all. As he watched, his skin, which was slightly red and raw, was rapidly turning back to its normal color, and his nails seemed to be in perfect condition as well. It wasn't as if he was horrible on them, but he was a guy, and he did tend to chew his nails, so it wasn't really surprising that they were normally a little ragged, but now, they were not only in perfect condition, but they actually looked really sharp! He, frankly speaking, was a little concerned that if went to scratch an itch, he would scratch himself instead.

And, speaking of itches, he currently didn't. He always itched at least a little, especially when in the infirmary (he would swear up and down they made those beds uncomfortable to discourage re-visits. They were as hard as a rock, and the sheets felt like high-grade sandpaper) and doubly so when some sort of skin condition or burn put him there. Most people get used to a small, constant level of itching from hair, clothes, and the like, but at the moment, he realized he really didn't itch at all. At least, he didn't itch until he moved. The second he shifted in bed, a hundred small itches sprung up all over his body, making him go into a sudden intense scratching session trying to get his skin to calm down just a bit, but shortly after it started, it just faded away as if it had never happened.

As he stared at his skin in consternation (Hermione loved that word), he realized another thing that nearly made him pass out in shock. He could see! Not only could he see up close, the longer he stared at his skin, the more his eyes zoomed in on it, until it looked like a topographical map of a dessert. A very alive dessert. Suddenly realizing how many germs and microbes were on his skin, Harry quickly looked away, trying to fight down a rather intense round of nausea, and accidently looked out the window. Much to his surprise, there appeared to be a hawk between him and the window, its feathers glistening in the evening light as it twisted and turned in the air. His vision seemed to be a bit blurry, but the strangest thing was his sudden desire to catch it.

He was so entranced with the bird, that he didn't notice that he was actually trying to get up and walk towards it until Madame Pomphrey suddenly shouted "Oh, no you don't!" and Incarceroused him to the bed.

"Oops. Sorry, Mme. Pomphrey. I was just going to look at that bird in the window, honest."

Mme. Pomphrey looked down on him in concern. "Mr. Potter, I'm going to check you for a concussion now. You didn't seem to have one before, but it seems like you are seeing things. What bird?"

Harry glanced at the window, looked back, looked full out the window with shock in his eyes, then looked at her, confusion evident on his face and pointed out the window. "That one. The one that is flying over the Forbidden Forest. For a second there, I could see it so well I thought it was between me and the window!"

Mme. Pomphrey glanced at Harry, glanced out the window, did a double take, and stared at Harry in amazement. Instantly, her amazement turned to worry, and she started doing a series of complicated diagnostic spells, pointing her wand right in Harry's face, then started moving it down his body, even going so far as to gently push Hermione out of the way. After a moment, she sighed and said "Nothing is ever normal with you, is it Mister Potter. Most people would be dead after a stunt like you pulled today, but you seem to be in good shape, your eyes are phenomenally good, far better than twenty/twenty vision, you are eight inches taller, have far fewer scars, and you gained about thirty-five pounds in muscles."

Harry started to laugh, then stopped when he realized she wasn't. He was so confused that he leaped out of the bed so fast he broke the binding spell and accidentally dumped Hermione on the floor, making her cry harder. He looked down at himself, and realized she was telling the truth. With ease, he reached down and gently picked Hermione up holding her against his chest as she cried and resting his chin in her hair. Not a day ago, he had been slightly below eye level with her, but now he was the taller one. Shocked by all this, he just let his thoughts drift away and focused on Hermione. He normally wasn't the 'touching' type, but she was the major, and to the best of his knowledge, only exception to that rule. As he stood there, he breathed in her scent, when he noticed another new thing, this time about her. Her smell was much stronger than normal, the lilac shampoo she used standing out more than normal, but more than that, he could smell other things as well. Hidden in amongst her other scents, he caught the smell of horse's sweat, a hint of dirt, and, most concerningly, he smelled blood. Instantly, he pulled away to check and make sure she was ok.

She looked up at him with confusion on her face. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No." she replied, obviously still confused, "Why did you ask?"

Harry instantly got nervous as several possible answers for why she might smell like blood, and decided it would be a bad idea to discuss this now. So, of course, he copped out. "I did jump up pretty quick. I was worried I might have hurt you."

She gave him a teary-eyed frown. "You did hurt me, just not physically. Are you INSANE! You almost got yourself killed!"

Not sure how to take her reaction, Harry decided to try for humor. With a teasing smile on his face, he said "Cheer up. At least I wouldn't have gotten myself expelled!"

Her frown deepened, and he realized that was the wrong tack to take. He re-embraced her. "Look, Hermione, I'm sorry for scaring you, and for my inordinately bad jokes. I didn't mean to scare you. The jokes were, unfortunately, intentional. I'd claim temporary insanity, but it doesn't seem to be going away. To be honest, I didn't mean to do anything I did during the first task. I was under so much pressure from people claiming I cheated my way in, and school, and my home life, and… Ron… that I just sort of snapped. I was just acting on pure instinct. I'm not even sure I remember what I did. Did I really charge a dragon? What happened to my wand? Did I even get the egg?"

"You don't remember?" Harry shook his head, and Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. "After… Ron… y-you started walking towards the arena like you were in a daze. I t-tried to talk to you, b-but it was like you couldn't here me. The closer you got to the arena, the faster you were going, until you practically sprinted out into the open. You didn't cast any spells, or do anything but scream at the top of your lungs, charging the dragon like you wanted to stab it with your wand. Then…" her breath caught, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. Harry waited for a minute, then she drew a deep breath and continued. "The d-dragon breathed fire at you. Y-you were burning like a torch, but the weird thing was, it didn't smell like you were burning, but bits of ash were peeling off your body, at it looked like you were burning, and re-growing, and burning, and re-growing over and over again. Then the dragon tried to take a slash at you, but it must have missed, because nothing happened except more ash floating away. I am not sure if a dragon can frown in confusion, but that one certainly tried. Then, you started babbling about needing the egg, but your voice sounded all wrong, like you were a whole zoo of animals speaking English at once, only worse, and way louder. It was scary, but kind of awesome. I couldn't make out all of what you were saying over the noise, but it must have worked, because the dragon started licking its eggs. Then, w-when it got to the golden egg you were supposed to get, it picked it up with its tongue, dropped it into its claw, and just… gave it to you. And you staggered back a couple of steps, and lay down on the ground, cuddling the egg like a teddy bear. You were still on fire, but you didn't even react. You just went to sleep. That scared me more than anything. I thought… I thought you had layed down and died."

"Lied down. No, lie down. Lay down? It should be some form of lie, not lay."

"Harry!" Hermione said with a sobbing laugh. "Now is not the time for grammar."

'What about gramper?"

Hermione smacked his arm, hard. That turned out to be a bad idea. A rather loud crack rang out, and Hermione looked at her hand in shock. Two of her fingers were starting to swell and turn purple, and her legs gave out. Harry immediately called Mme. Pomphrey over, set Hermione on the bed he had just vacated, and started to freak out and babble apologies for… whatever had just happened, the tournament, not turning in his homework. Honestly, he was apologizing for whatever he could think of.

Mme. Pomphrey bustled over in a very healer-like way. "Mr. Potter, could you please stop making it necessary for me to wish I had gone into potion-mastery? Honestly, you are enough to make me want to retire young!"

All commotion had brought the headmaster and Snape back, and Snape had started sneering even worse than normal at the healer's comment about potion-mastering. Apparently, he saw himself as the only person worthy to even consider such a trade. Dumbledore, however, decided that "Mr. potter seemed well enough for a brief visit to my office to discuss what happened during the first task." Harry was exceptionally eager to stay by Hermione's side, but she said she was fine, and would talk to him later. Mme. Pomphrey, oddly enough, seemed desperate to get him out of the infirmary, which surprised Harry no end. Normally, he had to beg until she was tired of his whining to get out of here, and even then, she would wait awhile to show him whining didn't pay off. But, when it came right down to it, he was too thankful to look this proverbial gift horse its allegorical mouth. As soon as he thought that, the traitorous thought 'I am spending WAY too much time with Hermione' crossed his mind, and was swiftly and violently executed for its crimes. As much as he (had) loved Ron like a brother, Hermione was the only person who he felt really understood him, even if it was only to be disappointed by what she saw. He should try to prove himself to her more.

As they reached the gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office, something unusual happened to pull Harry out of his revere. Normally, when he had visited here before, he would state the password, the gargoyle had waited a moment as if examining him for something, then would hop aside to let him. This time, before he even got close to the office, the gargoyle looked up with a start, stared at him with something he could only describe as horror, and leaped of its pedestal and ran away! Harry realized, in that moment, he had to become better friends with the Weasleys. If this was their work (and he thought it likely) they had more potential than he ever realized, and a damn fine sense of humor to boot. Of course, it was very hard for him to think this from his current position (rolling on the floor, laughing) but he managed. The looks of horror on Snape and Dumbledore's faces were priceless, and, probably for his first time ever, he realized these two were just men. Snape wasn't some bloodsucking beast out for Harry's intestines, he was a middle-age, bitter teacher who needed sympathy and good humor, not hatred and fear. And Dumbledore! If a prank like this could faze him, he was no Merlin. Sure, he had the kindly grandfather act down, and sure, he was both knowledgeable and powerful, but he was just an elderly man, as human and fallible as the next guy.

"Mr. Potter," the headmaster exclaimed, "what did you do to my gargoyle?!"

Harry instantly stopped laughing. "I didn't do anything. you were right behind me, and you were watching me. As such, you could tell I didn't affect it in any way. I really don't appreciate baseless accusations, Professor Dumbledore. I get enough of those from the students, the press, and even my own family. Speaking of family, Professor Snape, I found out from my aunt last summer that you knew my mother in your younger years. Would you be willing to tell me about it some time?"

Snape looked stuck between sneering, happy, sad, and angry, so Harry rushed to give him an out. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Professor. I just haven't gotten to talk to many people who knew her well, and the only thing I heard from my aunt were some… unpleasant lies. If you can find the time, I'd be more than happy you help you out in any way I can in return. I know how much of a mess each potion class can make, and I wouldn't want to cause any trouble. Who knows, spending more time in the lab might help me pick up more about potion-making. I know for sure it isn't my best class. If I could ask an extra favor as well, you wouldn't happen to have any book recommendations I could read in order to help me not be such a nuisance in class?"

Now Snape just looked petrified. He stood there for about five seconds, cleared his throat, cleared it again, coughed, then said, with just a hint of a sneer: "Yes, you do seem to cause quite a few issues. Come down to the lab later, and we'll see if we can't work something out."

"Thank you, professor." Harry said with a serious face, letting just a hint of a happy smile out, "Maybe this weekend?"

"If you are willing to help me clean, any early afternoon to evening or the weekend during the, just never after 7:30! I have enough of dealing with annoying students during the day, I don't need them filling up my evenings, too. And don't even think of telling anyone about our deal! The last thing I need is hordes of annoying, dunderheaded brats at my door!"

Harry let a bigger, but still faint smile show. "Yes, I could see how that would be a pain. In that case, I will come by at 5:00 in the afternoon, day after tomorrow. Something tells me tomorrow will be too busy for social calls or extra work."

Harry didn't know it, but that was one of the most important moments of his already jam-packed life. This new mindset of his would change the entirety of the next meeting, and, through it, the rest of his life. Even bigger than that, however, this next meeting would trigger events that would lead to one of the greatest wars of all time.