Revised AN: Some reviews have commented that George Granger seems an inappropriate character to so serious a piece, inducing a sort of mood whiplash. I actually considered taking him out when I was working on the revision; however, he adds something important to this fic, by broadening the range of characters and emotions that are experienced within. Not all life is grim and foreboding, even when one is in a depressing part of life, and his presence as a character helps reflect this.
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(Old) Author's Note:
I have been, by and large trying to maintain a decent affiliation with cannon. Nowhere near directly concordant, because frankly, cannon is largely formed of bullshit. I think it's an interesting commentary on JKR's writing abilities that she managed to write a story with so many weaknesses, but that it was still compelling enough to be one of the most successful literary franchises ever.
Anyways, at this point, the fact that Harry was powerful enough at the end of third year in cannon to use a Patronus powerful enough to drive off 100+ Dementors, without even being noticeably fatigued, is going to start to matter. A lot. How this interacts with things such as Harry's barrier and other magical effects dealing mostly with kinetic energy: Bullets actually don't carry much kinetic energy, proportionately. A properly executed punch will carry more kinetic energy than anything but the most powerful personal firearm, it simply is nowhere near as focused, and fists are not as rigid as bullets. Kinetic energy is repeatedly, and easily, played with like a cheap toy in HP cannon, something you can expect to see me take to great practical application in this fic, and its eventual sequel. Getting back to the bullet/barrier thing, Harry's barrier is powered by the third most powerful wizard in Britain (after Dumbles and Tom), and can handle the pathetically small amounts of kinetic energy that small arms fire generates, probably indefinitely if you're not literally pinning him place and shooting him until it finally gives out.
Also, sick of everybody who writes these fics sticking Harry with the Hungarian Horntail every time, I pulled out a die and rolled randomly. And rolled the Hungarian Horntail. Go figure.
Finally, for those who are hoping/asking for updates, I update once a week, sometime within the 24-hour period known as Saturday, EST. This could mean ten minutes past midnight, or four PM.
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Chapter 9
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'Lo Harry,
So, I'm out of rehabilitation and acclimatization. It's nice being able to run out and about again (and I've got to say, muggle clothing is a lot more practical than robes), but I miss the pretty nurses (and a few of the less pretty ones who had clever tongues). Even though I get a modest stipend as someone with asylum, I've decided to hunt up a job, without all the psycho-whatever stuff and 'technology training' to fill my hours, life gets quite dull, quite fast.
I was rather disturbed to hear you asking why Hermione would kiss you; don't you know that's what boys and girls do at your age? James went for the smart ones, wouldn't surprise me if you did too. Heard about the Triwizard Tournament, you planning on competing?
-Sirius.
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Harry listened silently and attentively as Headmistress McGonagall announced that that year's Quidditch games may be interrupted due to the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. The only part of the entire affair that interested him was making contact with Wizards and Witches from the continent, and feeling out what socio-political conditions in those nations were like. Aside from that, and the announcement of Amelia Bones as the new DADA Professor, little in the announcements at the opening feast interested him, and he instead listened to Hermione speak about her preparations for taking her NEWTs that year.
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Harry stared silently at the middle-aged woman at the front of the classroom, his own body posture and expression utterly neutral as he evaluated her.
"You intend to attack me," Harry said abruptly, "Non-lethally, to test my abilities."
Amelia Bones expression only showed a hint of surprise before she simply continued to stare back at him.
"Don't." Harry said flatly.
Amelia continued to stare at him for several more long minutes, before finally speaking.
"I would like to know your abilities," She said, "But I can tell just by looking at you that you're well beyond where a fourth-year would need to be, so I won't. Be warned though, if I'm still here when you're a seventh year, I will test you whether you like it or not."
Harry nodded at her words, but let no other expression show.
"Send in the next one," Amelia said, and Harry left the classroom, nodding for the next student to enter.
Amelia had that student immobilized and silenced five seconds after the door closed.
((()))
The Goblet of Fire, unfortunately, did not go out after the third Champion's name was announced, something Harry would have paid little attention to, except that he immediately noticed something attempting to… attach itself to his magic. Harry's eyes narrowed and he extended his own magical senses, and immediately picked up on the Goblet of Fire's magic attempting to somehow link with his. Harry did not know why it was attempting to do so, nor did he care; he had no desire to let it do something to him that he had in no way, shape, or form requested.
Harry's narrowed eyes turned to slits, and he lashed out at the Goblet's encroaching magic with his own. The empty space in the Great Hall between Harry and the Goblet rang as though a gong had been struck, and a visible distortion in the air let off a small shockwave as the two magics clashed. Harry grunted as his magic was forced back by the powerful artifact, and a low growl began to work its way up his throat as he gathered himself for a counterattack. When Harry lashed out with every erg of magical energy he could marshal, he drew the attention of everyone in the Great Hall that hadn't already noticed the magical confrontation in progress.
Nearly everybody in the hall felt a static tingle wash across their exposed skin, and eyes widened Harry's magic slammed into the advancing tide of the Goblet's magic, the energies edging into the visible spectrum as they ground against each other. For a few seconds, Harry forced the Goblet's magic back, but the magical pressure from the artifact steadily increased, and began to overpower him. Harry's fists clenched, and tendons and veins bulged out in his neck as Harry upped his efforts, beginning to breathe heavily as he pushed more forcefully against the Goblet's magic.
The Goblet's magic slowed, but the tide continued to turn against Harry, and his facial expression shifted from intense concentration, to fierce focus, to enraged determination. Sweat began beading across his brow as the point of conflict closed to within a dozen feet of Harry, and he lurched to his feet, leaning into the struggle, mouth opening into a snarl as he fought the Goblet's magic. The tide of magic continued towards him, however, until it came within arm's reach.
"I WON'T!" Harry screamed, hurling his arms up and out barely halting the magic's advance.
"rrRRRRAAAAAAAAAA!" Harry screamed, the edge of conflict between him and the Goblet rapidly brightening into an intense glow, as he poured more and more effort into the battle, escalating as his own voice rose.
Harry's scream of defiance suddenly raised in pitch as something within him changed, and the energies his magical core had been devoting to his barrier suddenly were redirected to his battle with the Goblet. The wave-front of magic lurched away from Harry as his power output abruptly doubled, and he began to stalk forward towards the Goblet, roaring between each breath as he brutally forced the Goblet's magic back.
The Goblet, however, simply began to increase its magical output again, and equalized the flow inches short of its own physical edge. Harry clenched his teeth and snorted in rage, as sweat began to trickle down his face, mixing with blood from his scar.
"Stop it Harry!" Hermione shouted, running up towards him, "You're hurting yourself!"
"No!" Harry shouted back, his voice thick with magic, "I will not be bound against my will!"
The magical wave-front began to advance towards him again, and Harry snarled, growling deep in his throat, as he continued his advance, his entire body trembling with tension, his eyes beginning to faintly luminesce as magic continued to pour out of his body. Hermione attempted to continue her approach towards him, but was stymied by the force of magic emanating from the point of conflict. McGonagall, who had been trying to summon, banish, or transfigure the Goblet, switched to attempting to destroy it outright, but her spells were simply overwhelmed by the waves of magic washing across the hall from the point of contact.
Unnoticed by anyone else, Dobby appeared on the edge of the hall, and drank in the power rolling off of his master. The pedestal that the goblet rested on began to warp under the strain of the magic it was exposed to, and Harry's robes began disintegrating, revealing the Dragonhide he wore beneath it.
"I WON'T!" Harry shouted again, snatching his wand from his belt, and hurled a blasting curse at the enchanted cup, but it failed inches short of its target.
Harry returned his wand to its place at his belt, and palmed the shrunken sword strapped to the underside of his left hand, unshrinking it and raising it as he forced himself to continue advancing towards the Goblet. Fatigue began to scream in his muscles from the sheer amount of tension they'd been held under, but he ignored it and pressed on, furious gaze fixed on the magical artifact that sought to bind him.
The wavefront, held roughly in place between the Goblet's greater magic force and Harry's continued advance, began to slip back towards Harry as he magically exhausted himself fighting against the millennia old artifact. Sensing his body and magic beginning to give out on him, Harry forced himself into one last burst of motion, lashing out at the Goblet with his sword. Fatigue made his blow clumsy, but he still managed to catch the top of the flaming cup at a shallow angle, the edge of his sword digging into the goblet and knocking it from its pedestal.
Upon the instant that the goblet lost contact with the pedestal, the stone melted into a puddle of slate-gray goo. Exhaustion overcame Harry, and the inertia of his swing threw him off balance, and he fell to the floor, striking it a moment after the goblet bounced off of the floor, and passing out.
The magical wave-front collapsed, and the Great Hall, which had been filled with the sounds of the competing magics and Harry's voice, was abruptly silent, except for Hermione Granger rushing to the collapsed Harry and dragging him away from the spreading puddle of molten stone.
Rolling along its side, the Goblet of Fire spat out a piece of parchment before its flames abruptly died. Minerva McGonagall swiftly made her way to where the Goblet lay, inspecting it carefully, and noting the small notch in its rim, and that the top half of Harry's blade was slowly melting, before picking up the slip of parchment and reading the name on it aloud.
"Harry Potter."
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Some hours later, Harry woke up in the infirmary, under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye. The first thing he did upon awakening was test his magic, finding it drained, but not critically so, and replenishing steadily. The second thing he did was 'feel' around magically, to see if he had managed to ward off the Goblet's attempt to enchant him somehow. He found a strong magical bond binding him to what he knew must be the Goblet, as it was the same magic that he had fought earlier.
Rage coursed through his body, and he jerked upright, then got off the bed. Pomfrey moved in front of him, a stern rebuke on his lips, but then she caught his eyes, and remembered more than a few conversations she had had with McGonagall about the young Potter.
"Let me make something clear, Mister Potter," She said, "If I have you in here again for magical exhaustion before the end of the week, I will be dosing you with sleeping potions until I'm satisfied you've recovered sufficiently. Do you understand me?"
Harry scowled fiercely, but nodded, and the Mediwitch stepped out of his way. Harry stormed out of the infirmary, and nearly ran smack into a drowsing Hermione. She came fully awake with a jerk, and Harry nearly pulled his knife on her when she immediately lunged at him, wrapping him in a tight, desperate hug. For a long, long moment, Harry stood there, trembling in a mixture of rage and something else.
Then he felt hot, wet tears on his shoulder, and something cracked inside, and tears came to his own eyes.
"Oh Harry," Hermione whispered, "I thought it was going to kill you, you were all red, and shaking, and then there was blood¸ and, and…"
She trailed off as Harry wrapped his arms around her, clinging desperately to the older girl, shaking now with something other than rage.
"It's happened again," He said, and for the first time ever, Hermione heard fear in the voice of Harry Potter, "Something's taking control from me, and I don't even know what it is…"
They stood there together, for a long time, Hermione clutching Harry desperately out of fear for her friend, Harry holding Hermione tightly because of fear for loss of control, and, buried deeply within him, a desperate loneliness. Silent tears rolled down Harry's face as he trembled slightly in Hermione's grasp; muffled sobs escaped from Hermione as she buried her face in his shoulder.
It was nearly a quarter hour before they eventually composed themselves, and Hermione took Harry's hand in hers, and led him to the Headmistress' office. His grip on her hand was painfully tight, but she did not complain; she knew he needed the reassurance, and did not mind the reminder of his continued presence herself. When they entered McGonagall's office, they were met with mixed reactions.
Cedric Diggory looked at Harry with concern. Fleur Delacour looked at him with inquisitive eyes, Viktor Krum was staring at him with an almost entirely blank gaze, but Harry could see a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Madam Maxim looked at him with demanding eyes; it was not difficult to tell she was determined to pull the truth of what had happened with the Goblet out of him. Minerva McGonagall was looking at him with clear concern in her eyes, which made Harry's chest feel just a little bit warmer. Amelia Bones bore a stern but somewhat concerned expression. Bartemius Crouch was a cold fish.
"You!" Igor Karkaroff shouted, enraged, leaping to his feet and striding menacingly towards Harry.
Harry's wand was in his hand, and he was positioned between Hermione and the large man before he had completed his second step.
"Sit down Igor," McGonagall snapped in a harsh tone of command, "I have enough trouble over this fiasco without having to peel you off of the walls when Mister Potter is finished with you."
Karkaroff turned to face McGonagall, outrage burning in his eyes.
"You think," He said, puffing himself up to loom over the seated Headmistress, "This little snot could-"
"No," Harry cut across the older man's voice like sharp iron, "She knows what would happen if we fought. I've taken down a Troll, a Basilisk, a head Auror, and a so-called 'dark lord' twice, one who used to be your master.. I'm fourteen, Mister Karkaroff. How does your tally compare?"
"I've been dueling since before you were born, boy," Karkaroff ground out, glaring at the teenager,
"You're no match for me."
"Then challenge me to a duel," Harry said coolly, "To be fought in front of the entire school. If you win, I'll apologize to you for whatever slight I may have given. If I win, you surrender your position as Headmaster of Durmstrang to me."
Karkaroff's jaw dropped in shock at the audacity of Harry's terms, and McGonagall snorted slightly in wry amusement, before interrupting the two's argument.
"Unfortunately, Mister Potter," She said, "That is not currently possible, as you are entered into the Tournament under the name of another school. Regardless, having Mister Potter crush Igor's ego will accomplish little just now. I must ask, Mister Potter, as a matter of form, if you somehow managed to place your name within the Goblet?"
Harry shook his head.
"In that case," McGonagall continued, "We appear to have someone of considerable magical ability acting to either take Harry's life, or fulfill some arcane machination. Specifically, by interfering with the Tri-wizard Tournament, and doing so in such a way to force a binding magical contract on someone unwilling. We must discover who is responsible for this."
"Bah," Karkaroff said, turning his back to Harry as he faced McGonagall, "There is no need for conspiracy theories; it is clear the boy simply entered himself. He is hardly unique amongst little boys who think more of themselves than they ought, and-
Whatever else Karkaroff was going to say was cut off by Harry silencing him, then binding the man in place with conjured ropes, and levitating him to his chair. Every man and woman in the room not a student or staff member of Hogwarts stared at Harry, most with some degree of shock or surprise. Harry silently summoned a pair of chairs for Hermione and himself to sit down in, and as he sat, became aware of the fact that Hermione still had not released his other hand, but decided not to comment on it.
"Thank you Harry," McGonagall said, smiling at him gently before turning to the others in her office, "I hope we can now have a conversation as reasonable adults. Can anyone think of someone within the Tournament officials or the delegations from either schools that would have a motive to do something like this?"
Harry and Hermione sat silently as the meeting progressed, simply observing, until Harry, still fatigued from his over-exertion early that evening, fell asleep. His head ended up resting on Hermione's shoulder, who made no complaint, and eventually drifted off herself.
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The morning after the selection of the champions, Hermione woke well before Harry. After dressing quickly, she left a note on the door of his dorm for him, then went and assembled the rest of their usual study group as quickly as she could at breakfast, and drew them together in the library. Once they were all assembled, and settled, she addressed them quietly, but firmly.
"All right, everyone," She said, "Who among you believes, for certain, that Harry put his name in the Goblet?"
None of them raised their hands, and Blaise Zabini even went so far as to snort dismissively.
"And who believes for sure he didn't do it?" Hermione asked.
Every member of the group raised their hand, and Hermione smiled.
"Good," She said, "Now, Harry's not going to ask, of course, but he's going to need every bit of support in this to get through that we can give him, who's with me?"
Neville, Luna, Ginny, Susan, and Hannah all raised their hands, but Daphne, Tracy, and Blaise just stared at her. She started to frown at them, but was cut off by Blaise speaking.
"You don't seriously believe he isn't going to win this, and make it look stupidly easy, completely without our help, do you?" He asked.
"Of course he's going to win it," Hermione said dismissively, "So long as he actually decides he wants to compete, but he needs to know that his friends believe him and support him through it all, and are helping him as we're able."
"Which, of course," Daphne said with a smirk, "Means researching everything we can about the Tournament, right?"
"Of course," Hermione said, nodding, "Now who's with me?"
The thee Slytherin's raised their hands as well.
"Right," Hermione said, smiling again now, "I left a note telling Harry to come meet us down here when he gets up, in the meantime, we should start looking in the history section…"
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McGonagall sighed, leaning back and rubbing her temples as she sat down at her office the next morning. Aside from Harry, every last person involved in the last night's meeting had been up far too late, and though her headache was nowhere near as fierce as it head been before she went to her bed for six hours of sleep, it was still faintly present, and stress was likely to bring it back to full strength quickly.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come," McGonagall said just loudly enough to be heard clearly through the door.
The door opened, and Madam Maxime entered, surprisingly quietly for one of her size. McGonagall deftly transfigured one of the chairs in the office to be of a more suitable size for the half-giant, who nodded her thanks, and gracefully seated herself.
"Hardly the opening I would have preferred," Maxime said, "Or anyone at all, I expect."
"Indeed," McGonagall said, sighing again, "I assume there was something in particular you wished to discuss?"
"Yes," Maxime said, "I wished to inquire as to why you place so much trust in, and allow so much liberty to, a fourteen year old boy."
McGonagall leaned back in her chair, and looked Maxime up and down, reading her body language carefully before answering.
"Do you recall Miss Granger?" She asked, "The girl who sat next to him in here last night, didn't say a word during the entire fight?"
"Yes," Maxime said, nodding.
"They are classmates," McGonagall said, "In his first two months of school, in his first year, Harry saved her life by attacking, and killing, a troll that had been let into the school by a possessed teacher.
Maxime's eyes widened.
"That little stick of a boy?" She said, "How?"
"He stuck a knife through its eye, into its brain," McGonagall replied, "And that wasn't the last time he saved a student's life, in spite of the staff's incompetence. There is a reason that I have replaced Albus."
Maxime thought quietly about that for some time before speaking again.
"Has he ever lied to you?" She asked.
"He has withheld truth from me before," McGonagall said, "But never lied."
Maxime nodded slowly, before changing the subject.
"Igor is furious about what Potter did to him," Maxime said, "And that you allowed him to do it, and made no move to punish him."
McGonagall snorted derisively.
"If he thinks he can call a man a liar to his face, and mock him without getting a response," McGonagall said, "He is fooling only himself. Harry Potter has been collectively shat upon by almost every authority figure he has ever known, including for a brief time myself. When I next see Karkaroff I will inform him he is welcome to attempt to discipline Harry himself. I will also warn Harry of this."
"Will you truly not punish Harry at all?" Maxime asked.
"Oh," McGonagall said, waving her hand dismissively, "I will dock him house points when I speak to him in private next, to make the point that there is some consequence to some behavior, but he will not care about house points. I will also give him an honest warning about making enemies unnecessarily, and acting impulsively out of anger, which he may listen to, but the purpose of discipline is to modify behavior, and I will not try to force behavioral change on that young man. He is incredibly restrained considering his life experiences, and has plainly stated he does not wish to become a killer so young. I do not wish to push him into becoming such any earlier than is absolutely necessary."
"You speak as though him becoming a killer is an inevitability," Maxime said sharply.
"It very nearly is," McGonagall said seriously, "Voldemort is not entirely dead, and there was a prophecy about him and Harry. I put little stock in divination myself, and Harry does not seem to hold it in much regard either, but Voldemort certainly does, and he will be after Harry until he is permanently destroyed. I would like to believe that that burden will not end up falling to Harry, but the Ministry here in England is falling further and further into incompetency and corruption, and I cannot think of any independent groups with both the means and the will to do so."
"Is it really so bad, here in Britain?" Maxime asked, her voice less sharp now.
McGonagall nodded gravely.
"Pureblood supremacists are attempting to take over the nation again, and the Ministry is almost hopelessly corrupt." McGonagall said, "It is, quite frankly, a near-terminal situation. The only reason that I hold significant hope for the future of our nation, is because Hogwarts is still the premiere magical educational institution in Britain, and I can use it to shape our future generation of leaders. Draco Malfoy, for example, has had the fact that his blood-line grants him no innate superiority forcibly placed in front of his eyes by Miss Granger's overwhelming academic performance as a Muggle-born, and Mister Potter's superior grasp of practical magic. As he no longer has had the benefit of corrupt authority figures shielding him from the consequences of his actions towards others, he has been forced to learn. He was an insufferable bully when he first arrived here, but now has become a studious, somewhat withdrawn student. It is not all the change I would like, but it is only his fourth year."
"Is there anything I should be particularly wary of for this tournament?" Maxime asked cautiously.
McGonagall thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"You, personally, would possibly be the subject of some discrimination, but you are simply too skilled with a wand, not to mention too durable, to be in danger. The bigots you will run into within my school are under quite firm control, by and large, and will probably treat any non-purebloods with scorn, but I have rather thoroughly beaten the idea of attacking mixed-bloods outright out of them. You are the only member of your delegation who clearly has not entirely human ancestry, so your students should not be in any danger. I would not recommend allowing them off of school grounds, however."
Maxime nodded, before standing.
"Thank you for the warning, Minerva," She said, "It is time for me to return to my students, however."
"You're welcome," McGonagall said, managing a small smile for the enormous woman before she departed.
((()))
When Harry arrived at the library, he was slightly surprised to find that Hermione had assembled their entire study group; her note had said to come and meet 'me' in the library. Still, he moved to the study table they were occupying, and joined them. He made no effort to mask his approach, and as he neared, Hermione noticed him, and turned his way, looking him up and down with deep concern in his eyes.
"How are you Harry?" she asked softly as he sat down next to her, and Harry could feel the eyes of the rest of the group on him.
A violent struggle sparked within Harry, the desire to confide in Hermione, draw comfort from her, fighting against the need to remain strong, in control, in front of others, both powerful, forceful desires, driven by deep-seated and intense emotion. His jaw clenched as he fought with himself, and that was the only sign Hermione needed to reach over and pull him into a tight hug. With his face buried in her bushy hair, and his ribcage feeling the forceful expression of Hermione's concern and affection, something in Harry cracked open, just a little bit more, and he began to speak.
"I don't want to be controlled," He said huskily into Hermione's hair, so quietly it was only due to the near-total lack of other sound in library that the others at the table could hear him.
Eventually, when it became clear he did not intend to say anything further, Hermione spoke.
"We'll help you either break free from this, or win," Hermione said, "You won't have to fight this alone."
Over Harry's shoulder, she shot everyone a meaningful stare; it was Hannah and Susan who understood her intent first.
"We'll all help," Hannah said softly, and Susan nodded, then chimed in with an 'mm-hm' when she realized he couldn't see that.
The rest of the students at the table voiced their support, and Hermione was happy to feel Harry become slightly less tense in her arms.
((()))
"Gabrielle!" Fleur cried with delight, bending over to catch her sister in a hug as the smaller blond rushed across the magically expanded interior of the Beauxbaton carriage to embrace her elder sister.
The blonde did not respond with words, instead wrapping her arms and legs around Fleur to express her happiness via compressive force, causing Fleur to break into a gasping laugh as it became difficult for her to breathe.
"I did not know you were coming!" Fleur said when she could speak through her laughter.
Gabrielle looked up at her sister, smiling impishly.
"Of course you didn't," She said, "It was a secret."
"Of course," Fleur said, smiling back at her sister, "Was there a plan to go with this secret visit, or is it simply a visit that was a secret?"
"No plans!" Gabrielle said cheerfully, "I will be here to watch your first task tomorrow, but for today, we can do anything!"
"Well then," Fleur said, "Let me show you around the school and grounds."
((()))
It did not take Harry long to discover the Dragons that were being prepared for the first task. It had taken him even less time to determine how to handle the task; whatever in specific he had to accomplish, removing the Dragon as a factor, he expected, would make whatever else the task consisted of simple. If it involved anything other than defeating the Dragon in the first place.
If he was willing to go to extremes, he could, he knew, send Dobby to acquire modern anti-tank penetration weapons, but nothing less than that, or heavy industrial machinery, that he had found, would be capable of penetrating the hide of mature adult Dragons. He was wearing such armor himself. Dragon hide was, if anything, even more spell resistant than it was resistant to physical damage, but Harry knew, and had tested to make sure against even that ridiculous improbability, that Dragon-hide was not immune to getting wet.
((()))
"There is a squid in the lake?" Gabrielle asked, her voice torn between wonder and distaste.
"Yes," Fleur said, "It is very friendly though, and sometimes plays with the students."
"Can we see it?" Gabrielle asked, excitement overcoming her distaste
"Yes," Fleur said, "If we wait for it to show itself, which may take some time."
"That's okay," Gabrielle said excitedly, "We can walk along the lake shore while we watch!"
Fleur smiled at her sister, and shortened her gait to allow the cheerful girl to easily keep up with her as they began a slow circuit of the lake, speaking of home, Gabrielle's schooling, and Fleur's experiences at Hogwarts thus far. It was early in the day yet, and most of the Hogwarts students were in classes, but as they progressed around the lake, they soon found themselves overtaken by a young man jogging around the perimeter of the lake, which Fleur immediately identified as Harry Potter. Gabrielle looked at him curiously as he jogged past them, but did not interrupt the thread of conversation they were carrying.
Shortly after he lapped them, the Squid surfaced, and they stopped to sit on a nearby rock, and watch it move about the surface of the lake. They were still sitting there when Potter passed them the second time, which raised Gabrielle's curiosity again, and when they were walking back, and he passed them for the third time, she called out to him.
"Excuse me!" She said, "Why are you running around the lake?"
"Sorry, can't talk now," He called over his shoulder, his breathing shortening his words, as he continued to run past them.
"Well," said Gabrielle, who only partially understood his words, as her English was not that strong, pouting slightly, "That was rude."
"Perhaps," Fleur said diplomatically, "That was Harry Potter. He is a very driven young man, and may have been doing something important."
"How is running important?" Gabrielle asked, her pout deepening for a moment, but she let the matter drop.
The matter probably would not have come up again, but due to his faster pace, Harry Potter ended up leaving the lake shore to head back to the castle at the same time they did, and approached them.
"My apologies for the short response earlier," He said, speaking between deep, carefully-controlled breaths, "I was taking my final lap, and could not stop without significantly curtailing my exercise regime."
"'Exercise regime'?" Gabrielle asked, not understanding the English word.
"Exercise regime," Fleur said in French, before switching back to English, "To keep his body fit."
"Why do you exercise for?" Gabrielle asked Harry, undecided between pouting at his earlier bruskness, and curiosity.
"I have been forced to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry replied, "I intend to be in peak physical condition for the tasks, to optimize my chances at survival."
Gabrielle looked helplessly at her older sister as Harry used several English words that she was unfamiliar with, and Fleur quickly translated.
"Good luck with the tournament, Harry Potter!" Gabrielle said once she understood.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl.
"I see my reputation has preceded me once again," Harry said, "You are Miss…?"
"Gabrielle Delacour," Fleur put in, "She is my little sister."
"Well then, Miss Delacour," Harry said as they neared the entrance to the castle, "It was nice meeting you, but I must now be off to class."
"Hey!" Gabrielle said, "It's not nice to brush someone off twice!"
Harry stopped for a moment and considered.
"My apologies, Miss Delacour," He said, "I really must go now, but if you wish to speak with me, I will set aside a time in the future that we may do so."
"Okay," Gabrielle said, "But you'd better keep your word!"
"Of course, Miss Delacour," Harry said, bowing slightly in her direction, and smiling in spite of himself, "I will see you later."
And with that, he left.
"What do you think of him, Gabrielle?" Fleur asked.
"I don't know," Gabrielle said, "That's why I want to talk to him again later, silly."
((()))
The next day, Harry listened quietly to the roars of the Dragons, and the crowd, as the other three Champions fought their Dragons. He fingered the model of the Hungarian Horntail in his hands thoughtfully as he did so, wondering if acquiring the most dangerous Dragon to face had been mere coincidence, or it was a further result of whoever had forced him to participate in the Tournament. He intended to investigate once the task was completed, but did not expect to find anything useful.
"Harry Potter, please enter the arena," Came Ludo Bagman's voice, and Harry turned to the tent's exit.
((()))
Harry Potter strode into the arena, completely ignoring the crowds who were cheering, screaming, booing, or simply watching. Hermione Granger, sitting in the front row of the stands, was torn between fear for, and pride in, her friend, who gave absolutely no sign he so much as aware of the existence of something called 'fear,' much less experiencing it. Across the arena from where Harry had entered, the Hungarian Horntail stood, massive, imposing, protective over its eggs.
Harry drew his wand and strode purposefully towards it, eyes locked with the creature's own. The Dragon roared, its massive vocal cords and lungs drowning out the competing roar of the crowd; Harry did not react in any visible way, but the crowd became silent. Then the Dragon breathed deeply, a long, powerful inhalation that the crowd now recognized as a sign of impending fire. In the silence of the moment between inhalation and exhalation, Harry Potter's wand snapped through a decisive set of movements, and he spoke a single spell.
"Aguamenti," Harry said, his tone of voice more appropriate to a polite discussion over tea, than a confrontation with a Dragon.
The Dragon's fire burst forth as the creature exhaled, but the stream of fire was as nothing before the massive geyser of water that erupted from Harry's wand, obliterating the flames in a brief hiss of steam.
The flames were only the beginning, however; the torrent of water slammed into the Dragon's head, blasting it out of the way with a force that would have crushed a lesser creature. Harry lowered his aim slightly, striding forward, his pace unaltered as magic flippantly defied physics, preventing him from feeling any kind of reciprocal force to the intense amount of kinetic energy expressed in the water erupting from his wand.
The torrent struck the Dragon's center of mass, and it was blasted off of its nest, sent tumbling back against the wall of the arena, magical wards crackling visibly as they contained the enormous creature. Harry maintained the flow as he strode up the lip of the nest, then sloshed down into it, getting soaked up to his knees in the flooded depression as he reached down with his free hand, and scooped up the egg. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the water-conjuring spell ended, as Harry cut off the flow of magic to his wand.
He gestured with his wand again, and silently cast a powerful freezing charm, locking the Dragon in a thick icy prison as it recovered from his bombardment of water. The ice held the Dragon for less than half a minute, but by the time it broke free, he had already stepped off of the field.
((()))
It took Hermione an hour to find Harry after the first task; nobody had seen him since he walked out of the arena, and she was genuinely worried that he might have done something stupidly drastic. She found him hiding in the rafters of the Owlery (which, oddly enough, seemed cleaner than she ever remembered it being before), and honestly was not entirely sure how she had noticed him, concealed as he was in the deep shadows. It took her another five minutes to work up the courage to climb up after him; she wasn't afraid of heights per-se, but heights without adequate safety precautions she considered a quite reasonable fear. Five more minutes past that, to get up to where he'd secreted herself, and he finally spoke to her, though she knew he'd been aware of her since the moment she'd entered the Owlery.
"I've decided to change my tactics," He said, and his tone was only a parody of its usual calm, courteous smoothness, like a boat that while its deck was level, had its prow and stern being pulled in opposing directions below the water level, and carried tension that while not obvious, had the potential to tear it completely apart.
"I'm going to aim for being so intimidating that only the foolish or truly powerful will dare try to attack me," He continued, "It all but guarantees I will face foes sooner or later, but they should be few and far between."
He sounded sick to Hermione, like a man already fighting Leukemia who had just been diagnosed with an advanced brain tumor, and was announcing his plan to fight it by having parts of his brain surgically extracted. A man who was determined not to show weakness under any circumstances. Hermione reached out to lay a hand on his knee; sitting further down the rafter, there wasn't much else she could easily do in the way of physical contact, and she didn't trust her balance much.
"It worked on Draco Malfoy," Harry continued, his voice wobbling slightly, before stabilizing into almost exactly his normal tone in a display of emotional control that frankly terrified Hermione, "And has worked at least temporarily on his father. It won't work on Voldemort, when he comes back to try to kill me again, but he was going to come anyways."
Hermione fidgeted as Harry fell silent again, her urge to hold him fighting against her inability to believe she could cross the distance between them without falling to the stone floor of the Owlery a dozen feet below them.
"Light," Harry whispered, the fear finally clear in his voice, "I beat the Dragon, but I can still feel it's magic bound to mine, forcing me, controlling me. I'm still not strong enough. Will I ever be?"
Hermione nervously scooted forward a little, so that she could lay her other hand on Harry's shoulder, though now she was balancing by pressing lightly against his shoulder and knee. Her breathing and heart-rate both picked up, partially in response to her physical fear, partially in response to fear for Harry, as she saw him coming apart at the seams, worse than he had even two years before at Christmas.
"I'd been thinking about settling down in Antarctica after I kill Voldemort for good," Harry said, then his voice abruptly became breathless and desperate, "I don't want to be alone," And just as abruptly became clear, though small, so very small, and a terror of rejection that Hermione knew all too well mixed with it, "Please, come with me."
Hermione froze in place for a moment, a million reasons why she shouldn't go live in Antarctica (though she was certain it would be an educational experience,) why he shouldn't go live in Antarctica (he was isolated enough as it was), running through her head, and warring with a response that was both natural, and now strongly ingrained habit, to desperately embrace and hug him in his moment of crippling vulnerability, pain, and fear. Unable to tell him she would join him in a mad, half-cracked scheme born and offered out of a desperate need to escape that which tormented him, but even less able to reject his offer, and by proxy in his own eyes, him, her heart forced her mind to find another solution.
Hermione Granger yanked out her wand, pushed Harry's knees apart, scooted herself forward, used sticking charms to hold her knees in place on either side of the beam, then lurched forward and pulled him into a crushing hug as her torso fell on top of his.
"Harry James Potter," She whispered fiercely into his ear as her head came to rest alongside his, "I will never, ever, let you be alone."
And then he broke down and cried, for once nothing more than the boy he should have been able to be eight years ago, and if Hermione couldn't solve his problems for him, protect him from the world at large, she could hold him while he cried.
So she did.
((()))
"There is no instance of a country having benefited from prolonged warfare."
-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 2, Section 6.
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End Chapter 9
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(Old) Author's Note:
Hooo... Getting this posted was an adventure. Our internet went down this afternoon at home. My Beta, who I am now roommate with, decided at two AM that we were going to take a trip to campus to post it. We got to the lab, he logged on (I'm not a student anymore), and Firefox decided to hate him. Now, he's just gotten his masters in CS, and is starting his Doctorate this semester. So when I say it decided to hate on him, it took some *serious* hating in order to slow him down.
This computer (which I'm addending my author's note on before I post it as we speak), decided that it couldn't run Firefox, because of something like it was running on a different computer that he'd remote-logged into from work on Wednesday. Yeah, I have no idea. So he whips open the command terminal for Fedora (which is this computer's OS), and starts doing things that I, of course, being only marginally Linux-literate, can hardly make heads or tails of. Wipes out the recognized host list, adds whatever the hell he wants to it, rages against the incompetent Campus core IT, and eventually manages to convince the server for some place or another important to let him in. Then he starts trying to kill the firefox process, so he can activate it on this computer. About twenty minutes have passed.
That's only the beginning. He starts killing processes, I'm not sure by what parameters he was selecting them, but at least one them was Firefox (I think), but after he kills one, every window dies, the screen shows a blue background, with what looks like a window desperately trying to open itself, but dying immediately every time, then trying again, open/close so fast it's like a strobe light. So we hard shut down, then boot the computer back up, log on...
And Firefox won't work, because it's running on another computer.
RAEG!
So, he gets into a terminal again, remote logs into three or four different computers to try to remote-run Firefox on them, before getting back to the server he logged onto in the first place. Then he starts randomly killing processes. Randomly, as in 'this window I am typing in is missing part of the stuff that is supposed to be around the edge, and we don't know where it's gone.' That kind of randomly. Eventually, he decides to have a look into this computer's Firefox folder, and see if anything there will tell us what the hell is going on. No go.
So, in order to vent frustration, he deletes it. 'It' being the Firefox folder. Firefox then happily starts, and runs properly for us.
You heard me right. I have no idea how the IT department on this campus managed to screw up these computers so badly that you need to delete Firefox in order to run it, and I do not want to see what will happen to the next person that tries to use this computer, but hey, now you get your regularly scheduled chapter of Brutal Harry, at the low, low cost of a run to the campus computer labs between 2 and 4 AM, and several sanity points on the part of my Beta!
The moral of the story: When a program doesn't want to run for you, delete it, and it'll run just fine. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Author's Note...
(Author breaks down into hysterical laughter.)
On Gold and Harry's income. Gold is currently tanking something like 1,878 US $ per ounce; lead costs about 1.05 US $ per pound. Gold is measured by a different system of ounces than the regular pound is, it converts to 14.58 troy ounces in a regular pound. Add in a tiny amount of expended money for water, and the heat to get it boiling (the mechanism I'm using for turning lead to gold with the stone), and you've got maybe 1.10 US $ to 26,292 US $ cost/sale price. That's a return of 2,391 dollars for every dollar spent. According to Wikipedia, in 2008 2,260 tonnes of gold were mined. If Harry sells one tonne (2,204.62 pounds when converted from metric), that nets him 60,365,229 US $, and he's only adding 1/20th of a percent to the world's gold supply. That's sixty million US Dollars. If Harry is spreading that gold in small sales to different buyers all over the world through Dobby, it will have at best, a miniscule effect on the world's gold market, especially since 40% of the world's annual gold production goes to investment, IE, stored for its inferred value, meaning we've got decades of 40% of the world's gold supply just being stored away. One metric ton is not a particularly noticeable amount next to that. I hope this answers some reviewers concerns about flooding the gold market, or people noticing a new supplier suddenly popping up. If he was selling it all in one place, or all in a short period of time, he probably would attract attention. As is, however, not really much of a threat.
Revised AN: Gold was only worth about 1/4th or 1/5th as much back in the mid nineties; Harry would still have so much money coming in that it would be difficult to get it all banked without drawing attention.
Harry selling one tonne of gold over the course of a year was a decision he arbitrarily made to try to minimize his profile while still amassing an enormous amount of cash. If Harry wanted, he could become much more wealthy, very quickly at the cost of flooding, and collapsing, the world gold market. As several other reviewers pointed out, there is also the concern of how Harry could transfer that money to banks, or other useable forms without drawing the attentions of tax agents, etc. Rather simply put, unless there's a reason to suspect illegal activity, your banking records are private in most modern, free nations, at least technically. Governments keep track of financial records based on your earned income, not sale of personal property in other nations. Without just cause, a government is not allowed to demand your bank give them a look at your account, at least technically. All of Harry's income is earned by sale of personal property in other nations, and thusly there is no mechanism to draw red flags from how he is earning. All of his deposits are mailed by Dobby to banks in moderate sizes at semi-regular intervals, mailing to different branches of the same banks so as not to draw the interest of particular tellers; thus, no reason for a particular staffer to note he is up to something.
Further, Harry is not notably spending large sums of money, as the only substantial change in his domestic expenditures is having Dobby regularly purchases large lumps of lead. Admittedly, Harry could still run into trouble with simply the sheer size of his bank accounts, but he's smart enough to hold cash reserves rather than risk being noticed, so figure he's actually holding something like 8 million in banks just now, divided amongst 16 or more banks, in an equal number of accounts. A half million dollars isn't likely enough cause, especially when accumulated over the course of a year and the account lists that account statements are to be mailed to "Harry James Potter, Lord Black," to cause a banker to call in a legal review agent, though admittedly there is still a slim possibility. For the purposes of this fic, it's fairly easy to assume it simply did not happen.
On top of all this, the things that Harry is more interested in, such as a personal island, weaponry, Dragonhide armor, can all readily, and most likely, more readily, be bought with gold directly, rather than currency exchange. Once Harry acquired his island, he had a place easily ready to store his personal wealth that has not yet been converted to gold, and for Dobby to work the lead-gold conversion process. After he's had the time to bone up on the legalities involved and etc, you can expect Harry to form a company, and start selling gold openly, shipping it off of his island in bulk, as a less efficient, but higher bulk, way of accumulating wealth, in a way that is transparently legal, and gives him a passable story for the origin of his wealth.
And nothing says his gold production abilities are limited to what he's selling.