Ingenio ab Artifex (Formerly: Flowers for Your Grave)

by JaimeJabs

There have been many rumours surrounding me and my life—especially my love life. So, after due consideration—and a few well-aimed words from our resident bookworm—I have decided to publish my autobiography. For any questions and questionable charms placed on your copy of my self-updating autobiography, feel free to owl my publisher, Jaime.

4. Episode III

Chapter 1: Red

October 30, 1994

I stand next to the Headmaster in the courtyard, shoulders squared and gaze proud. Behind us are all the teachers of the school and spread on both sides are the students of all four houses, dressed to impress.

We are waiting for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to come.

I asked Dumbledore how they planned on arriving but he was more cryptic than ever. Let that be a lesson: the old man is not above petty revenge. Still, I'm certain my surprise will triumph that of other schools.

It's cold out here. We are in the middle of autumn in Scotland... so no surprises there. The visiting schools will be here soon and I am ready. I have my enchanted staff resting on my shoulders, the necessary seeds are planted all over the large yard. and I am rested.

Creating a staff that can channel magic is difficult. Even the staffs made by world's best crafters work only a dozen times. After that, all that is left is a wooden stick that looks pretty. There is a reason Merlin is such a renowned figure.

And I am not great at enchanting things. I poured everything I had to this staff and yet, it will only work this once. Still, the show I will put on will be great enough.

The headmaster nudges me out of my musings and points to the lake. Something is disturbing the normally calm lake and the Giant Squid is flailing restlessly, and suddenly an enormous ship comes out of the water like a fucking submarine.

Man, that's cool.

He points to the sky next and I see a speck that is slowly getting bigger.

I don't think it's a coincidence both schools arrive at the same time. Bastards. This would be hard as it is with having to do it one at a time. Now, I have to do it at the same time.

But, it takes a great deal of cooperation so who am I to judge.

Besides, I've never been the one to back down from a challenge.

The speck in the sky gets bigger and bigger, and dammit, that's a carriage pulled by seven Abraxans.

The pissing contest is not a sure thing I thought it would be, I guess.

The magnificent beasts land and the giant ship docks.

A mountain of a boy jumps out of the carriage and places something- a stool, I guess- on where he landed a second ago. The boy's identity dawns on me; Balzac himself.

A large lady steps down from the carriage and stands next to Balzac. Now, I need to point out that boy is huge at six-foot and seven inches but next to this lady, who I'm assuming is the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, he seems like a first-year student.

I can hear murmurs of the Hogwarts students from where I am standing and I can imagine how hard it must be for Professor McGonagall to not admonish them.

Durmstrang Highmaster's exit does not have the same effect. He's a thin man with an old-fashion, bad guy goatee.

Both school's students line up behind their respective heads except for one student each. A silver-blonde girl from Beauxbatons and a burly dude from Durmstrang stand next to Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff, respectively.

I lift off my staff and wait for them to move. Both schools move at the same time and if I didn't know better, I'd think they practiced together.

This part will be hard. Not only I need to cast a massive special counter-spell at the seeds I've planted, but I also have to get them into right positions simultaneously.

Let's hope the staff can handle the magic.

I slam the staff down with their first step and continue to do so every two steps. The effect is better than I hoped and the sweat immediately pouring out of me without a care for the coldness of the Scotland, is a small price to pay for it.

Dry ice forms on the muddy ground where I hit the staff and creates two pathways to both groups to make it easy to allow for an easier walk and the gas released adds an extra layer of beauty to the castle.

On the Beauxbatons side, each time I slam down, bushes of blue roses sprang on both sides of where the Headmistress is.

On the Durmstrang side, the same thing happens but with small ash trees with blood red fire burning on the branches.

When they are halfway to where we are, I slam the staff more forcefully but without breaking the rhythm. A rooster and a double-headed eagle materialise. Rooster is France's unofficial national symbol while the double-headed eagle is the symbol of Durmstrang, I think.

Neither is as cool as a dragon though, so I conjure a small dragon made of shadows five feet in front of me. It's sleeping peacefully.

The rooster and the eagle lead their people to where we are. Roses and trees keep springing up each time I slam the staff and my vision is blurring around the edges.

It's an impressive sight and the teachers and students of Hogwarts agree. Pride and fatigue fights inside me but on the outside, I'm perfectly composed. It takes a hell of an effort to conjure so much in so little time and doubly so because of the choreography.

They are now close enough for me to see their faces and I falter. The surly boy next to Karkaroff is Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker, but that's not the reason. The girl walking next to Madame Maxime is none other than Fleur and she looks just as beautiful as I remember.

She's a witch! And she's here. I don't know whether to be excited or disappointed.

I gather my wits once again and continue my rhythm as if I never even missed a step. It's okay, even the best of us make mistakes.

They get closer. The rooster and the eagle are now right in front of my sleeping dragon. Both birds gave a cry and nudge the dragon. After two nudges from each, the dragon wakes up and unleashes a small inferno on them. They are burned down instantly.

The dragon huffs a breath of smoke and falls back to sleep. The smoke rises into the air while the dragon dissolves away and the smoke forms Hogwarts' motto in a dripping letters; Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.'

I am so happy it's over. I can barely stand. I twirl the staff and air clears and all the conjured roses and torches disappear.

Fatigue exacts its vengeance and I have to lean on the staff while Headmaster Dumbledore walks up to Madame Maxime and kisses her hand. One advantage of her size is that all he has to do to kiss her hand is stand normally. He exchanges the standard welcoming niceties while I gaze on Fleur. She looks back inquiringly with a raised eyebrow.

I lift my now almost useless staff an inch and give a gentle tap on the ground. A single tea rose rises up right in front of her. She takes the flower and smells it, a small smile on her lips.

The message is clear if she understands the flower language; 'I will remember always.'

—JB—

I am sitting at Gryffindor table with my trio of friends and a handful of students from Beauxbatons, notably Balzac. We are eating and chatting amicably. I can tell Balzac wants to tease me about the last rose I conjured but says nothing.

The feast is great even by Hogwarts standards thanks to the excitement caused by the visiting schools and the foreign food- foreign for Hogwarts that is- offered in honour of the visitors adds a new flavour to the normally British-to-the-bone affair.

The surrounding conversation slows to a stop and I look up to find the reason. It's Fleur. Weird. Why would everyone stop talking just because a pretty girl is near? Okay, maybe she's jaw-droopingly beautiful but... Huh. I get it now.

"Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?" she asks in a broken, adorable English.

I tilt my head and smile. "Sure, go ahead, Fleur." My answer is in French.

Her eyes narrow just a tad. "Thank you."

As soon as she leaves, everyone at the table looks at me. "What? Did you guys want more?"

No one answers but most shake their heads. The whole scene is a comedy gold mine but I can feel the interrogation coming so I don't even bother.

Balzac smiles hungrily at the possible gossip. "How do you know Fleur?"

"I know you, don't I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, because we went to the same daycare. Fleur didn't. How do you know her?"

I glare at him a bit before answering. "I met her on my birthday."

"I was there. I think I would have remembered."

"Ah, but you weren't. You were too embarrassed to stay."

"Because you were dancing like a drunken monkey!" he exclaims and I laugh.

"I know. It was awesome."

"Tell me or I swear..." he trails off.

I ignore the glint in his eyes and smile smugly. "You'll do what?"

"I'll show everyone here one of your naked baby pictures."

I look at him with narrowed eyes. "You don't have a naked picture of me as a baby." His expression turns cocky and I gulp. "Do you?"

"Dacia stole the one with the blue elephant," he confirms. "She thought it was too cute to pass out."

I let out a growl. "I will kill her to death."

"Please refrain from threatening my girlfriend with bodily harm." He puts a finger on his chin. "Will you tell me what happened after we left or should I owl her? It takes what? Ten? Twelve hours for an owl to reach France?"

I chance a look around me and see all my friends are listening with rapt attention. "Fine. After you left, I asked her to dance. She said no. I convinced her to. We danced all night." I say all that rapidly and under my breath but they understand anyway much to my chagrin.

"That's not the whole story," Hermione butts in.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you, James Black. Finish your story."

"Nope. That's all you will get from me." I turn to Balzac. "And no, no picture will make me tell more." He looks a little disappointed.

"We were studying by the lake one day last year when this beautiful mermaid-" Hermione starts before I shut her up using my hand.

"Nope. We are not telling that story, my dear sister. No one shall ever hear that story. Do you understand me?"

I was a teenager who saw breasts for the first time, okay?! And I couldn't see her lower body because of the lake… Never mind.

"People need a story. Either you finish yours or I'll finish mine," she threatens me when I let her speak.

"I hate you all. Did you know that? Fine. I tried to be a gentleman, but it's too damn hard when you have noisy friends. We danced the night away. I took her home. We had sex. We played music. We had some more sex. The morning came, and she left."

"There is more to the story, isn't there?" God damn you, Hermione!

"What more do you want to know? Do you want me to give you a position to position run down?" I glare at her.

She shrinks down on her seat. "Sorry."

"You don't always have to know everything, Hermione. Some things are personal. You need to learn when to stop."

"I want to hear about the positions," Ron says jokingly.

"Well, you won't. And what you have will not leave this group." I glare at them warningly. "I mean it. Neither she, nor I need ridiculous rumours going around."

They all nod. Balzac opens his mouth to say something but stops when Dumbledore stands up.

"Now that you are all warmed and fed, it's safe to make a few announcements," he jokes while walking in front of the table. "After the feast tomorrow, the champion selection will take place."

I see Filch roll up a golden casket encrusted with jewels that is just too ugly. Whoever made it went a tad overboard.

"Champions will be selected by an impartial judge." He taps on the casket and it melts away into nothingness. "The Goblet of Fire. Everyone wishing to enter needs write their names and school on a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet. You have twenty-four hours to put your names in."

The showman-smile on his face turns to a thin line and his eyes narrow. The change is far too smooth but conveys the importance of his next words more than enough. "Because of the high mortality rate of the past tournaments, it was decided that only those of age should be allowed to participate-"

He's cut off by a collective show of outrage by everyone underage. He raises his hands and silence returns to the hall. "As I was saying, I will draw an age line around the goblet to ensure those underage can't put their names forward."

"A word of advice," he continues gently and grimly, "do not enter this tournament lightly. Those who are picked will have to face many dangers. It is not for the faint-hearted." His tone is grave. "Now that that's out of the way, it's time to head to bed. Off you go," he finishes cheerfully, no sign of the previous gravity on his face.

I find it awe-inspiring how quickly and successfully he can change tones. He knows how to keep an audience on their toes. He nods at me so I get up and walk over to him. He leads me to the anteroom behind the staff table.

"That was quite the performance, my boy. Well done."

"Thank you, sir. I hope you win your little pissing contest," I answer cheerfully.

"Now, now. Even old people are not above their foible." He peers at me over his glasses and smiles playfully. "Severus gave me the most surprising news the other day. I thought you didn't want him to know."

"I needed his help. Best way to ensure it was by letting him know who I really am," I answer the unasked question.

"It's good to know you are trusting him."

"I don't trust him, sir. You trust him. I trust you." I shake my head. "Besides, no matter how much we dislike each other, I know he would protect me. He may be a bitter man but he'd protect any student who needs protecting."

"I'm glad you think so, my boy. Now, you must be tired after your splendid performance. Get rest. You did well today."

"Thank you, sir. Good night."

"Good night, Harry."

-JB-

October 31, 1994

Today was a fun day. There were no classes, so I spent quality time with my best friends, including Balzac, watching everyone enter their names and some underage students fail to enter. Results were funny. Especially those who tried to fool the age line by using aging potions.

Snape is a devious man. I can tell his touch on age line. Albus wouldn't go that far. And his sudden enthusiasm regarding Aging Potion makes sense now.

Ten people needed help to get to the infirmary because they were suddenly too old to go by themselves. As in old enough to lose control of their bladder. As in old enough to be Albus' father.

We made a bet on who will be chosen to represent Hogwarts. Unfortunately, no matter who gets to be the lucky one, I don't think they will win. Well, Cedric may pull a surprise but against the likes of Fleur, Krum, and Balzac, though I doubt it.

Sadly, I think the best students of Hogwarts are all between third-year and sixth-year, which means they can't compete. I bet Hermione could give everyone a run for their money even though she's a fourth-year.

The feast is over and the champion selection will begin soon. The excitement in the air is palpable.

I am not excited though. I feel like I'm forgetting something important. It's a troubling feeling.

I turn to Hermione and ask, "Did I forget to do something? I feel like I should be nervous but I don't know why I should be nervous."

She thinks about it for a second before her eyes widen. "You remembered to talk to Professor Dumbledore about your suspicions, right?"

Shit. "No but Snape did. I mean, it should be okay, right?" I ask, unsure. Then my eyes widen to match hers. "It's Halloween."

"What's wrong with Halloween?" Yeah, Balzac is new to this school.

"Halloween is cursed in this school. Or it's cursed for our group, I don't know but every Halloween something goes wrong," I explain to him. "Oh, shit." I slam my head on the table.

"What now?" Balzac chuckles.

"My name will come out of the goblet. I know it. I know it." I turn to Hermione. "Why, Hermione? Why must some shit always happen on all hallows' eve? Is it me that's cursed or is it the day?"

Balzac is far too calm, and it irritates me. "Calm down, James. You are being ridiculous."

"No, he really is not. The first year, it was the troll. The second year, it was the basilisk. The third year, it was the rat," Hermione informs him before turning to me. "But Balzac's right. Nothing is set in stone."

"Here we go." I nod towards where Headmaster is making his way in front of the head table. Shit is about to go down.

"Now is the time we all have been waiting for. The goblet is about the decide. When the champions' names are called, they will come up here and go into the next chamber," he waves a hand to the anteroom he led me to yesterday with a flourish, "where they will receive their instructions."

Everyone waits with bated breaths as Dumbledore dims the candles and the fire on the goblet burns brighter before turning red. A piece of parchment flies out and Dumbledore catches it, showing his age is not an indicator of his health.

"Durmstrang's champion is…" he pauses a couple seconds for drama, "Viktor Krum."

Everyone clapped, including me. He was the obvious choice though. He's an athletic guy that packs a punch and frankly, I think it's possible Karkaroff made sure only his name was put in the goblet.

The fire turns red once more and everyone stops clapping at once. Another parchment flies off. "The champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour."

This time, clapping is a little more sedate and I can see couple girls in blue crying. I give Balzac a sympathetic slap on the shoulder. He just shrugs. That dude doesn't care about nothing.

"Hogwarts' champion is Cedric Diggory!"

It's a sad fact that Cedric truly is the best of seventh-years. If my year mates were seventeen, he wouldn't even be in the top five. Hermione, Padma, Su Li, Susan… I don't want to say it but I will… Draco.

Cedric gets the loudest celebration. He has the home advantage.

My nervousness increases. This is going to suck.

Balzac turns to me with a smug expression. "See, I told you. You were being ridiculous."

"Wait for it," I drawl with my cheek on the table.

I raise my head to watch as Dumbledore continues when Cedric enters the antechamber. "We have our champions. Over the next eight months, we will have five challenges and a duelling tournament to determine who is the most talented among them. But before we end the-"

The goblet turns red again. "There it is," I groan and slam my head on the table. "Fuck!"

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore whispers but it's heard by everyone in the silence.

It takes me a few seconds to process the words. "Oh, fuck me."

This is bad. This is so bad. Not only I have to compete, everyone will find out my real identity now. Okay, so that's not the end of the world but the fact that my name came out of the goblet is a sure sign that this year is going to suck.

The murmurs start around the hall as everyone 'knows' Harry Potter is in hiding and being tutored by secret teachers and well… You know how those stories go. He lives in the castle, he fights monsters, he has the best teachers… Wait... I stand corrected.

I touch my necklace to finish the Concealment Charm that hides my scar and rise from my seat. "I hate Halloween," I whisper to him harshly as I pass him by, taking the parchment with my REAL name on it. Behind me, murmurs double in loudness.

-HP-

"What is it, James? Do they want us back in the hall?" Cedric questions me as soon as I walk in.

"Nope. My name just came out of the fucking goblet."

"What do you mean? That's ridiculous."

Jesus. This is the guy who's supposed to be the best Hogwarts has to offer. Fucking fuck! Fuck!

"Tell me about it," I intone, pointing at my scar.

"What happened to your... That's... You are..."

"What's going on?" Fleur asks suspiciously. I guess she didn't hear me the first time.

Before I answer, I hear footsteps and turn towards the door. A portly man enters. "Extraordinary. Gentlemen and lady, let me introduce the fourth champion of the Triwizard tournament. Harry Potter," he announces excitedly.

I'm so not in the mood for this shit. "I don't know who the hell you are but no, it's not extraordinary. Whoever the fuck entered me into this tournament used my real name." I walk towards him and talk in a soft, dangerous voice, "no, Mr fat guy, it's not extraordinary. It's not a happy occasion. Now, I think it's best if you shut up and let people with more than five brain cells do the talking."

As he gapes there like a particularly stupid fish, Dumbledore comes in with two other school heads, Professors McGonagall, and Snape. "Harry, I believe I know the answer already but I must ask. Did you put your name into the goblet?"

"No. Nor do I want to be in this tournament. You know that already, Professor."

"The boy lies," Karkaroff states poisonously.

"No, he doesn't," Snape disagrees with a headshake just before McGonagall.

She turns to him in shock. "What?" I can see everyone thinks McGonagall thinks I did it. They don't get how weird it must be for her to hear Snape support me.

"Albus, is there any way you can get me out of this? I really don't need this on my plate right now."

"The boy is clearly afraid. We can't let him compete in something this dangerous. He's just a child," Madame Maxime bawls sympathetically.

Now, I know she means well. At least I think she does, but I am stressed as hell. First the nightmare, then the riot, then Firenze's cryptic warning, and now this. Give me a break.

"Scared? Do you not get the implications of what happened ten minutes ago? Someone put the name 'Harry Potter' in the Goblet of Fire. To do that, they not only had to get past the age line Albus Dumbledore himself drew and charm the goblet to next year and back, but they needed a parchment with my name on it that the magic of Goblet of Fire would accept as my consent. The problem is, I have never written my real name in my life. Ever. Not even to try it out. Do you see where I am going with this? Tell me, what would be magically binding as if I signed my name?" O ask with a raised eyebrow but she's too shocked by my outburst to answer.

"No? Official documents where my parents signed my name as was their right as my guardians. There we have another problem. There are only three documents where my name was written by my parents. The first one is their will and Gringotts sure as hell didn't give that away. For one, I am one of their biggest client in Britain. Second, goblins consider me an ally which means unless someone paid them more than the Ministry's yearly budget, there is no way in hell they would betray me. The second document is here, in Hogwarts, signing me up for the school's roster. I won't insult you by telling you why trying to steal that is a stupid idea. Whoever did this wouldn't dare attract Albus' suspicions before my name came out of the goblet. The third is in the ministry, my birth certificate. Someone not only broke into the ministry to steal that document, they are also here, in Hogwarts, hiding in plain sight."

I glare at the half-giantess. "Scared, you said? Tell me, I know all that, I know how much trouble someone went to get me out in the open, yet, do I look scared to you? No, I can assure you I am not scared. When you kill a seventy feet basilisk, you stop feeling scared. This is merely an annoyance."

I turn to Dumbledore while everyone is shocked to silence by my rant. "Now, Headmaster, is there a way out of this?"

Dumbledore turns to another man he introduced before dinner but I don't remember his name...

"Barty?"

Wait, I remember. It was Barty... something. Meh. I don't give a crap.

"The boy must compete. The rules are clear. Everyone whose name came out of the goblet must compete," he answers the unasked question.

"I don't care about your rules, Mr... whatever. What will happen if I don't compete?"

He's taken aback for a moment like he's surprised anyone would not care about the rules but he answers anyway. "I am unsure. If you had entered your own name and decided not to compete, that would constitute a breach of contract and the results would be most severe, possibly even death. But you claim you didn't. I am not sure whether there is a contract."

"If you don't know how it works, why would you use the goblet of fire?" I ask in surprise.

"It's tradition-"

"Don't finish that sentence, please."

"If the boy is going to compete, I insist we relit the goblet and choose one more student each," Karkaroff complains.

It's the fat man that speaks next. "But it doesn't work like that, Karkaroff. Goblet won't ignite until the next tournament."

"You don't need the goblet to add two more champions," I cut in before Karkaroff can go off again. "You and Madame Maxime know your own students. You came here knowing which of your students the goblet would choose. Just choose two more. You don't need an ancient artifact to tell you who your second best students are. Rules state goblet must select champions. Not that champions must be selected by the goblet. If one of the additional competitors win, you can officially call it a draw on a technicality."

"The boy is right," Maxime agrees.

Again with the boy. Though, I am a boy so... whatever.

"But tradition dictates Goblet of Fire to choose the champions," Bagman complains.

"Tradition also dictates only three champions can compete, Ludo," Snape sneers at the foolish man.

"It's settled then. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will have one more champion each," Dumbledore cuts off any more derailing. "We should return to the great hall and make an announcement." He looks at me for a second and must have seen how much I need it. "Harry, you can go to your room. Come to my office early in the morning."

"Will do. Thank you, sir."

I walk out of the antechamber and the great hall falls silent. I can feel everyone's eyes at me but I have too much on my mind to care. I walk between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables and walk out of the great hall after warning off my friends with a headshake.

As soon as I'm out of sight, I run. I need to think but right now, I have no focus. I have to clear my head. I enter the common room and make my way to the top room, my room.

Heads of houses used to stay in this room in the past when there were thrice more students than there is now and twice the teachers.

I convinced Albus to assign it to me in my second year. It's my temple away from home. Similarly built, only smaller.

I sit down on the piano bench and play. Puck jumps on the piano and prowls across it. He does that when I'm upset or stressed out.

When I finally stop playing, it's three hours later. I made the connections. It may sound shocking but I think Voldemort is behind this. Or his servant in Hogwarts, to be precise.

The question is, who is his inside man? It's not Snape. He wouldn't trust Karkaroff to light a candle, let alone with something this big after the man's betrayal. He has someone else but how is that someone here? It can't be a student. He can't risk a screw up. It has to be an adult. That leaves school staff, ministry officials and the foreigners.

Of the teachers and staff, Albus, Minerva, Flitwick, Sprout, Moody, Snape, Hagrid, Trelawney, Filch, Sinistra, Binns, Vector, Babbling, Karkaroff and Maxime are out. The other schools brought two staff members each. There are fifteen government officials from three countries in Hogwarts at the moment. Out of fifteen, five arrived just before dinner so they are out. That is a list of fourteen names with unknown motives.

Doesn't matter who the servant is. At least, not for now.

Why go to all this trouble? To find me and to make sure I will be at a certain place at a certain time. The end game is to abduct me, that much is obvious from the dream/vision. Abduct me to what end, I don't know.

The tournament consists of four challenges- or trials-, a duelling tournament and the final maze or something along those lines. Duelling tournament is out. He can't get close enough to abduct me unless he has a champion in his pocket which is highly unlikely.

That leaves four trials and the maze. The trials are based on the four states of matter.

Water is out. While trying to catch me in the lake where my mobility would be low makes sense, he would need numbers on his side and subduing me would be harder.

Air is out. It'd be damn near impossible to catch someone in the air, let alone me.

I doubt it will be the Fire challenge. It is next month. He can't enact a solid plan that fast. Whatever is the overall plan, Voldemort would want to lull us into a false sense of security.

That leaves only two options. Either the earth trial or the maze.

Earth challenge will probably take place in the forbidden forest. It's a good location if you want to kidnap someone, hypothetically. If that's his plan, he's in for a big shock. Even if they wouldn't say it, the centaurs like me. Firenze and Bane, at least, would come to my aid and I know Firenze's curious nature would ensure he'll be there watching.

Considering he saved me from Voldemort once, I feel safe under his protection.

Maze. Maze is a problem. It is the most chaotic part of the tournament with zero chance of outside help. There will be too many variables for me to control the situation. But, if he has a man inside, he may be able to control the outcome. There would be no help to come if he manages that.

At least that narrows down the options. The question is, should I go along with it and try to stop him or should I take the safe choice and go through the tournament without giving him a way to kidnap me? That is if I have an option.

Fourteen possible suspects, two possible times and two possible routes for me to take.

God, I hate Halloween.

-HP-

November 1, 1994

I walk to the headmaster's office first thing in the morning. We have a lot to discuss. I knock on his door and enter without waiting for an answer. Professors McGonagall and Snape are already in the room with Dumbledore. Not surprising.

"Good morning, Professors."

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore sounds very concerned. I don't blame him. Normally, I'd be going crazy right about now. I think I am getting a handle on my problems.

"Focused."

"Good. Sirius and Remus will be here in a minute. Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice, sir. Thank you."

My seat is conjured for me across the two Professors and as I sit, a tray with four cups of tea materialises. It's a nice trick. Someone who doesn't know the headmaster would think he performed a magnificent magical feat, wandlessly. Truth is far simpler; house-elves.

It took me three years to realise that. I guess it's easy to forget and dismiss the capabilities of the diminutive creatures.

We sip our teas in silent contemplation until the fireplace flares up and in walks Sirius and Remus. Sirius engulfs me in a hug immediately.

"What happened?" he asks after letting me go.

Dumbledore turns to me with a twinkle in his eye. "Harry, would you like to do the honours?"

Sirius tenses at the use of my real name and throws a nervous glance at Snape. "Sure. And cut it out, Sirius. Snape already knows. I told him a week ago."

He's surprised but lets it go for now. "Voldemort wants to kidnap me, as in Harry Potter. He needed way to identify me, or verify my identity because I think it was obvious after the fiasco at the end of my first year. He used the goblet to do that. He bet Albus would have to bring me out of hiding. He will try to kidnap me during a task. Either the earth challenge or the final maze."

I scratch my forehead and close my eyes, picturing the smug smile on my parents' murderer's face. "He needed to use a document that would pass as my parents' consent, which worked because I'm still a minor. So he stole my birth certificate from the ministry. He has Wormtail with him and one sleeper agent in the Hogwarts."

Sirius turns to Snape right away. Typical. "No. It's not Snape. Voldemort wouldn't trust Snape with something this big even if he could ensure the man's loyalty. It's not Karkaroff, either. He might suspect Snape's loyalties but he'd never trust Karkaroff after he sold out in such a spectacular fashion. No, this is someone we don't know or someone we wouldn't suspect."

He and Remus take a few seconds to process the information. I look up to McGonagall and Snape and can see they are surprised. Why do people underestimate me?

"What are we going to do?" Sirius asks Dumbledore. The old man just shrugs and points to me. It feels good knowing he trusts me.

"We are going to let it play out for now and increase my training with you guys to three to four times a week. I am exempt from classes so will not be going this year. Most of the classes are redundant and I already learn nothing in Potions or Herbology. No offense." I nod to Snape and he shrugs, uncaring. "I might continue Arithmancy and Ancient Runes but I'm not sure yet. In the meantime, I will visit Professor Snape every few weeks so he can test my progress on Occlumency."

"Why me? Why not Headmaster?" Snape asks, a hint of desperation in his silky voice.

"Because Headmaster can't help me while the tournament is going on. It's against the rules and I won't have people claim I cheated when I win the tournament," I explain with a sharp smile.

"They would still think you are cheating."

"Don't make me laugh. Do you expect me to believe people would assume you would ever help me cheat?" I laugh. "Besides, no one will know. Everyone will think I am serving detention. I trust I can earn a few detentions from you easily, Professor. Wouldn't you say?"

He does as expected and glares at me while Dumbledore gives me an amused smile, knowing I'll use the excuse as a permission to continue my war on Snape.

"In the meantime, we have people to investigate and a plan to make. There are fourteen possible suspects. We need to figure out who. If not to derail his plan to kidnap me, then to make sure other students are safe. And we need to decide on a game plan. What do we do at the end of the eleventh hour? Do I go along with his plan and stop him or do we derail his plan and make sure I'm safe and out of harm's way? Can we devise a way for you to track me in case I am kidnapped or will I be on my own? Do we bring Madame Bones into the fold or do we play this close to our chests?"

I turn to the headmaster. "Did I forget to mention anything?"

"No, my boy. I think that about covers it." He smiles at me indulgently. "We should give this some further thought before deciding anything."

"Good," I say with a nod and slump on my chair.

- Flowers for Your Grave -

Chapter 2: Distant Bells

November 7, 1994

I can't stop thinking. No, that's not a good thing.

One reason for that is I am Harry Potter. Yeah, I know. Why would my name be a problem?

Well, because people have opinions. And when people have opinions, they feel entitled to share their opinions and they feel like their opinions are all that matters. I fucking hate people and opinions. Especially stupid people. They shouldn't have opinions at all.

Okay, let's see. Where to begin? Let's start with reactions of those closest to me and work our way from there.

Hermione, my sister in all but blood. She's upset. No, not because I lied or anything. She's upset because she's the smartest person in this school yet, she couldn't figure out my secret. It's a big hit to her ego, apparently. No, I'm not being judgemental. She said so.

Ron, my brother in all but blood. Now, to understand his reaction better and why it is important, I should give you a background. Ron is prone to jealousy and laziness. He wants to be famous and rich but he doesn't want to work for it. I am already rich. And now I'm famous. And I'm in this tournament he repeatedly said he wished he could be a part of. That's why I'm surprised all of his reaction can be summarised in one non-word: 'meh'.

Neville's reaction wasn't very different from Ron. The only difference is he is more confident of himself. Apparently, being friends with the 'boy-who-lived' is a good thing for confidence.

Balzac… That idiotic giant is so very proud. According to him, me being Harry Potter shows how good he is at picking friends. There is a logic there somewhere. I'll leave it to you to figure it out.

Katie. Oh, boy. I love that girl. I truly do. She said she knew who I was the moment I kissed her. It was obviously a joke, but it was a joke made in the right moment.

Ginny was more than a little surprised. Who knew she had a huge crush on Harry Potter? Well, everyone knew but still… The fact that she had a crush on James Black as well… You get the point.

She now has a double-crush on me. Let's hope she doesn't go Bellatrix on me.

The twins. Well, apparently Ron isn't the one whose jealous reaction I should have been afraid of. Those two freckled fuckers are in the 'opinion' that I stole their thunder by somehow being in this tournament. It hurts their ego that I managed to 'enter' this tournament without even trying when they went through an afternoon as old men and yet failed all the same.

Most of the upper years of Gryffindor agree with them. They are of the opinion that I am a coward who cheated his way into the tournament. Coward because I hid who I am, and that wasn't Gryffindor-ish thing to do. House of the brave, ya'll.

Lower years are just too awed in my presence and it's fucking annoying. I would have knocked Colin's teeth out if I didn't like the boy.

I reserve the right to revisit that option.

Hufflepuffs are divided on the subject too. A group led by Cedric and Susan believe I didn't enter this tournament and that Hufflepuffs should support me alongside of Cedric because I am a Hogwarts champion too. The rest of them believe I am trying to steal their rare moment of glory or whatever. If I cared enough, I'd point out the countless alumni who achieved greatness.

Ravenclaws don't give a fuck who I am or what I am doing as long as I do it away from them. It's a nice feeling, not being cared about. Especially because the public attention I'm getting lately is driving me nuts.

Slytherins are my rock. They hated me before; they hate me now. This is just another excuse for them to hate me still and call me names. It's good to be on familiar grounds with them.

Teachers. Well, Albus, Minerva and Snape already knew so there is nothing new there. Flitwick is the same old cheerful guy he is. Sprout is unsure what her reaction should be. She likes me even though I suck at her class, yet she doesn't know how to support me and Cedric at the same time.

Hagrid went nuts. Ain't that the truth. I am not surprised though. He's one of those rare people to have held me as an adorable baby and we were friends throughout my first three year so he's just glad to know first-hand Harry Potter is doing fine.

Vector, Babbling and Sinistra don't know me well enough to have a real reaction to my new name.

Daily Prophet went nuts. Harry Potter's name coming out of the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter being the prodigy of Dumbledore is apparently a big deal.

Harry Potter made it to number seven in the 'most eligible bachelors list' of Teen Witch Weekly this week. They suggested to the ladies to hurry up and grab my attention because I may make it to the number one spot soon.

Then there is the reaction from general public outside of Hogwarts. Owls are flying at me left and right and without an end. Albus dedicated a whole room for the letters and gifts I receive and a dozen house-elves to sort them through. I do not know what I'm going to do with them but I'll figure something out. One good thing is Dobby is the happiest I've ever seen him.

You know what's the worst part of all this is though? That I can't take a shit without someone watching me and judging the shit. People are always looking at me, always judging me, always talking about me and sharing their opinions. It's driving me nuts. The castle of Hogwarts- yes, that huge castle- is feeling claustrophobic.

And yes, all of that was just one reason I can't stop thinking, and it's not even the most important.

The second, and frankly, the biggest, of my problems is that Voldemort is after me. Yes, I know I acted all calm and collected in my meeting with Dumbledore the day after Halloween but still… This is the man who killed my parents we are talking about. The man whose name people can't utter even though they believe he's dead. This is the man responsible for the deaths of over a thousand of people. The man rumoured to be afraid only of Dumbledore. The man I killed not once, not twice but three times already. If you count his shade from the diary and his perch at the back of Quirrell's head.

He wants to kidnap me and forgive me if it will take me a while to adjust to that fact.

Third reason I can't stop thinking is… Fleur. It's been a week since she arrived to the castle. In that week, she uttered two sentences. 'Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?' and 'Thank you'.

I get why we aren't best friends but a little nod when she passes me by on the corridor, a simple 'hello'? No. Apparently, I don't exist and that thought is too depressing. We slept together for Merlin's sake. More importantly, we played together and maybe I'm being cheesy but that was magical. How can she act like I don't exist?

I sent her the drawing I made after she left. It was of her playing the Heroes by David Bowie with the violin wearing nothing but one of my shirts and her knickers. Still no reaction.

So, yes. I spent a lot of time drawing and playing piano and flying this week. I had to. There was no other option. Yet, I still couldn't silence the voices and the thoughts running through my head.

Yet, I still haven't snapped. It's coming though. I can feel it. And this time I snap, it will be big. I just hope I survive it with my mind intact.

-HP-

November 8, 1994

This is a restless night. Actually, more like this has been a restless week. I have too much in my mind so; I choose spend my evening in a secluded part of the lake shore with only butterbeers as my company.

I sit with my back to a tree and open a bottle. Taking a sip, I let my mind wander free. It's a chilly, clear night. Stars are exceptionally bright and I can't help but wonder what celestial body Firenze would speak of.

Maybe the Uranus is too dim today. Could be. I wouldn't know.

By the way, Uranus, haha haha. Anyway.

Hogwarts feels too small lately. People look at me like I might perform a miracle or I might reveal a new surprise any second and if they look away, they might miss it.

I don't like it.

I can't help think maybe this is how Fleur must feel. I found out the reason everyone- at least every male- always eye her like she's a well-done steak. She's a Veela. It must be... difficult; being the centre of attention all the time. I understand her aloofness a little bit more now. And the sadness.

I respect her a little bit more now.

I can't help wonder if that's what attracted me to her that night in the club. I'm not sure how I feel about that idea. I think I would be disappointed with myself it that's the case. It would mean the magic of the night was artificial.

I can feel my fingers itching to draw so I take out my notepad and pencil.

Yes, notepad and pencil. Have you ever tried sketch or draw with a parchment and quill? Don't. The results are not very nice.

I let my hand do its own thing and Fleur's face appears on the page. She occupies much of my thoughts lately.

She's standing tall and proud yet there is a sadness to her eyes. I continue my drawing by adding a faceless crowd around her.

I hear a twig but don't look up. It's probably Hermione. Even if it's not, I am too focused on my drawing to care.

The person comes closer and I smell flowers. I raise my head and turn to the person. It's Fleur. I am surprised but I don't show. "Hi, Fleur," I greet her.

"Hello, James. Or is it Harry now?" she greets back coolly.

I return my attention to the faceless crowds I am intimately familiar with by now. "Whichever you prefer. I'm not too hung up on names."

She snorts.

"Did you like the picture I sent you?" I ask her softly.

"Why did you send it to me?" she questions me.

"It felt too personal. I felt like I was intruding on a private moment even though I was there," I answer simply.

"Yeah, I can see how that would be the case when the drawing is of me almost naked."

"You know that wasn't the point of the painting. I didn't draw it to give me a masturbation material."

"Why did you draw it then? If it felt too personal to keep."

I think about how to put it into words. "Because it was a beautiful moment that begged to be captured. I had to get it out of my head or I wouldn't function."

She snorts, again. That isn't a sound I want to hear from her. At least not when it means she's thinking so little of me. "So you think I am beautiful, do you?"

I smile up at her. Her eyes look beautiful under the moonlight. "Who doesn't?" I remind her. "I'm not talking about beauty in an aesthetic sense. I am talking about... I don't know. There were a lot of emotions in the air. There was loneliness, frustration, anger, pleading… Hope. You really play the violin beautifully."

The coldness in her eyes lessens. "What are you drawing now?"

I can feel my cheeks warm up a little. "You." Yeah, now I feel like a stalker.

"May I see?" She sits next to me and I allow her to take the notepad from my numb fingers. "You are really talented."

I give her a crooked smile. "I told you I was awesome," I remind her. She smiles.

Damn.

"Tell me something, Fleur. Why have you been acting like I don't exist?"

"What do you mean?"

I cock my head to the side. "Don't do that. You know what I mean. You pass me by in the corridors yet you don't even look at me, let alone speak to me. I don't expect us to be friends or anything but you are pointedly ignoring my existence altogether."

"After all that stuff you said after the selection? What did you expect? You yelled at my headmistress and told us this crazy plot to for what? To kill you somehow?

"Something along the lines, yes," I interrupt. "But do go on."

She huffs in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that someone went to all this trouble to hurt you?"

"What is your theory then?"

"Do you want me to be honest with you?" she asks, but the underlining meaning is clear; do I truly want to hear her utter the coming hurtful words?

I roll my eyes at her. Yes, I know I do that a lot but I am a teenager. "Yes. Don't worry. I won't cry."

"I think either you or your headmaster put your name in to get public attention."

"Did you know Albus fought tooth to nail to establish the rule about no one underage being allowed into the tournament? Or did you know the three school heads have a bet going on about whose star student is the best. That's why Albus asked me to perform that little trick when you arrived."

"Yes, that was cute. Tell me, how much of it was really you and how much of it was your teachers' help?" she coos.

"That was all me, baby. I wasn't going to compete so Albus wanted his prodigy to impress the other school heads. I designed, prepared and performed every detail of that cute little performance."

"Not a bad performance," she concedes, meeting me in the middle ground though I can see respect in her sky-blue eyes, giving me the warmest feelings.

"Yeah, enchanting that staff was a bitch. I'm not as good with enchantments as I am with transfiguration and charms," I inform her honestly.

"I tried making a staff once. It was a bitch to wave all the necessary enchantment together with the cores," She agrees. "If you aren't good at enchanting things, why did you use a staff? You could have accomplished the same results with your wand," she asks earnestly.

"Aesthetics," I answer simply. "It wouldn't look as dramatic with a wand. Can you imagine how much wand movement it would've taken? I would look ridiculous."

"Like you looked when you were dancing at the club?" she asks, the teasing tilt of her voice and the small grin on her lips making invisible creatures dance in my stomach.

I look at her horrified. "You saw that?"

She laughs. Now that's better even if she's laughing at me. "Yeah, I thought it was funny."

"Then why did you agree to dance with me?"

She thinks about it for a second. "You weren't a mindless idiot trying to impress me."

I shrug. "Honestly, I was trying to impress you."

"But you weren't going about it mindlessly. It was refreshing talking to a guy who can keep his wits around me."

"Point. Anyway, we were talking about what was going on. Tell me something; why do you believe I want attention? What about me that makes you think so?"

She concedes. "Nothing. Actually, you look like you hate the attention now that you have it."

"Oh, it's not the first time I'm in the limelight. I'm no stranger to the pointing and the whispers."

"What do you mean?"

"In my second year, there were a bunch of attacks on students. People were getting petrified left and right. That I am a parselmouth came out and suddenly, I am this dark lord in training that wants to eliminate the Muggleborn population of the school. My last name was the only confirmation people needed. Nevermind one of my best friends is a Muggleborn. Or I am a half-blood. I was the bad guy. Everyone 'believed' so. You know what happened in the end?"

She looks at me sadly. "What happened?"

I shrug. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't the one behind the attack. That's when I realised I hate opinions. Opinions blind people. I like facts and theories. Facts are unchanging and theories can be adjusted. They can be changed. But once people believe something, they act on that belief. It doesn't matter if they are crucifying the wrong person. They 'believed' I was the right person, so it was okay for them to curse me in hallways. I have no need for public attention. They are sheep. They will believe what they are told. Most of them doesn't even have the ability to form individual opinions. They breathe collectively and they believe collectively. So, no. I didn't enter myself into this tournament. No, no one who knew my real identity entered me into this tournament. Yes, someone entered my real name in this tournament with malicious intent."

She takes a moment to take it all in and my passion surprises her. "I believe you."

I smile, a broken thing with relief shining in it. "I would give you shit for your usage of the word 'belief' but because it's you, I'll allow it."

She smiles cutely. "What's so special about me?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. You know, I thought you were a muggle when we first met."

"I thought the same about you."

"I found out this past week that you are a Veela. Now, I can't stop thinking whether I came onto you because of your pull or not."

She gives me a puzzled look. "What difference does it make? It worked out for you, didn't it?"

"It makes all the difference. That night was beautiful on many levels. If my initial attraction was because of your charm, never mind the rest of the night, it means the night was… less pure. It would make it artificial. It would make that painting I gave you a fantasy at best and a lie at worst."

Her smiles returns much more brightly. "I was wearing a special bracelet that night that stopped my Veela charm. Everything you did was pure you."

"That's good to hear." It clicks suddenly. "If you can wear a bracelet that allows you freedom, why don't you wear it all the time?"

The shift is sudden, and the difference is like a day and night. Her sweet smile disappears completely, the anger that takes its place is as beautiful as it's dangerous. The look she gives me… If she attempts to curse me, I'd die without moving a muscle. And when she speaks, her voice is devoid of life, otherworldly. "So you expect me to hide who I truly am? My heritage?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, the way you spoke that night sounded like you don't like that men treat you like just a pretty face. It would make sense if you prefer to keep wearing it. It would also help you avoid the attention you so clearly despise."

She looks troubled a or another but doesn't share it. Not entirely. "It doesn't work like that. Those bracelets don't last long, twelve hours at most, and they are expensive."

"I don't think that's the whole reason but I don't think digging any deeper would be good for my health."

"No, it wouldn't."

We sit there in silence for some time, just looking over the lake and enjoying the crisp night.

"I'm sorry for what I said before you left," I blurt out into the silence.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for what I said just before you left."

"It doesn't matter."

Dammit. Again, I am hopelessly lost. She looks so beautiful with the way moon is shining in her eyes and the way she smiles. I am going to do it. There is no escape. I look at her in the eyes and take a deep breath. I can tell she knows something is coming. "Can I take you to Hogsmeade next weekend? I know it's silly but there is not a lot to do around here for a date."

"Sorry, you are too young for my taste." She smiles at me sadly.

My smile is bittersweet. "That's okay. I think I will ask you one last time before the Yule Ball. If you say no again, I will not bother you again."

"My answer won't change between now and then," she warns me, but her smile tells me she enjoys my interest.

"I will still ask."

I get up slowly. I tear out the sketch I was drawing and hold it out for her to take. "Good night, Fleur. It was nice talking to you. And sorry but I think I will draw you a lot for now."

"As long as you let me see the results, I think I'm okay with that." She smiles. "And no more drawing me half naked!"

"Don't worry. I have the memories if I ever need a fantasy to help me relax."

She laughs. I love it when she does that. "Oh, that's just wrong."

"I am a teenage boy. You are a beautiful girl with the body of a goddess. There is no fighting it."

"Good night, James."

"Good night, Fleur."

- Flowers for Your Grave -

Chapter 3: I Love You, Rita Skeeter!

November 9, 1994

"I think it's time to answer some questions, Potter."

Everyone in the common room silences upon the random twin's words and I can see the eagerness, the hunger in everyone's eyes.

"I'll pass, thank you."

"No, you won't," says the other twin, a smug smirk on his face.

"So we applied sticking paste- our own invention- to your favourite chair."

"You are not getting up from there unless we allow you to. Now, be a good little boy and answer a few questions," one of the redhead menaces grin at me in a manner that resembles one of Draco's.

"Is this what you do in your free time? Create products to use for your pathetic attempts at a humiliation?" I smile at them condescendingly and wave my hand in a go ahead motion when they shrug instead of answering.

"Why did you lie to everyone about your identity?" is their first question.

"But I didn't. I am Harry James. Sirius Black adopted me. Therefore: James Black." I answer as if talking to a child.

"That's bollocks. Tell us why," orders the other one.

"Nope. Next question."

"You won't get out of that chair unless you answer all of our questions," the... hell I'm not sure which is which and I don't care. I'm going to call them both Peter from now on.

"Are you sure about that?" I stand up calmly. I might have left my pants behind but whatever, I'm not body shy. "You see, kids, you reckon yourselves smart but you really aren't. You are nothing but a pair of morons with too high of an opinion of themselves." I shake my head and sigh. "Anyway. Ask your next question, please. I'm enjoying this."

For a second they are both shocked but they do so. "How did you hide your scar?" asks Peter.

"Have you met Dumbledore? The guy is a genius. He took what? Half an hour to come up with necessary charms and rune work."

"Who else knew your real name?"

"Only a handful of people."

"Why lie about who you are? Why go all this trouble?" someone from the crowd asks.

"Next question."

"Answer the question, Potter," spits one of the Peters. When I say spit, I don't mean figuratively.

I clean the spit of my cheek. "You want answers?" My voice is deceptively calm and soft.

"Yes..." The Peters are offbeat now, unsure what's going on.

"You don't have to answer, James," Katie interrupts, glaring at the twins.

"You want the truth?" I ask, cackling like a maniac inside. I can see no one understands yet but I bet a few of the older students will soon.

"Yes, we deserve it!" the Peter snarls.

"You can't handle the truth," I yell and half a dozen people laughs, including Hermione though hers is a snicker. Good to know some people still have good taste. I take a deep breath after laughing a little, enjoying the glares the twins shoot at me. "You really want to know? Well, tough shit. I am not telling."

"Answer the question, Potter, or else."

I shrug.

"How did you put your name in the cup?"

"I didn't," I intone.

"Oh, come on. You are lying."

"I don't care what you believe. I don't care what you think. You are not important enough for me to worry about your little opinions and what you think you are entitled to." I look around at the common room, at the faces, some angry, some ashamed. "I've known most of you for three years and you show your true colours now. I see what? Six? Seven people whose opinions I give a crap about. Rest of you can believe I am a cross-dressing clown from Mars who came to Earth to destroy it for all I care."

I spin around and walk out of the common room, leaving them to their pondering. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't care about their opinions. They are sheep and they will believe what they will, what the prophet writes, what the 'higher powers' tell them to believe.

It was easy to see the true faces of everyone in there. Only a handful of them even twitched when the Peters revealed their little sticking prank. Rest of them were hungry for answers.

I don't do well with bullies.

-HP-

November 13, 1994

"James!" Colin yells at me from the other end of the corridor.

"What's up, Colin?"

"They want you for the Wand Weighing ceremony at classroom four on the charms corridor," he says in between breaths. He must have run all the way up here. Charms corridor is on the second floor. I am on the seventh.

"Okay. Thanks, Colin." He doesn't leave. He instead looks at me pleadingly. "What can I do for you?"

"Can I, please, ta- take a picture of you?" He is far too excited and nervous for my liking.

"No. I... You know what? Come with me. There is going to be a reporter from Daily Prophet and I bet they will want pictures. I will tell them you are the only person allowed to take my picture."

His eyes brighten with a mixture of excitement and hope. "You would do that for me?"

"Sure, why not? You are a talented kid with a camera." I shrug. "Only thing I ask in return is for you to never stick your camera in my face. Take all the pictures you want from afar."

"Sure thing, Harry. Thanks!"

We walk to the classroom in silence. I like this kid. He's good and likable, especially when he doesn't stick his camera in your face. He also was one of the rare people to believe me and is restrained with his worship since the big reveal.

We enter the classroom and find all the champions there, including the two who weren't chosen by the goblet; Aimee from Beauxbatons and Britt from Durmstrang. The fat guy from the antechamber is there as well as a blonde woman and a man with a camera.

"Harry, come in," the fat man-child exclaims. "Welcome to the wand weighing ceremony."

"It's such a pleasure to be here," I squeak exaggeratingly. "I always wanted my wand to be weighed. I'm guessing mine is five ounces. Ten at most." I enjoy the incomprehension on his face far too much. "She works out regularly, you see."

His eyes are still blank and I want to laugh. I can see the blonde woman sniggering. "And who is this lovely lady?" I turn to her.

"I'm Rita Skeeter, Mr Potter. I write for the Daily Prophet but I'm sure you know that."

"I know now. A pleasure. Come." I drag her to where Colin is standing nervously. "Let me introduce you to your future photographer; Colin Creevey. He's quite talented with his camera. In fact, as a rule, I only let him take my pictures."

She raises an eyebrow at me as if to say you don't get to choose.

"If you want my picture on the Daily Prophet, beautiful Rita, Colin will take it. You are going to pay him twelve sickles a day. Otherwise, there will be no picture of me in the paper and no interview."

She wants to object, to use her own photographer so I throw her another bone. "If you play nice, he may even send you a few pictures from the Yule ball."

She's sold. "Of course. It is important to cultivate young talents such as this young man."

I wave a finger at her warningly. "Don't forget, twelve sickles a day."

Before we can converse any further, Dumbledore enters the room with two other heads of school and an old man in tow. "Wonderful, everyone is here." He looks at me with twinkling eyes. "We shall begin then."

The old man, no, not Dumbledore, the other one, sits on a chair and turns to us. "Mr Krum, if you would." He holds out his hand. Krum gives him his wand though the tenseness on his shoulders shows how uncomfortable he is about it. "This is one of Gregorovitch's, I believe. Quite a capable wandmaker. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Yes? Ten inches. A little thicker than usual but to each, their own. Let's see; Avis." Twittering birds fly out of the wand with a blast and crash against the wall across the room, leaving tiny dents.

Damn, that's too loud.

I remember now, the man's name is Ollivander. Sirius mentioned him being the best wandmaker.

He continues on with the rest of the champions, leaving me to last. Fleur's wand has her grandmother's hair. Cool. Unicorn tail for Cedric. Rougarou hair for Britt and Occamy feather for Aimee.

I do not know what each means. It might make an interesting project, learning wandlore. A thought for another time, maybe.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I was disheartened when you didn't come for a wand. Let's see your wand." That's not exactly true. Albus bought a wand from him for me. A Holly with a feather from a phoenix; Fawkes to be exact. He didn't tell me why I should have the wand exactly. He just said it might come in handy sometime in the future, but that's just Dumbledore for you.

I give him the wand and can tell he's fascinated and surprised.

"The core... is... a Raiju whisker? What an odd choice for a wand core," he comments.

"Yeah, the wandmaker who made it was quite cross with me for insisting on using whiskers from my raiju."

He shakes his head pityingly though the interest is still there. "I can empathise. I have never heard of a wand made with Raiju whiskers. Beechwood. Thirteen inches? Supple. Let's see..." He conjures a beautiful bouquet. "Wonderful. I'd be quite interested in watching this wand in work, Mr. Potter."

"You should come to the challenges. You may not see its full potential but I think I can put on a little show."

"That, I shall. I would be interested in examining Raiju whiskers," he trails off leadingly.

What's it with old people and asking nothing directly? "I'll ask Puck what he thinks." He gives me a questioning look. "He's my familiar, a Raiju. He doesn't like other people much."

"Thank you all," Dumbledore says when Ollivander gives my wand back. "You may go back to your lessons now. Or maybe it'd be quicker if you go down to dinner."

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos," Bagman interrupts. "All the school heads and the champions, don't you think?"

"Yes, let's start with them. Then we can do individual shots," Rita says and gives her photographer a nod.

"Oh, Rita," I call sweetly. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I give her a far too innocent smile and point to Colin who's standing out of the way, fiddling with his trusted camera anxiously.

"Right." Rita nods. "Sorry, Bozo. I won't need your services this time."

Rita organizes us to her heart's content. We are not human at the moment; we are ornaments for her to arrange to her heart's content. It takes quite an effort to fit Madame Maxime to the frame but Colin makes do.

When the individual shots are over, Rita gets a hungry gleam in her eyes and turns to me. Oh, boy. "How about some interviews? Let's start with the youngest champion." She takes my arm in a firm grip and drags me to a broom closet in the far corner of the room.

I go along. She gave Colin a shot. This is the price.

We sit down on the stools she must've placed there earlier. Quite the schemer, this one.

"You won't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, Harry? Good. Let's talk. There is no need to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous, Rita. Go ahead and ask your questions."

She looks at me and gives a predatory smile. "My name is Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Now, Harry, why don't we start with your name? Tell me, what made you decide to hide who you really are? You are a hero. Why would you hide that?"

I think for a second before answering. "After the fall of Voldemort, a lot of death eaters were caught and prosecuted. Not all of them. Some of his most fanatical supporters walked free. Those were dangerous days. After the attack on Longbottoms, my godfather and Professor Dumbledore thought they may target me."

I follow the quill from the corner of my eye. That's funny. I don't remember saying 'I was afraid to die'. And I definitely don't look frightened. I don't.

"Now, what about your parents? What do you think they would think of you entering the tournament? Would they be proud? Would they think you are being irresponsible with the life they sacrificed their own for?"

I look at her incredulously. She's poisonous. I love it. "I didn't enter this tournament. However, I think they will be proud when I win."

Oh, that's rich. 'His startling green eyes glisten with the ghost of his parents.'

"Come now, Harry. You are already in the tournament. You won't get punished for telling the truth. Why did you enter?"

I turn my full gaze on her. "You know what? I am in awe of you. You are poisonous. You are dangerous. I like that. I'll make you a deal," I tell her and she looks at me puzzled. "Screw this interview. After dinner, I will meet you in the courtyard. You want an interview? I will give you a full-blown interview. I have only one condition."

Her expression is somewhere between predatory and excited. "What's your condition?"

Ah, yes, walk into my web, little bug.

"You will not turn this interview around me. You and I... We can have a great relationship where you get to interview me after every challenge and report in a manner that shows me in a good light. You be good to me, Rita dear, and you will get have access any reporter would give an arm for. Do we have a deal?"

She considers it for a moment but I know she's already sold. She could write a scandalous article or two about me or she could be my go-to reporter and if she has any idea about the sort of things I get up to, she'll make the right choice.

"You have yourself a deal, Harry." She holds out her hand for me to shake. I give it a kiss and caress it instead.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship. Be in the courtyard after dinner and come prepared. I have a lot of stories to tell."

-HP-

"Harry! I thought for a second you were blowing me off," Rita greets me as I walk out of the castle, the amused disappointment on her face makes it clear she already wrote a scandalous piece in case I reneged our deal.

"Now, how could I blow off such a beautiful woman as yourself, my dear?"

"You talk awfully like Dumbledore does. What with 'my dear' and all that."

"Great thing about having Dumbledore as my mentor, I get to act all mysterious and condescending." I smile at her and try that eye twinkling thing with no success and what I know to be a lot of creepiness.

"So, the rumours are true. You are Dumbledore's prodigy?"

"You could say that." I nod. "I've known him all my life. He was there to help me when I first started doing conscious magic at age five. He was there to help me when I got my wand at age nine. All my life, he's been there, giving me advice, teaching me magic."

"You got your wand at age nine?" she asks, surprised. "How? It's illegal for children under the age of eleven to own wands."

"I'm not sure about the details. I showed quite a potential. I don't know if you know this but the reason children receive their wands at age eleven is that it's at eleven children are at their most adaptable. If you give a wand to a normal child before they are eleven, mishaps happen. I wasn't like that. Like I said, I was already showing a surprising level of control at age five. Levitation, summoning and the likes."

We are nearing the black lake now. I lead her to my spot.

"That's impossible," she announces unbelievingly. I love that response. I could ask how is that impossible if it happened but, meh.

"It was also impossible for anyone, let alone a baby, to survive the killing curse."

She takes a moment to gather her wits, her quill writing down a few sentences on a parchment. "Now, we covered the reason why you changed your name. How many people knew about your real identity?"

"Five. The headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."

"That's a small group of people. Wasn't it hard, pretending to be someone you weren't?"

"Who says I am not James Black? You people are too hung up on names. Just because I called myself James Black doesn't mean I wasn't me. Harry Potter is just a name. Names are meaningless. What matters is the people."

Her quill is going crazy above the notepad that is hanging in the air.

"Tell me about yourself. Who is Harry Potter, or James Black as it was? What do you like to do? What are your talents and your fears?" She's looking and acting oddly professional. Interesting.

"Well, I am an artist first and foremost. I enjoy playing music, painting, creating things. As Dumbledore puts it; I am a highly emotional person with a unique perspective and a brilliant mind. Art is a way for me to unload myself, share parts of myself. My talents? Well, like I said music and painting. I am extraordinarily talented at Transfiguration. I am great with Charms. I create my own spells. I am a smooth talker with good relationships with centaurs and goblins."

"My fears... I really don't know. I haven't come across anything that would, you know, give me crippling fear. If you asked me that last year, I would say dementors but since I learned how to cast a patronus, I don't fear them as much as I used to do back then."

"You can cast patronus?" It's getting a little tiring to hear the unbelieving tone by now.

"Yeah, would you like to see it?" I cast the charm when she nods and a silvery Puck emerges. "That's my Raiju. He's awesome."

She's speechless for a moment but recovers herself nicely. "How about school? What are your experiences in Hogwarts is like so far?"

I laugh a little. "Adventurous is a word that comes to mind. Since starting at Hogwarts. I killed what? A mountain troll, a Professor, a Basilisk, a shade from the past."

Her eyes bulge out. "What? A troll? A basilisk?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. At the Halloween feast during my first year, Professor Quirrell, the Defence professor, set loose a mountain troll in the dungeons. A good friend of mine, Hermione Granger, was in the bathroom, unaware. Ron, another friend of mine, and I went in search of her and found her in the bathroom, trapped by the troll. I managed to kill the beast, saving the damsel in distress with Ron's help."

"In my second year, there were a bunch of attacks and the rumoured chamber of Slytherin was opened. Hermione found out the beast responsible for petrifications was a basilisk before she was petrified herself. Ron, Neville Longbottom and I found the entrance to the chamber. Ron's little sister was taken to the chamber. Ron's wand at the time was substandard which resulted in a cave in that prevented the other two to come with me so I went ahead alone. There was a shade... a ghost... I don't know what to call it for sure but there was someone there that's supposedly dead. He commanded the basilisk to attack me. Fawkes showed up with the sorting hat and attacked the basilisk, blinding the monster. I, somehow, pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the hat and killed it. Then I used the sword to destroy the diary that was the shade's essence."

She's speechless and I enjoy the silence for.

"That sounds…"

"What? Unbelievable? Incredible? Far-fetched? I assure you, it's all true. Albus, Minerva, Snape, Sirius, Remus… They all know about it. There might be more people who know but I'm not sure. Feel free to check."

"Okay, we'll come back to that later. I need time to process all that before I can ask questions. What about the tournament? You said you didn't enter your name but why would anyone else?"

"That's the million galleon question, isn't it? Remember, the name that came out of the goblet was 'Harry Potter'. Not 'James Black'. Tell me, why would someone who told no one his real name use that same secret name to enter a competition?" I point out to her.

"That's a good question. You sound like you have a theory."

"I do. Someone went to a lot of trouble to bring 'Harry Potter' to light. Someone wanted me to come out of hiding. And whoever that someone is, I don't think they did it so they can watch me win."

"So you think you will win?" she prods me.

"I will win, Rita. Don't get me wrong. Misses Delacour, Aimee, Britt, and Messrs Krum and Diggory are very talented people. I am simply better. I am creative. I am powerful. And I have something they don't."

"What is that?"

"Real life experience. Like I said, I've been in dangerous situations before. Hell, how many students can go against a troll and live to tell the tale? How many people can even say they saw a basilisk, let alone slay it?"

"No one I know," she answers honestly. "Okay, I have a question. Where was Dumbledore during all this? Where was he when his student, his prodigy no less, was going against all these dangerous creatures?"

"Rita, I know you like to attack Dumbledore on your articles but this is not the way to go. While I was fighting the troll, he was looking for it. Remember, I didn't go looking for the troll. Everyone thought the troll was in the dungeons, not in a second-floor bathroom. When I was fighting basilisk, Dumbledore was already driven out of the castle by none other than Lucius Malfoy who was so ecstatic about suspending the most powerful wizard alive that he forced other governors to suspend him. It sounds illogical but hey, who am I to judge an ex-death eater?"

"The court cleared him."

"Yes but tell me, do you know how many trials were conducted during that time? Over two hundred. Is it too much to believe he and others with money like him slipped through the cracks? I mean we are talking about the man responsible for the opening of the chamber of secrets. Someone who threatened me, a student."

"If the rumours are correct, you threatened him back."

"Damn right, I did. Lucius Malfoy is a vermin with money. Nothing more. I don't fear him."

"He's a dangerous enemy to make, Harry," Rita warns.

"Oh, Rita, I didn't know you cared." I put my hand on my heart dramatically. "That's enough for today, don't you think?"

"That's more than enough. I could do with a little more detail on your exploits though."

"We can meet some other time and go over my adventures in detail," I answer and grin cockily. "After all, you are my go-to reporter now, aren't ya?"

"Indeed," she answers with a similar smile. "Thank you, Harry. I don't think this article will be ready for tomorrow's print. You should expect to see it the day after tomorrow."

"Good." I nod. "That will give the other champions a taste of the spotlight, even if for a day. Be sure to act kindly towards them as well. International cooperation and all that."

"I will try but there is not a lot of material there. One is a duelling champion and that's something. One is a Quidditch star which I can work with. But the Diggory boy and the second French girl, they are not much to talk about. The Veela, she's a right bitch, that one," she comments. "What do you think about your competition?"

"Okay, let's see. Krum is athletic and powerful. You can expect him to have a plan though. He's not just muscles. If he is as agile on the ground as he's in the air, he can use that to his advantage."

"Britt is a duelling champion, like you said. She's the most experienced champion after me but from what I've seen, she is a one-trick pony. She uses simple strategies, relying on her power instead."

"Aimee, I know little about her. She's smart. My sources tell me she's planning on becoming a potion mistress. Other than that, she's a wild card."

"Cedric, he's above average in terms of power. His winning side is his balance. He's good at everything; not great but good. You can expect him to perform steadily. He has no particular strength, yes, but he also doesn't have any particular weakness."

"Fleur. Well, she will be my main competition. Her Veela charm is not her only talent. She may even be better than me at charms. If I wasn't in this tournament, she would be the one to win."

"You've given it a lot of thought," she comments. And I did. I didn't stand idle after my name came out of the goblet. I researched the tournament and my competition. Cedric, I know firsthand. Balzac was a lot of help with the two French witches. Krum is a celebrity and Britt is popular as a rising star in duelling circles.

"It pays to know your competition." I stand up and hold my hand out for her. "This is it for the day. Unless you have other ideas about what we can do together?" I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

She laughs. "Not a paedophile, thank you very much. Goodnight, Harry."

"Shame. Good night, Rita."

-HP-

November 15, 1994

"I can't believe you, Harry!" Hermione scares the food out of me. It should be illegal to scare someone when they are eating breakfast.

"What? What've I done this time?" I ask once my coughing subsides.

"You gave that awful woman an interview?"

I wait for the ringing in my ear caused by her shriek to subside. "Oh, right. That's supposed to come out today. How does it look?"

"How does it look? She made you out to be some superhero who saves the defenceless damsels in his spare time," she cries. "I can't believe you told her about the troll and the basilisk!"

"People deserve to know the truth, Hermione," I tell her condescendingly enjoying the reddening on her face.

"I thought you didn't want the fame. 'I just hate how they keep staring at me'." To be honest, it's a good impression.

"I don't but I am famous anyway, Hermione. If I don't speak to the press, other people will. I am high profile. Would you prefer people to read about me from Lucius Malfoy's perspective? Because it's a safe to bet he's not above paying off a reporter to smear my name. Or would you prefer Rita Skeeter to write whatever she wants? This way, I get to control public opinion of me. Control the narrative, you control the masses. Besides, nothing I said was untruthful. Hell, it was too truthful."

"But-"

"Let me see what she wrote," I cut her off before she can rant. She gives me the Prophet. My interview is already open and damn, she really made me out to be a superhero. Boy-Who-Saved? It's better than Boy-Who-Lived, I guess.

'The heroic young man…' 'Always there to save the day…'

You know what? Reading this, I really am awesome.

"She may have exaggerated but there isn't a single lie in there. Is there?"

She shakes her head furiously. "No, there isn't. Trust me, I checked and rechecked."

I turn to my food. "Then what's the problem?"

"She made me out to be a damsel in distress!"

Ron sniggers from his seat next to me. "She really did."

"It's not funny, Ronald."

I look at her pointedly. "Come now, Hermione. No one will focus on how you were desperately begging for some hero to save you. They will focus on how I heroically risked my life to save a beautiful young maiden."

"I remember there being two of you." She crosses her arms and looks at Ron pointedly..

"Yeah, if anyone should be upset, that's Ron."

"Wait, she didn't even mention me once. Not once. I was there," Ron blows upon realisation. Hermione gets a smug look.

"Don't look at me. I told her about your involvement. I guess you are not as heroic as I am, Ron."

"I wish I was Harry Potter," Ron sulks.

"Nah, man. The hero is never the red-head. Redheads are born to be sidekicks," Neville informs him seriously and I laugh when Ron pouts.

"Why not? I want to be the hero."

"Oh, no, Ronniekins. Only Harry gets to be a hero around here. We, lowly peasants, can only hope to be near his magnificence," a Peter butts in.

"I'm sorry, guys. I am just too awesome, I guess." I shrug.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," the other Peter snarls.

"My, my. That sounded awfully like a threat."

"Hey, Fred," a Peter says.

"I'm George, you are Fred," the other points out.

"Can you come to the point instead of doing your usual ridiculous 'we are the twins, you can't tell us apart' charade? It became unoriginal after the first… I don't know, thousand times?"

They both glare at me. "You know what? It sounds like Mr Harry Potter got a too high opinion of himself," the left one says.

"He does, doesn't he?" the right one agrees.

"What do we do to people who are too full of themselves, my dear twin?"

"We teach them a lesson."

"Shall we teach him a lesson?"

I shiver dramatically. "For a second, I imagined what life would be like if I grew up in the same house as you. You know what, Ron? I feel for you, man. I feel for you."

"Yes, we shall," they declare together.

"Yeah, you do that while I sit here, quaking in my boots. Fucking morons." I turn to Ron. "You know, if I were your mother, I'd be wondering if it's too late to abort those two."

"I wish."