#
Albus Dumbledore found himself once again leaving the Ministry of Magic with less than noble thoughts filling his head.
Amelia Bones, newly elected Minister for Magic, agreed with all of his points regarding the incident at the Quidditch World cup, but considered herself powerless to take any of the actions recommended to her by the headmaster of Hogwarts.
"There simple are not enough Aurors, Albus," the stern woman told him. "This incident has caused a great deal of panic throughout the Magical community. I have every available person working overtime investigating how it happened, but we are still cleaning up some of the mess Lockhart made. There is nobody spare to send on your little pet project."
"Amelia," said Albus. "This is far more than a pet project. We are talking about the disembodied spirit of a much bigger threat than a few of his followers getting drunk and disrupting the peace-"
"Nevertheless, he is, at best, disembodied, and unless that situation changes, I cannot spare a team for a wild goose hunt across international borders. Do you have any idea how precarious our reputation is at the moment? We are possibly facing sanctions for the breakdown of security at the world cup," said the Minister. "As it is, we dare not appear to even hint at the possible return of you-know-who, in case it jeopardises your other project, the Tournament."
"Very well," said Albus, knowing when he wasn't going to get anywhere. "I trust you will keep me informed if your people turn up anything that may link this attack with my 'pet project', besides the obvious, of course?"
Amelia sighed loudly.
"I promise I will direct the teams to investigate any lead that the incident was more than just a spontaneous, drunken attack, and inform you if anything turns up, but I can't see how this event could possibly aid him, if indeed he does still exist. All it achieved was to make us more alert to the possibility, and to scare several thousand people silly for a few hours."
"Fear, Amelia, has always been his primary weapon," said Albus, taking his leave of the Minister.
The conversation was no more than he expected, and a great deal more than he could have hoped for if Cornelius Fudge were in power, but it still rankled the headmaster to know something had changed, and yet be unable to discover any hint as to what it was.
Since he couldn't go through official channels, Albus was once again going to have to rely on personal contacts, the first of which he needed to secure for the vacant position at Hogwarts.
Albus sighed and rubbed his temples. He needed Moody at the school, in case any one of the headmaster's numerous fears came to pass, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was the only subject the retired veteran could reasonably be expected to teach.
Severus would be ropeable.
Again.
#
"Tell me, brother of mine," said Fred with an overly dramatic sigh. "How is it that young Ronnikens can get locked in a nut house for a good part of the year, and yet still be a favourite of our dear mother, but you and me work our guts out to pass one O.W.L. each and are still so disrespected?"
George heaved his trunk onto the trolley, nearly sending it flying, before answering.
"I do believe it may have something to do with the fact we have yet to establish ourselves as the premier pranksters extraordinaire of Hogwarts," he said thoughtfully.
"Ah, you mean because we are still over shadowed by those legends of mayhem, the great and almighty Marauders, we not rightfully seen for the geniuses we are?"
"Of course," said George, heaving Fred's trunk on top of his own, "However, while I suspect their academic abilities far exceed our own, and there were twice as many of them as there are us, I may have stumbled upon a possible prank so bold that even those worthy souls would have balked at its audacity."
"Oh really?" asked Fred, starting the trolley towards the entry to platform nine and three quarters and taking a quick glance to confirm the rest of the family were busy with the Grangers.
Despite spending much of the holidays together, Hermione's parents did not often get contact with the magical world and seemed eager to meet more of her friends and their families. They knew Ron, of course, probably better than any parent wants to know their teenage daughter's boyfriend, but were obviously eager to know more of the world their daughter lived in.
"Mayhap you are referring to the much hyped and yet ultra secret 'Event' our older siblings and parents have been teasing us with these past few weeks?" he asked, in a much quieter voice.
"Indeed, brother," George said. "I have in fact managed to procure some very insightful documentation on that very subject."
"As have I," said Fred. "Right from under the noses of those entrusted with keeping us in our perpetual mushroom-like status."
"What've you got?" said George, excitedly dropping the put-on airs.
"Bill's letters," said Fred, patting a bulging pocket. "Haven't checked them for traps and curses yet, though. What about you?"
"Percy's diary," said George, briefly flashing a thick, official looking, moleskin book from the inside of his robes. "Clean as a whistle, of course."
"Brilliant," said Fred, smiling.
Side by side, the twin brothers walked towards the Hogwarts express, confident this was going to be their best year yet.
#
Neville Longbottom kissed his grandmother and made his way towards the train.
He automatically noted several undercover Aurors positioned around the station, but made no sign to acknowledge their presence, despite having spent much of the holidays with a few of them.
He held his new wand in his hand as he walked, even though he very much doubted there was going to be any problem.
Summer holidays were long and hard this year, with not much in the way of fun or normality for him or his Grandmother. Going back to Hogwarts would hopefully make a lot of things return to normal, making him even happier to see the big red train than normal, but a part of him wanted to turn around and return home with his Gran.
Still, this is what she expected him to do, and he would do his very best to make her proud.
No matter the cost.
#
"You are really lousy at this," said Dudley, easily lifting the meagre weight off Harry's chest.
Harry wheezed and rolled off the weight bench, rubbing his new bruises. Dudley used one arm to place the barbell back on its rack and returned to the rowing machine.
"Don't show off, Dudders," Harry said, once he regained his breath. "I can still run circles around you."
Setting up an exercise room in Harry's old bedroom seemed like such a good idea at the time. Surprisingly, Dudley took to it immediately and showed he knew more about weight training than just about anything else.
"Not my fault you're a skinny wimp," sneered Dudley. "You wouldn't last a minute at Smeltings. Everybody has to do at least an hour a day on the weights, or they fail and get clean up duty on the weekend."
"Must be the only class you ever actually tried in, eh?" said Harry, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel.
Dudley shrugged, either ignoring or not understanding the insult.
"I like boxing," he said. "But I got to get tougher to make the grade. Coach is mean a bastard and picks on me all of the time, but he knows his stuff. He told me I might even have a future in the sport, if I can turn all of this fat into muscle."
Harry snorted. Optimistic wasn't a strong enough a word for anybody who thought Dudley could stick to something long enough to perform such a miracle transformation.
It surprised him that Dudley was still attending the exclusive boarding school. With both Petunia and Vernon in jail for their treatment of Harry prior to starting at Hogwarts, he didn't understand how Dudley was able to keep going there. Maybe it was all pre-paid, like Hogwarts, which was mostly government funded anyway.
Not that he really cared.
"Lucky you've got us here to help you with that then, eh?" said Harry.
Dudley frowned, got off the rowing machine to strap on a pair of gloves, and started pounding on the hanging bag.
The lack of concern for his parents' incarceration didn't really surprise Harry. His cousin was still as shallow as a spilled dish, but he was seriously different from the boy Harry grew up with in many other ways.
Uncorking a potion bottle, Harry took a deep swig of the contents, forcing himself not to gag or stop until the flask was empty.
"What's that you keep drinking?" asked Dudley between punches. "Some sort of sport drink or something?"
"Something like that," said Harry, feeling the potion sinking in. "Its medicine. My doctor doesn't know what's wrong with me, but is pumping me full of stuff anyway."
"Freaks," spat Dudley, viciously smashing the bag. "You're all nutters, if you ask me. Taking medicine when you don't know what's wrong with you – stupid. What if it makes you worse? Or gives you something else? Stupid."
Harry tuned out Dudley's ranting. Absently, he wondered if his friends were enjoying the Hogwarts' welcoming feast yet.
The decision not to return to Hogwarts wasn't too hard to make, not with the trauma of the previous year, but he was going to miss seeing his friends every other day. At least he had Hogsmeade weekends and the Tournament tasks to visit them.
Spectator tickets to the tasks were difficult and expensive to get in advance, but Sirius and Remus somehow managed, for all three tasks, no less, but Remus could not attend the two overseas events, due to his werewolf legacy.
It disgusted Harry to find out not many other places in the world were as tolerant as "ol' Blighty", and openly banned suffers from things like the Quidditch matches and school sporting events.
Harry and Sirius's current legal status was less of an issue now, but that was no longer the main reason for Harry to avoid going back to school. The unexplainable, but very detrimental, magic affecting his health was the primary concern. Something was draining Harry of his vitality, and it was speeding up. Exercise and diet would help, combating the drain by increasing his physical stamina, but it wasn't a long-term solution.
There were many long and possibly painful experimental treatments waiting for Harry, some of them probably putting him in bed for days if not weeks. Hogwarts, and the scrutiny and gossip mongering of its inhabitants, was not what Harry wanted to put up with while various healers poked, prodded, and experimented on him.
"Trust me, Dudders," said Harry, moving over to the rowing machine as the potion flowed through his aching body, removing much of the soreness. "Even if it does give me side effects or a new problem, it can't get much worse."
#
Minutes before the second task was due to begin, Harry found himself in the Beaubaxton infirmary with a dozen other people.
"Sabotage again," said Ludo Bagman angrily. "It's a clear attempt to make it impossible for Hogwarts to complete the second task. I insist we reschedule."
The Beaubaxton facility was smaller than the Hogwarts one, and seemed particularly cramped with all of the people currently filling it. It was hardly an appropriate place to for a meeting, especially with Fred and Cedric on their beds surrounded by their families giving what comfort they could to the poisoned teenagers.
"Hogwarts can still compete," said Igor Karkaroff. "Mr. Potter is able to represent his school."
"Vitch begs ze question," added the enormous Madam Maxime, staring intensely at Harry. "'Ow is it zat Mizter Potter iz not also arffected?"
"Surely you are not suggesting Harry poisoned his own teammates?" asked Bagman. "Preposterous."
"Why would I knock out my own team?" asked Harry, flabbergasted by the accusation.
"It would give you an unrivalled opportunity," said Karkaroff, looking thoughtfully at Harry. "A chance for more personal glory, perhaps?"
"Or a reason for ze school to fail?" suggested Maxine. "I 'ear zere are some large wagers involved, ezpescially after ze first task."
"Regardless of how or why two of the three Hogwarts champions have been poisoned," said Mr. Crouch, before Harry could reply. "The Rules are clear. So long as a champion can compete, he must. While the condition of the other two is debilitating, they may recover enough to be compelled as well."
"Are you seriously saying they all have to compete, even though Fred and Cedric aren't well enough to walk yet?" asked Hermione. "That's ridiculous."
Crouch turned to Harry.
"They must," he said. "The others face a very painful afternoon unfortunately, as the Geas will push them to do their best, despite their condition."
"So Potter will face the challenge alone then," said Karkaroff, almost spitting the words in accusation.
"Yes."
Doubled over in pain on his bed, Cedric glared angrily at Harry.
#
"So what do you reckon this big, after dinner announcement is then?" asked Ron, loading up his plate from the even larger than normal Hogwarts opening feast.
Neville shrugged and began to shovel food onto his own plate. Food at his home wasn't sparse, but it was nothing like the banquette Hogwarts always put on after the sorting ceremony. Just the aroma alone made his mouth water in anticipation.
"You're the one with the dad who works in the Ministry," he said. "All I know is a few of the Slytherin seventh years were strutting up and down the train pretending to know all about it, but not actually saying anything. At least this year there's no Malfoy to shoot off his mouth and claim his dad arranged it all or some rot."
"Typical," said Ron, glancing towards the Slytherin table. "I bet they don't know anything more than us, and probably a lot less than my dad and brothers."
"They wouldn't tell you then?" asked Neville.
"Nah. Buggers laughed and said it would spoil the surprise," said Ron.
"Ron," said Hermione, looking up from her ever-present book. "You know they aren't allowed to reveal anything."
"Yeah, well the twins figured something out. They've been calling in all their debts and selling their old gear, collecting up money left and right, by the looks of it. I think they are going to place a big bet on something."
Hermione scowled.
"Didn't they learn from their illegal World Cup wager?" said asked. "Ginny said they lost a lot of money."
"Actually they won," said Ron, "They just haven't been able to get Bagman to pay up, yet. That's why they're scrounging up every knut they can, – to make another bet, but this time they'll go straight to the Goblins."
"Betting with Goblins?" asked Neville. "That's pretty brave. I heard they don't like to lose and can get pretty extreme about it."
"I bet Harry knows that's going on," said Ron, stuffing a potato into his mouth.
"Probably why he isn't coming back this year," laughed Neville.
Neither Ron nor Hermione laughed. They paused to exchange unfathomable looks before abruptly changing the subject to that of the psychotic looking new defence instructor – Professor Moody.
Neville didn't mention it again, but later that night, in the quiet of the dark dorm, that knowing look the couple shared would haunt his thoughts.
#
Severus Snape reclined in his throne-like chair and scratched his arm absently. On the large table in front of him lay a collection of random items recovered from the Chamber of Salazar Slytherin opened the previous year.
A few books, discovered in a musty room behind the large statue of Slytherin, a knife, found in one of the rancid water pools filling much of the chamber, and the broken shaft of a wand, owner unknown, found near the stubborn door of the chamber proper.
The books and knife were unremarkable, except that they probably once belonged to Voldemort, since they dated from around the time he attended the school, but the wand was a mystery.
Had somebody found the entrance and broken his or her wand trying to get in? Severus himself spent many futile hours in front of that door attempting to gain entrance. A scant few people knew the method he employed, and breaking your wand trying to pry it open was not part of the routine.
The headmaster was the only other person to venture into the inner sanctum of the greatest of the Hogwarts founders, besides Potter and the Weasley girl, of course.
Potter.
Even with the child absent from the school, his shadow still lingered in the dark corners of Severus's thoughts.
It was the eyes, always the eyes - Lily's eyes.
Shaking his head, Severus swept the collection into a box and pushed it aside. There was too much to do to worry about an unlikely possibility. Probably the broken wand became lost and washed down the drains, ending up near the door decades ago.
Dragging out the veritable mountain of paperwork that needed doing, he never noticed how often his hand returned to scratch at the darkening tattoo on his forearm.
#
Lying on his bed, Harry flipped through the pages of his text books, but couldn't bring himself to actually start studying. He felt weary, but not tired, almost as if he had just spent hours casting spells.
Remus and Sirius tutoring him was normally quite exhausting, but in a very different way. Tonight he just felt off; sort of strange.
Dropping the book onto his side table, Harry picked up the latest letter from Ron and read it again.
…
Mate, you should have seen the birds from Beaubaxton getting out of those flying carriages. They are gorgeous. Most of us blokes couldn't take our eyes away, and I reckon they loved it too, since their blokes looked like they were used to them. There's this one who seems to be a bit of a Head Girl or something; Fleur Delacour. That's a picture of her I got from Denis. Nice hey? Well the picture does not do her justice. Hermione says she's probably part Veela.
Anyway, that's not even the best bit. You will not believe who is here from Durmstrang.
Victor Krum.
Yep. In the Flesh. The Bulgarian seeker from the world cup, Victor Krum. Incredible. He doesn't speak much, and actually walks a bit funny, but boy can he fly. He took his broom out for a bit of a whizz around the other day, and half the school sat in the bleaches watching him.
I managed to talk to him a bit, and even got an autograph out of him, but I had to drop your name in the conversation to get his attention. (Hope you don't mind, but bad luck if you do – this is Krum we are talking about you know!). Seems like an all right fellow, although a bit uptight.
So, at any rate, I'm looking forward to seeing you soon. I expect you'll be showing up to watch the tasks, but if you can manage to get here a few hours early, we can hang out.
I might even introduce you to Krum, if you're nice to me.
See you soon,
Ron I-got-Krum's-autograph Weasley.
PS – I think Hermione's suddenly got a bit of a thing for Krum, which is fine because it means she can't pick on me for perving at Fleur!
PPs – Has Ginny written to you yet? If she has, can you write her back, please? She's sent me a letter every day and it's driving me spare!
Laughing, Harry folded the letter, tucked the picture of the stunningly beautiful girl inside of it, and put them away. His response to Ron was already written and waiting for Hedwig to return from another delivery.
A second letter sat on Harry's side table, one that he wasn't sure what to do with. Picking it up, he read it again.
Dear Harry,
It's Ginny here. I hope this letter finds you well.
Merlin, I suck at this.
This is my hundred and something-th attempt to write you a letter, and I still can't stop sounding pathetic, but I've decided this one goes in the envelope no matter what silliness comes out of my quill.
It helps that your beautiful owl is sitting on my dresser hooting impatiently. I was really surprised when she showed up out of the blue, but have taken it as a sign I need to just get this over with.
That sounds so bad.
Okay, here is the story. Part of my therapy is that I need to apologise to you. Even though, technically, bugger all of what happened was my fault (aside from letting the book take control of me and not telling people about the weird things, like waking up covered in feathers and blood), not so deep down I apparently still feel it was all my fault.
So, I have agreed to write you a letter, to say sorry for almost getting you killed, and for getting you put into Azkaban.
Sorry.
That's just so lame. Gee, what a surprise. I don't feel any better. How about you?
Damn it. This is all going wrong again, but at least I haven't lost the plot and started telling you about my Harry Potter doll this time.
Oh Merlin.
I'm making a real mess of this again, so I am going to quit now, but I really am sorry for all of the trouble. Thank you for saving me. I really do appreciate what you went through, even though I can only try to imagine how horrible it must have been for you.
I've spent a lot of time talking with Ron, and he has explained a lot to me. It's funny how well I am getting along with him now. He really seems to understand, although he is still a prat sometimes. Everybody else is treating me like I'm made of glass, even the twins, but Ron doesn't. Hermione has been good for him, I think (she is really nice, although a little too smart for her own good I reckon). So were the dozen or so healers that went to work on him too I guess.
Anyway, I've just realised I am rambling again, and Hedwig is looking even more impatient, so I'll finish up now.
Don't feel that you have to reply, since writing this is for my benefit, but if you want to, I wouldn't mind.
Morgana, I am pathetic.
Yours sincerely,
(Hiding under her sheets in embarrassment),
Ginny Weasley
Even though Ginny was Ron's sister, Harry didn't really know her. She seemed nice enough, the few times he spoke to her before she was possessed by a shade of Voldemort, but he couldn't really say he knew her very well.
The problem was he felt obliged to write back, since it was sort of his fault she spent the better part of a year trapped inside a book. True, he was trying to, and ultimately did, save her life, but the cost was quite high, for all of them.
Harry felt very uncomfortable thinking about that, especially since he had burned half of her face off.
Still, the letter made him smile, despite the endless teasing from Sirius about having a girl write to him (aside from Hermione who 'didn't count' in Sirius' book because she was Ron's girlfriend), and she deserved a response, even if was just to say he received the letter.
Picking up a pen and some paper, Harry lay back and tried to think of a suitable reply, believing he was going to sound stupid no matter what he wrote, but unsure why he was so certain he would.
#
Dumbledore raised his arms, palms outwards, to silence the assembled crowd of students and officials.
"And now, the grand moment has come," he called out.
Despite his general distain for pomp and ceremony, this was a moment for theatrics. A decade of negotiation and political manoeuvring, culminated in the restarting of the Triwizard Tournament, was definitely a moment worthy of a bit of a stage show.
"Three wizards from each school, the very best each has to offer, will be chosen by the Goblet of Fire. Each candidate, either of age or with their parent's permission, has put their name into the cup, and in a moment, it will make its selection."
The crowd grew noisy with excitement.
The amendment to the original rules, requiring each participant to be either legally an adult or have their parent's permission to compete, proved to be impossible to add to the Goblet's ancient selection spells, as had many other additional rules through the centuries.
Albus was however, confident his age line kept out any person under seventeen years of age, and all other entries were handed to Professor Moody to be placed into the cup. The paranoid old Auror scrutinised every one he received with a ridiculous amount of zeal, ferreting out forgeries of parent's signatures with unerring accuracy. It only took a few failures for the students to realise they could not trick old 'Mad-eye'.
Still, Albus would feel a lot more comfortable of they had changed the magic of the Goblet to exclude them instead.
Just as the noise of the room grew to ridiculous intensity, the flames in the cup turned a bright red. A single scrap shot out, floating down on unfelt currents to where he stood.
Snatching it out of the air with another overly dramatic gesture, Dumbledore paused before reading out the name, heightening the tension of the room.
"The first champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
A squeal of delight and heartily felt applause greeted the announcement, despite the lack of honest surprise by anybody who ever met the eighteen-year-old French beauty.
Dumbledore clapped politely while Fleur walked calmly passed the podium and stood to the side. The perfect picture of composure and elegance, Albus knew she was as far from the delicate rose she appeared to be as one could get and still be a female teenager.
Patiently waiting for the flames to change colour again, he dearly wished he could shake the feeling of dread still plaguing him.
#
Harry rose shakily from his bed and stumbled to the door of his rooms, knocking over the bundle of letters from his friends on his side table.
The ill feeling was growing worse, going beyond simply 'feeling a bit sick' and well into 'I think I need to see a doctor' territory.
Sirius and Remus sat in the common room, where Harry left them, both doing their own separate things.
"Harry?" asked Remus, spotting him first. "What's up?"
"I feel weird," said Harry, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "Like I've got to get out or something. Really nervous too."
"Your hands are shaking, pup," said Sirius, rising from behind a pile of disassembled motorcycle parts. "Come and sit down a moment."
Harry took two steps before weakness flooded his system and he tumbled forward.
Moving with a speed very few people would ever see, Sirius had his wand out and a spell cast before Harry made it halfway to the floor. A gentle force caught him, floating him off the ground.
"I'll Floo Healer Matfield," said Remus, already heading for the fireplace.
Harry felt like a fever suddenly enveloped his mind.
"No," he called. "Pomfrey. I've got to see Pomfrey."
"Pomfrey?" asked Sirius, coming to stand next Harry. "Harry, she is just a school healer."
"Pomfrey," repeated Harry, his thoughts clouding with confusing images, but clear in one thing. "Put me down Sirius – I can walk."
Sirius swished his wand and gently placed Harry on his feet.
"Hogwarts," said Harry, standing slightly shakily. "Take me to Hogwarts."
Sirius looked questioningly at Remus. The werewolf shrugged.
"Why not?" asked Remus.
"Okay, Harry," said Sirius, placing a supporting hand on Harry's arm. "Let's go to Hogwarts."
#
The canon blast signalling the start of the second task echoed through the valley, rebounding from the surrounding mountains only to become engulfed in the roar of the crowd of spectators.
There were even more people watching than the first task, spread out over many vantage points of the course. Huge spectator stands sat on clouds, drifting over different portions of the contest, and massive floating crystal balls relayed the action too, allowing people to watch every champion in every section, even the deep mineshaft and underwater sections.
The Mountain, the Lake, and the Mine. Three tasks for three champions, but Harry was the only Hogwarts champion now.
He leapt onto his broom and raced to the start of the mountain track.
Off to each side he could see the other competitors. The Durmstrang team broke apart, one heading for each section of the course. Krum was on a broom, of course, also racing towards the Mountain.
The Beaubaxton champions also spilt up. Two of them climbed onto the broom while the other took off towards the Mines. For a moment, Harry wondered just how many men out there were jealously watching Michael sit behind Fleur with his arms wrapped around her waist, and how Michael could possibly function sitting so close to the stunning beauty.
Probably why he isn't steering, thought Harry.
Lighter than the others, Harry reached the track entry first. The Hogwarts' crest carved into the stone archway clearly marked his entrance, making sure he could not accidentally take one of the other's paths. The obscuring magical curtain hanging from the archway parted before him as he approached, showing a winding path leading up the side of the imposing mountain.
Five minutes. That was all the flight time before the broom's power cut out.
Cedric and Fred's discovery about the nature of the broom made all of the difference to their strategy. With luck, the other teams would not know of the built-in limitation and fail to plan accordingly.
They originally planned for Cedric to tackle it without the broom, counting on using unexpected tactics in the other tasks to beat their opponents. The plan was risky, but clever.
Now, without Fred and Cedric to take on portions of the tasks, Harry had to do the best he could, and the Geas was pushing him too, reinforcing his own innate long suppressed competiveness.
Immediately after crossing the archway threshold, a massive tree branch swung at Harry.
Realisation that he was under attack by a Whomping Willow tree came only moments before a heavy branch drove the wind out of him by slapping him in the stomach.
The force of the blow knocked him back several feet off his broom and onto his backside.
The whistle of another branch approaching was warning enough to override his pain, and Harry dived to the side. He started rolling just as another branch smashed on the path beside him. A shower of small stones flew into the air, covering him in dust and dirt.
"Protego!" cast Harry.
A shimmering blue shield appeared between him and the branch as it came in for another blow. The thin wood shattered on contact, sending a spray of splinters into the air. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Harry scrambled to his feet just in time to see a huge limb swinging down.
With no time to do anything else, Harry braced himself and poured more magic into his shield. The impact against the shield jarred Harry's arms and set his teeth ringing, the force of the blow drove him back several feet, the shield gouging a deep furrow in the path.
"Stupefy!" said Harry, dropping his shield.
The red light hit the trunk and left a small burn mark, but the tree didn't even slow down.
Ducking another branch, Harry's mind raced for a solution. The tree was too big for anything except his most powerful spells to affect, and even then, it was probably touch and go.
"Impedimenta!" he cast, aiming for one of the larger branches. The branch slowed, but kept coming towards him, as did several other smaller ones.
Racing from one side of the path to the other to avoid the faster branches, Harry zigzagged past the tree, hoping to get out of reach without injury.
Unfortunately, he didn't see the second tree until one of its branches slammed into his back, pushing him to the ground several feet back the way he just came.
The sight of a branch descending from above was motivation enough for him to start rolling. Again a shower of gravel rained down on him from the impact. Continuing to roll, he hoarsely cried out an incantation and brought his wand up, flicking it towards the attacking tree. Obediently, several stones flew to pepper the trunk.
Immediately the tree froze, as if turned to stone. Not a branch swayed, nor a leaf so much as rustled. At least one of his stones must have connected with the trees 'off' switch.
"Thank you, Marauders," said Harry climbing painfully to his feet.
The path in front of him stretched away up the mountain. Offset Whomping willows lined both sides. They looked like they were quivering, possibly in anticipation.
Beyond the thick hedges shielding him from the other competitors, the sound of several loud explosions echoed. It seemed Krum's flying wasn't up to the task of out manoeuvring all of the trees and he was relying on brute force to help make it passed the obstacle, just like the Durmstrang team did with their Dragon.
Picking up his broom from where it lay, Harry started jogging towards the next tree, wand at the ready to banish stones and disable it.
Making his way down the path, he was struck with the odd image of Fleur trying to charm the trees the way she mesmerised the Beaubaxton dragon. Unfortunately, it snorted in its sleep and set her alight, but the strategy worked well enough for her teammates to get all three of the eggs.
Somehow, Harry didn't think the blonde witch would have time to spell all of the trees, even in the highly unlikely event they turned out to be susceptible to her Veela charm.
Still, it would have been be interesting to see her try.
#
Albus held the scorched scrap of paper in his hand, refusing to believe the name written on it.
To either side, the other competitors waited anxiously. All of them so far were amongst the top picks of the professors, Pomona no doubt counting her winnings from the staff betting pool the moment Cedric Diggory's name floated into Albus's hands.
Nobody was going to get money for this one though. Not even Albus himself would have placed a knut on this name, and he was known for always picking the long odds.
The volume of nervous confusion in the hall rose to a new height as he hesitated, culminating in Moody firing off a canon blast to quieten everybody down.
Albus knew he had to read the name, despite the problems it was going to cause, but still he hesitated, looking for a way out of it.
"Albus?" prompted Minerva McGonagall, taking a step forward.
Clearing his throat, Albus forced himself to go forward – to continue despite his reservations. There was no other way.
"Fred Weasley," he said loudly. "The second Hogwarts champion is Fred Weasley."
"YES!" screamed two identical redheads, leaping up from their seats to hug each other moments before the Hogwarts crowd erupted.
Albus shook his head tiredly. There was no way Molly gave her permission, so the howlers would start arriving before the night was out, and likely go on until morning.
How in the world the pranksters managed to get around the ward and Mad-eye Moody, was likely going to be as much of a mystery as how the Goblet chose a mediocre sixth year as the second Hogwarts champion.
#
Harry collapsed before he reached the fireplace, but Sirius was ready for it.
"Hang on there," he said, catching Harry in his arms. "Two seconds and we'll have you at Saint Mungos."
"No," said Harry, struggling to stand. "Hogwarts. Must go to Hogwarts."
#
With the willows disabled by banishing showers of peddles at them until one hit their off switch, getting through that section of the course was simple, taking only a few minutes on foot.
A sharp switchback after the last willow signified a new obstacle, although Harry failed to identify what it could be. A long straight length of track lay before him, bereft of willows or any other apparent threat.
Harry jogged along, wondering if it was a break between obstacles or if he was missing something. Suddenly suspicious, he flicked his wand and sent a spray of pebbles flying down the path. About half way along the track, the stones disappeared with wet plopping sounds.
Harry slowed to a halt and used the end of the broom to prod at the seemingly clear path. The ground became soft a few feet from where he stood, almost sucking the broom from his grasp. He pulled it back quickly before it could get dragged in further. It came loose with a wet slurping sound.
Quicksand, or something like it, right where the broom won in the first task would run out of steam if he had flown it all the way. It was a clever trap, for anybody unprepared for the broom to stop.
Fred's words during one of their planning session came back to Harry.
"In previous Tournaments, every trap had a trick, every challenge at least one way to avoid the worst of it."
He could try to fly over it, but he really needed the broom for later, if he was to have any hope at all of completing the Lake challenge.
There was too much of it for him to levitate himself over, and transfiguring a semi-liquid into a solid, or even conjuring a long enough bridge of some sort, was beyond Harry's abilities. He cursed the rule preventing him from transforming into his Falcon Animagus form.
A sudden scream from the Beauxbaton side interrupted Harry's thoughts for a moment, but he forced himself to ignore it and concentrate on his own problems.
He was preparing to cut down a tree to use as a boat, when a slimy tentacle suddenly broke the surface of the illusionary path covering the quicksand, and flapped about briefly before disappearing back into the mud.
"There goes that idea," he mumbled to himself.
Precious seconds ticked away as Harry paced.
Illusionary. The path was an illusion. Could something else also be an illusion?
Turning away from the obstacle, Harry started probing the surrounding area, paying attention to the enclosing bushes in particular. He was only slightly surprised when his hand fell through a section and touched an invisible ladder.
Harry stepped through the hedge and looked up the steep ladder. It was wooden, but appeared positively ancient, with many rungs looking half-rotted, and it disappeared several dozen feet up. Hesitating only a moment more, Harry conjured a length of string to tie the broom to his back, and then started to climb.
After a few minutes, he had to pause to take a breather.
Glimpsing over his shoulder, he found he could see Fleur leaping from place to place across the quicksand. She had somehow removed the illusion and Harry could see stepping stones spread out through the trap.
As he watched, Harry saw a tentacle snake around Fleur's leg to try to pull her into the mud. She quickly shot it with a yellow spell and it sunk back out of sight, but more started poking out of the slimy ground.
The second champion was nowhere to be seen and Harry guessed Fleur had detoured to drop off at the lake, which had been one of the options they had considered before discovering the broom's limitations. Fleur's broom would have ran out before she got through the willows and she had still managed to catch up to him and Krum. Impressive.
On the other side, Krum sat on the ground near the start of the illusion working on the broom. It occurred to Harry that the professional Quidditch star might know how to recharge it, giving him an incredible advantage against the others who were stuck with the limited flight time of the broom.
A herd of skeletal winged horses flew above the tree line, putting to rest any idea Harry had of taking the broom high above the next obstacle. Maybe Krum would make that mistake and pay the price.
Resuming his climb, a rotted rung suddenly broke under his hand, nearly sending him plummeting back down.
Cursing, Harry reached up and tapped the rung with his wand, casting a repairing spell. He was going to have to spell every one, slowing him down, but falling to his death or serious injury would cost more than just time.
Agility, strength, and stamina, Crouch told them. That was what this task tested. Apparently he didn't just mean physical strength and stamina, and wasn't just talking about the task as a whole. Casting dozens of repair spells, fighting through a muddy sea of tentacles, or even recharging the broom were all tiring tasks, and this was only the second obstacle of the first portion of the task; there was still the Lake and the Mine to go!
Settling himself into a rhythm, of spell casting then moving upwards, Harry began the long arduous climb.
If this was stamina, at the top he could be sure a test of magical strength waited.
#
Hermione watched the expression on Dumbledore's face change, and instantly felt a deep gut-wrenching fear. Her heart skipped a beat at his look of disbelief just before his expression changed to what could only be called anguish.
She felt her breath catch in her throat, stopping her voice from making a sound even though her mouth was moving, silently denying what she knew as inevitable.
"No, not him, please no."
Her prayer went unheeded.
Before the headmaster could say the name she dreaded, the doors to the great hall opened, crashing against the walls with a loud bang, startling everybody. Hermione didn't need to look to know who it was, and buried her face in her hands.
Though he practically whispered, not taking his eyes from the last of the burnt offerings tossed from the Goblet, Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout out the room.
"Harry Potter," he said, announcing the final champion.
"Oh bugger," said Ron, as the room erupted with noise.
#
At some point of his climb, Harry passed through a portal similar to the one on platform nine and three quarters, as he was now on a completely different part of the mountain.
Not that he noticed at the time.
Eventually there were no more rungs to repair, and Harry reached the top.
Dragging himself onto the path, he lay still for a moment to give his aching arms a rest. It was a pity he didn't take Dudley more seriously when they were working out together. The fatter boy often commented on Harry's lack of upper body strength, but it wasn't enough to inspire Harry to make any real effort to address the deficiency.
Now he was feeling it would not have been time wasted.
Struggling to his feet, Harry saw the next obstacle on his path. Rather, Harry saw the path stop at the bottom of a sheer cliff. A broken stone staircase lay at the base of the cliff in several mammoth pieces, looking like the discarded toy of a giant child.
"Not more bleeding repairing," Harry panted to himself in disbelief.
Nearing the huge steps, he realised his first impression was mistaken. The staircase wasn't broken; it was in a dozen distinct pieces.
Not a giant toy, a giant jigsaw puzzle.
Examining the pieces carefully until he was certain of the positioning of a few of them, Harry attempted to levitate one section. The stone weighed at least a ton, but wasn't too difficult for him to move into place.
As soon as he put it down, the real problem made itself abundantly clear. The oddly shaped piece could not stand on its own, and tumbled over the moment Harry ceased his spell, crashing down with an earth-shaking boom.
Harry tried again, this time making sure to place it carefully on the ground rather than dropping it roughly, as he had the first time. It settled down softly, staying upright but not looking particularly stable. There was no way the next piece could sit on top without tipping the whole thing over.
Scratching his head, he sat down and tried to figure out a way to secure the base and each section of the puzzle. There was not much chance of any sticking charm he knew holding the heavy sections together against the force of gravity, even with the best featherweight charms he could cast.
The temptation to use the broom to fly to the top of the cliff was great, again, but Harry resisted, knowing every second of flight time could count later. There was also a fair chance that this section was warded against flying, and he was pretty sure he could only get away with bending the rules so many times anyway.
It seemed the only thing Harry could do was try to levitate all of the pieces at the same time and drop them into place. The resulting interlocking structure would lean up against the cliff, giving it the support it needed to stay together.
Floating more than one object at a time was difficult enough. Floating several massive objects was a strain. Controlling several massive floating objects in order to place them precisely and in a specific order was a huge challenge.
Breathing deeply to centre himself, Harry began the spells, concentrating on each piece as it rose into the air. He managed to get three into place before the strain caused his concentration to slip.
Clouds of dust flew into the air at the impact of the puzzle, filling Harry's nose and mouth, making him to cough violently and bringing tears to his eyes.
After taking a moment to rest, Harry tried again, this time getting four of the seven sections in place before losing control. The falling pieces bounced off each other, nearly squashing him before coming to rest spread out all over the path.
Cursing loudly, Harry sat down and rethought his strategy. There was no use denying it, he didn't have the skill or strength to assemble the pieces. Controlling the last and first pieces might work, but only if he could keep the lower sections still at the same time.
Walking over to the sections, he ran his hand over the smooth rock. It almost felt like marble, and was remarkably intact, considering the beating taken from two falls. On a whim he tried a sticking spell on one piece and then levitated the next section over to connect in, both lying on their sides on the ground.
The sticking spell gave way as soon as he tried lifting one section, but seeing the two parts laying together on the ground gave him a new idea.
Working quickly, Harry levitated each piece into its place where it settled with a loud click, as if it was locking into the other pieces. Sometimes he needed to remove a piece already in place in order to slot another section in first or it would not 'click'. Still, it took only a few minutes for the entire staircase to be lying on its side on the path.
Now came the difficult bit.
Excitement at possibly solving the problem made it impossible for him to calm down a lot, but he took a moment and several deep breaths before gathering his power.
Standing well away, Harry cast the spell and tried lifting the whole staircase as one single unit. The stones ground together noisily, wobbling slightly as it rose up, but they stayed in place.
Sweat began to run down Harry's face as he slowly manoeuvred the structure around, rising the end and swinging it up towards the top of the cliff while slowly dropping the other end to the ground.
His wand pulsed in his hand, growing warm at the amount of magic flowing through it. His blood pulsed too, in some sort of sympathy with the spell. As the staircase moved closer, the pulsing became more violent. His wand actually started jerking from side to side, threatening to rip the puzzle apart with each movement.
Harry grabbed on to the wand with his other hand too, steadying it as he mentally dug in his heels. This was going to work; he was going to make it work. No pissant little problem like levitating several tons was going to get the better of Harry James Potter.
The spell holding up the stairs grew visible as more power poured into it. A glowing nimbus surrounded Harry and the half the cliff, lighting it up as if an array of spotlights was suddenly switched on. Small sparks of magic ran through the magical cloud as Harry slowly lowered the whole thing into place.
With a very loud thump, he dropped it into place, and immediately collapsed on the ground. The stairs stayed where they were put, solidly resting at an angle against the cliff.
"I am spending far too much of this task on my arse," thought Harry, looking at his newly created way forward.
The stairs silently beckoned to him, enticing him to rise and climb them to the top where the end of the first portion of the task lay.
Mindful of the fact the Geas was still forcing him onward, Harry tiredly rose to his feet and began the long climb up the huge steps, the broom knocking annoyingly against his back as he went practically teasing him with an alternate solution he had chosen not to try.
#
"You are all now under a Geas," explained Barty Crouch, the Ministry official supposedly in charge of the Tournament. "From the moment the Goblet chose you as a champion, you have been placed under a magical compulsion. You must compete, and do your best to win, or you will suffer extreme discomfort, pain, and possibly even more violent symptoms, as Mr. Potter can attest."
Everybody turned to look at Harry, who was slumped in a chair near the back of Dumbledore's office. He was feeling much better, but was still far from well. The rushed Floo trip and the excitement caused by his sudden appearance in the school took their toll on him, but something else was the cause of his debilitated state.
The Geas.
The fact he was now committed to competing in the dangerous Tournament hadn't really sunk in yet. The idea somebody entered him without his knowledge or permission wasn't even shocking – it was just another one of those 'things' that happened to him.
None of the school heads looked pleased.
Dumbledore was sad, because it was a clear sign something nefarious was afoot, and Harry was obviously the target.
Madam Maxine was unhappy because the idea of not just one, but two underage wizards taking part in the competition was unthinkable to her.
Igor Karkaroff was angry because the legend of the famous Harry Potter terrified him for some reason, and he was the sort of person to respond to fear with anger.
Some of the other competitors seemed happier, probably because they didn't believe the two younger wizards would be real competition.
Fred was bouncing on his heels, barely able to contain his excitement.
Cedric was far from happy at having only younger teammates on his side.
Sirius was a mixture of Dumbledore and Fred; worried and excited all at the same time. This was exactly the sort of mayhem the Marauder would once have thrived in.
The only other person in the office was the one-legged, one magical eyed, ex-Auror and current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody, and he was watching everybody warily, as if expecting any one of them to draw their wand and start throwing hexes around.
"Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "Can you please explain how you were able to bypass the age line and put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"
"I didn't," said Fred. "I tricked Flint, a seventh year, into putting a piece of paper with George's name in instead of his. It was a bit of a joke, you see. Obviously George did the same, probably with somebody else, although Flint is stupid enough to try to put his name in more than once, I suppose."
"So the other Mr. Weasley placed your name in the Goblet?"
Fred nodded. "George will likely be a bit put out that my name came out and not his, but I am the older one, by two minutes."
"And you, Potter?" asked Moody, redirecting everybody's attention back to Harry.
"I had nothing to do with it," said Harry. "I don't even know where somebody got my signature to do it with. Hell, I'm not even at Hogwarts this year."
"Technically, you have never been withdrawn or expelled," said Dumbledore, drowning out the outrage caused by Harry's pronouncement. "Do you recognise this?"
Harry took the burnt paper from the Headmaster's hand and looked at it closely. To recognise one specific signature amongst all of the times he had written his name should have been a futile exercise, but it wasn't.
"Yes," said Harry, earning exclamations of surprise and disbelief. "It's from my Animagus registration form."
Whispers containing the word Animagus broke out amongst the crowded room.
"How can you possibly recognise it?" scoffed Karkaroff. "Unless you already knew where it came from."
Sirius hissed and rested a hand on his wand, causing Karkaroff to take a step backwards.
"Watch your mouth," the ex-convict said, looking every bit the dangerous criminal half of the world still believed him to be.
Harry felt anger start to burn again at the tone of the Durmstrang Headmaster, but answered as politely as he could without raising his voice.
"Because I only wrote it a week ago, and it is the only thing I can recall signing in my own blood with a Blood Quill," he said, handing the paper back to Dumbledore.
Mr Crouch took the scrap from Dumbledore and looked at it closely.
"I will have an investigation into how this was removed from the Ministry immediately," he said, stuffing the note into his pocket. "But it really isn't irrelevant.
"The nine champions have been chosen, three from each school. How or why a particular person is selected by the Goblet makes no difference. The Tournament will continue as planned.
"The First task will take place in the new Quidditch World Cup Stadium, a few miles from this very castle, on the 24th of November. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard, so we will not be telling what is involved until that time. Once again, congratulations to all of the champions."
"Congratulations, Harry," said Sirius, grinning madly. "You're going to be famous, again."
Harry groaned and put his hands back on his forehead.
#
Fred Weasley grasped his stomach and moaned. In addition to the pain of the poison, the Geas was pulling at his magic, forcing him to want to try to get up and compete.
His insides felt like he had eaten a plate full of gravel, again, but this time his mum couldn't fix him up and slap George for making the stupid dare in the first place.
Mind you, some of his mum's cures were worse than the symptoms.
Suddenly, through the haze of pain, Fred could clearly see the memory of his mum casting a horrible, horrible charm on him.
"This will teach you to steal your father's whiskey," she told the then ten-year-old.
The purging spell occupied both ends of Fred's body for the longest fifteen minutes of his life, but he did feel better afterwards, just not right away.
"Mum," Fred called weakly.
"I'm here, sweetie," said his mum, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I won't leave you."
Ron was ducking in and out, torn between watching Harry compete and staying bedside with Molly and George. Cedric's family also sat with him, trying their best to comfort their only child.
"Purge me," Fred gasped out.
There was moment of silence before she spoke again. He could she was torn by his request.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
Fred tried to answer, but another wracking wave of agony raced through him. He did manage to nod several times though. More moments passed before she made up her mind.
"All right. Ronald, George, close the curtains, then grab some bedpans and towels. Madam Pomfrey, I'm going to need your help, please."
Fred lost track of their voices as the pain filled his thoughts again. He felt his clothes stripped from him and his body moving, but only managed to open his eyes once to see a bucket sitting in front of his face.
"Hold on tight everyone," said George. "This is not going to be pretty."