A/N: Okay, new experience. I have just had a reviewer inform me that I am delusional for having a different opinion than them... Whatever. I have no more to say on the matter. Also, for the record, I did not say that there isn't a perfectly compelling canonical argument for why Dumbledore is evil (because there is, I have seen it many times, and it can make a lot of sense, if you lay it out right), just that I don't feel the need to twist the facts like that. A lot of those arguments are assumptions and hearsay. Also, please remember that this is ultimately JKR's plot, and JKR's characters, and she clearly didn't intend for Dumbledore to be evil. There are some unexplainable plot holes, yes. But since Harry Potter is like the Grand Series of Plot Holes, I am going to try my best to remain on what JKR has written, and believable interpretation of Dumbledore, since if she had meant for him to be evil, she would have revealed it. Also, issues with JKR's methods of ending the war aside, I actually um... like heart the epilogue—Harry gets to live happily ever after with his family, and R/Hr stayed together, Harry's godson is dating Bill and Fleur's daughter. I totally love it, deep in that warm, fuzzy place in my heart...

Also, to said reviewer, even if they probably won't read it: I never said that you weren't entitled to your own opinion, just that this is mine. I also believe that I said, in a roundabout way: This is how it is in my story, take it or leave it.

If you disagree with me, please do contact me. I'm always up for an intelligent debate, and we can PM back and forth about it... but it should be a debate. I will not react well to being called delusional for a differing opinion. I am one of those people who cannot tolerate stupidity. If you see a hole in my logic, point it out to me without childish insults. Respect is important. Respect for others' opinions is important, even if you disagree with them. Thank you.

Now, about the actual story: yes, Gabbi attending the classes at Hogwarts does have a point. I always figured that, since the other schools didn't bring their entire student bodies, they couldn't do this. However, since I needed to change this so that Gabbi could be present from the beginning, I thought that it would only make perfect sense to allow the students to sample the classes that the other schools offered. But my real point to even mentioning it is this:

Snape. Snape's behaviour is reprehensible. It doesn't matter that he loved Lily, or that he was bullied by James. Blatant favouritism, bias, severe bullying towards students, child endangerment (what do you call allowing Malfoy to toss potentially dangerous ingredients into someone else's cauldron?) and excessively abusive behaviour are things that everyone who has ever been taught by him experiences. Then we get to Harry. Harry is hated, and attacked with unearned vitriol and bias because of his physical resemblance to a man that he has no memory of. And like a typical teenage boy, and probably like most of the Hogwarts students over the years (since Snape was never fired for his behaviour, you have to assume that it never occurred to anyone to complain), Harry does not actually inform anyone of how bad he is, which leads people to assume that he just isn't a great teacher, and can be excessively grumpy at times. But Gabbi will go in, and be treated horribly simply because of who she is to Harry, and she will mention it to Fleur, and Fleur will realize that it isn't acceptable and do something about it. I am going to be dealing with Snape. Just have patience.

And Harry accepts Snape being an asshole because he's learned to pick his battles, and standing up to Snape in the past has just ended in lost points and detentions.

And as for why he is upset about Ron—just because he has a loving family and support system doesn't mean that Ron still isn't one of his best friends. Just because you have other friends doesn't mean that you aren't upset when you're fighting with one of them, does it?

As for Dumbledore: He does have a blind spot regarding Harry, and he kind of figured out that the wards were falling and freaked. He will be better later. You really only saw one glimpse of him there. If you want to see how I personally view Dumbledore (it's kind of hard to put into words), read Portrait of a Dead Man. Of course, that Dumbledore is reflecting after death. This is going encompass his journey to the version of Dumbledore that I portray in Portrait of a Dead Man.

And when I said that I had diverted from canon, I probably said that too drastically. I meant that I will no longer be copying large portions of text from GOF in order to get conversations right, and events may start getting out of order. The tasks, the Yule Ball, all of those things will remain the same. I could start changing the tasks around, like some people do, but I wanted to remain mostly GOF compliant. I will completely divert from canon around mid book-five, when Harry starts pranking the hell out of Umbridge because he can, and everything will get derailed very quickly after that.

Sitting in the hospital wing while Hermione had her teeth resized was a novel experience. Madam Pomfrey had fixed Goyle up and sent him on his way in about thirty seconds before turning to him and Hermione. Since he had arrived in front of Hermione and he was taller and broader than her, Madam Pomfrey hadn't seen his friend at first. Instead, she had greeted him with a sigh.

"Oh, it's you again, is it? What have you done now?"

"Nothing, Madam Pomfrey, its Hermione." He had stepped out of the way and revealed his friend, who was doing her best to cover her collar-length front teeth, and failing miserably. Madam Pomfrey had hit her with a spell to stop the growing, directed her to the nearest bed to wait, and gone bustling into her office to come out with a small hand mirror.

"Tell me when to stop, dear," she instructed Hermione, completely ignoring Harry. But right now, Harry was sure that Hermione's teeth were smaller than they used to be. She finally stopped it, and Harry eyed her suspiciously. Hermione smiled with her new teeth sheepishly and mouthed opportunity.

Harry cast his eyes at the ceiling. Growing up with a couple of beautiful French girls had enabled him to understand that girls cared about their appearances and things like teeth, but for the life of him, he had never understood why.

Right at that moment, they were interrupted by Colin Creevey bursting into the hospital wing. "Harry, the Tournament people need you for some ceremony. Wands or something, they said," he insisted excitably. "I went to Snape's class, and he said that you were gone, but Neville said that you had probably gone with Hermione to the hospital wing."

"Colin, I can't—" Harry glanced back at Hermione.

"It's all right, I'm done. Now, how about I come with you?" Hermione offered, knowing exactly what Harry was groping at so candidly. He didn't want to do this alone. He knew that whatever this thing was would probably have reporters and Fleur may be too busy to hang out with him. Harry smiled at her gratefully.

"Lead on, Colin," Harry said. He and Hermione followed the younger Gryffindor out of the hospital wing and to an empty classroom on the fourth floor, where he left them at the door with a smile for Harry, who made a distinctive effort to smile back. Then he pushed open the door.

Bagman was standing to one side, Mr. Ollivander (the wand maker) was sitting behind a table, and the other three champions were milling around the room. Fleur greeted him with a smile before going back to glaring at the blonde woman standing in the corner with Bagman.

"Granger?" Cedric asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Moral support," Hermione said cheerily. "And Harry was too chickenshit to come alone."

"Hold on, Potter, is that one of those badges—" Cedric cut himself off to stare at the Support Cedric Diggory, the Real Hogwarts Champion badge that Harry had adorning his breast. "I'm sorry about those. I tried to talk them out of it, but—why are you wearing one?"

"To get a point across," Harry said at the same time as Hermione blurted,

"Because he's too much of a martyr for his own good."

"Because he is an idiot," Fleur said over them. Cedric stared, having not noticed the aloof French Champion making her way over to join the conversation. "Why are you not in class, Hermione? I doubt that you got permission to skip it from your professor."

"I was in the hospital wing," Hermione explained. "I got hit in the face with a teeth growing curse, and Harry followed me after Snape was a huge bastard about it."

"Hermione!" Harry said in a mock horrified tone. "Language!"

"Ha-bloody-ha. I refuse to respect that man for behaving that way! It is completely unprofessional, not to mention dangerous. What if it had been something more serious! I can think of at least three potentially lethal curses that would have similar effects. And I'm here for moral support, because he wasn't sure that you would be here, or that you two would get to talk," she added to Fleur

"Sister to sister," Fleur agreed fondly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I hate it when they gang up on me like that."

"Did she say that you think of Granger as a sister?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because I should probably pull my money from that betting pool and put it in on her and Weasley instead," Cedric answered. "Since you're betrothed and everything."

Harry snorted. "You had money on me and Hermione? And there's a pool on her and Ron?"

"There's also one on the Golden Trio really being a trio when you're older."

"Ew," Harry protested, cringing. Really, he loved Ron like a brother, but no. Just no. In fact, anytime that he tried to picture a world where that possibility could be seriously considered, his brain just shut down. "No. But I definitely have to get in on this one on her and Ron, though I have to say that the way that he's going now, it'll be seventh year before he clues in. And there's no point in having a betting pool on me and Gabbi," he added. "We're kind of already together. If you have money on me getting with anyone else, you might want to pull that, too."

"There's another pool on you and Malfoy, you and Ginny Weasley, you and just Ron Weasley, and one on you, Granger and the girl Weasley having a permanent triad."

Harry retched. Not that there was anything wrong with homosexuality, or anything, but the thought of him and Malfoy was just repulsive, and Ron nearly equally so. The part of him that was male would have liked the triad with Hermione and Ginny, but that was hardly what he really wanted. He had Gabbi.

"Hold on, do you people bet on everyone's love lives, or just ours?"

"Everyone interesting," Cedric said diffidently. "I think that I qualify as interesting now, because I heard rumours about a pool on me and Cho Chang."

Harry thought about the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker. "Nice. You like her?"

"Yes. I heard there was going to be a formal ball as part of the Tournament. I was going to ask her to go."

"Makes sense, really," Harry reflected. "They've never required formal dress robes as part of the uniform before. How is it that you know about the pool?"

"They're less discrete, since they know that if you knew about it, you would kick up a huge fuss. If I tried to do the same, I would be a hypocrite since I've been in on those pools before."

"Does Cho know?"

"No. So don't tell her, Potter," Cedric ordered. "I want to surprise her. How well do you know Delacour? The rumours floating around here the past few days have made my head spin."

"She's my sister," Harry answered. "Like Hermione. Hermione's an only child, one time she said that she had always wanted a sibling. So I told her that as long as Fleur agreed to share, she could have me. Of course, Fleur did agree, since Hermione wrote to her. They agreed to be pen pals after that, and then, Fleur said that if they were both my sisters, then they would be sisters, too."

Cedric snorted. "That sounds kind of sappy, actually. So no freaky Veela three-ways?"

"No. Definite no. How'd you know that she's a Veela?"

"I can feel that allure of hers from across the room. We assume that the younger one, your betrothed, is a Veela as well, but she wouldn't have allure yet, would she?"

"No. Hold on, people actually thought that I was having a freaky Veela three-way with Fleur and Gabbi?"

"Yep."

Harry choked. Not that Fleur wasn't gorgeous, and all, but she was still his sister. And he seemed to be choking a lot in this conversation, between Fleur and the apparent betting pools being run about his love life. And from the way that Cedric was smirking (a Hufflepuff, smirking? It just didn't sit right) he was thoroughly enjoying this little game of 'shock the innocent fourteen year old'. Harry was just lucky that Fleur didn't join in—she had access to a lot of really interesting blackmail about him, and could make him blush very easily when she set her mind to it.

"Harry, Harry," Harry and Cedric were rudely interrupted by the woman that had been talking to Bagman in the corner. "My name is Rita Skeeter, I work for the Prophet," she said, latching roughly onto his arm and swinging a purse that looked like it was made of crocodile skin. "Do you mind saying a few words? Everyone is curious about our youngest champion," she added with a smile.

Harry had heard of Rita Skeeter, of course. His father had mentioned her several times over the years, when talking about his dealings with the British Ministry. Apparently, she was in the habit of somehow eavesdropping on private conversations and publishing them in the newspaper. She regularly published slanderous outright lies and insinuations that had no basis in fact, and Jean-Paul had once threatened to sue her for libel. Honestly, if Lockhart hadn't lost his memory, Harry would have said that they should get married. They would have been perfect for each other.

However, knowing what he did about her, and the fact that she could turn very nasty when crossed, Harry decided that talking to her would be the best possible course of action. If he gave her the dirt that she wanted, then hopefully she would lose interest and leave him alone after this article.

"Of course, Ms. Skeeter," Harry replied. "I'll talk to you later, Cedric?"

"Sure, Harry," Cedric replied, looking amused. Since Cedric was related to Amos Diggory, a senior ministry official, Harry knew that Cedric probably knew more that he cared to about Rita Skeeter as well.

Rita Skeeter seized his arm in a vice-like grip, digging claw-like fingernails into his forearm, and tugged him out of the classroom and down the hall to a broom cupboard. Harry just barely managed to refrain from making an extremely inappropriate comment about what students usually came into this broom cupboard to do.

"So, Harry, I can call you Harry?" She simpered as she rummaged through the purse and removed a white feather quill with a vicious looking green tip and a roll of parchment. She unrolled the parchment and set the quill in place.

"If you like," Harry agreed diplomatically.

"Thank you," her gracious tone was faker than some of the knockoffs that Gabbi professed to have seen in Paris. "Testing, Rita Skeeter for the Prophet," she added at the quill, which began writing in acid green ink of its own accord.

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations –

"That's enough," Rita said hastily, cutting off the quill. Harry couldn't suppress his snort. "Now, Harry," she added, smiling in such a predatory way that Harry had the urge to do something to protect his virtue, especially since they were in a broom cupboard. "Would you tell our readers why you did it?"

"Did what?" Harry was honestly confused.

"Why you entered your name in the Goblet, of course?"

"I didn't," Harry answered, feeling a heavy sense of dread starting to rise in the pit of his stomach.

"Harry, Harry," she said, laughing. "I understand that you want to avoid getting in trouble, but honestly, what can Dumbledore do about it now?"

With a flash of understanding, Harry suddenly got it. "I didn't. I made a magical oath, and I can do it again. But," he added. "I understand if that isn't the exciting story that you're looking for. However, you cannot print lies about me."

"I don't know what you mean, Harry." Rita was smiling steadily now, and her quill had stopped moving.

"Let me state this plainly, Ms. Skeeter. I was raised by Jean-Paul Delacour. I am not a pushover, and if you print lies about me I will sue you for slander and libel. There isn't anything interesting about how my name was entered, but perhaps you can interview the other champions and do your small piece on the Tournament, and then we can meet at a later date to discuss other things that have happened in my life." He gave her a predatory smile of his own.

"Like what, Harry dear?"

"Well, for instance, did you know that Sirius Black never got a trial?"

She took the bait. Hook, line and sinker. "Why, no, Harry, I did not. Tell me more..."

"Later," Harry answered. "The Tournament still needs covering, after all. And then I will tell you everything that I know about my godfather."

Rita's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "Your godfather?"

"Later," Harry repeated, smirking. "Now, about the Tournament. If we spin it right, you'll have a sensational story with nothing but the truth. What you should do is do a small piece on each champion, like a profile, if you like. Cover all four of us."

Rita seemed to like this idea. Or, she was willing to go along with it in order to get into the things that he had mentioned about Sirius Black. "So then, tell me about how you got into the tournament."

"Oh, you're going to like this one," Harry said. "Someone Confounded the Goblet of Fire so that it would draw four names, and then put my name in under a fourth school. We figure that they did it because they wanted me dead. In fact, this whole elaborate plan absolutely reeks of Voldemort." Rita flinched. "Why kill me himself, when he can enter me into a lethal Tournament and have it kill me. Except that it could fail. In fact, I intend on ensuring that it does fail. I have no plans to die. In fact, the others don't even need to consider me viable competition, at least not purposely. I just want to get through this alive."

He could practically see the excitement dancing in Rita's eyes as she processed this. "Someone, probably You-Know-Who, put your name in the Goblet to kill you," she repeated gleefully. "And Sirius Black... well, I don't know what you were insinuating about him, but I'm sure that it will be revolutionary, or you wouldn't have mentioned it at all. That's all that I need from you, for now, at least. Why don't you send Viktor Krum next?"

"Always thinking about the publicity, aren't you?"

"Of course, Harry," she answered his evil smile with one of her own.

Harry exited the broom cupboard and went back to the classroom, where Cedric, Fleur and Hermione were engaged in their chatting, Bagman and Crouch were standing off to one side and Krum was leaning moodily against the wall. "Krum," Harry greeted him. Krum grunted at him. "You're supposed to go into the broom closet down the hall to talk to the reported. I'm sorry about her, but she'll just print trash about you if you don't cooperate."

Krum snorted. "I do have far too much experience vith reporters," he snarled. "But yes, I vill go to her."

Harry snorted. Krum obviously thought that he was intimidating, but Harry had faced worse than his supposed 'scowl of doom'. Voldemort sticking out the back of Quirrell's head, for one thing.

"Now," Bagman announced as Krum left the room. "It's almost time to get started. Where's Krum gone?"

"To talk to the reporter," Harry answered. "She wanted to talk to all of us for her article, she asked for him next. He'll probably only be a few minutes, then you can do whatever before she talks to them." He pointed at his sister and fellow Hogwarts champion.

"Oh, of course, of course," Bagman agreed amiably. "The Daily Prophet should have the opportunity to report on the Tournament, after all. Now, I shall explain the ceremony of the weighing of the wands to you. Mr. Ollivander here, our resident wandcrafter, will simply be checking all four of your wands for proficiency and repair. They will be your most important tool in the tasks to come. And then I'm sure that Ms. Skeeter will need some photos for her article." That was when he noticed Hermione. "Excuse me, miss—"

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger. I came with Harry, since we were together when Colin found him. "

"You look familiar," Bagman said conversationally, tilting his head at her.

"We met at the World Cup, Mr. Bagman," Hermione answered. "I was with Arthur Weasley and his family, he got tickets in the top box."

"Of course, of course," Bagman said genially. "It is wonderful of you to support your friend in this way. Now, I suppose we should wait for Mr. Krum to get back," he added. "And for the Headmasters and Headmistress to get here."

"Thank you, Ludo," came a voice from the doorway, and Dumbledore strolled in. "We're here now. And here is Mr. Krum now! Excellent," Dumbledore said jovially. Krum had, indeed entered the room again on Karkaroff's heels, accompanied by Rita Skeeter herself.

They all faced Ollivander. "Ladies first, if you please," the aged wandmaker said.

Fleur handed over her wand without argument, and Ollivander examined it carefully.

"What is this wand core?" He asked mildly. "I've not worked with it before."

"Veela hair," Fleur replied.

"Grandmere," Harry added helpfully. "If that's important, that the supplier of the wand core is directly related to her within two generations."

"Yes, Mr. Potter. It is helpful. Thank you. And that explains it—Veela hair makes for rather temperamental wands, I've never used it much. But to each his own, I suppose."

Fleur rolled her eyes at him.

Ollivander soon pronounced Fleur's wand to be in perfect working order and gestured for Krum's next. "Grevorovitch, if I miss my guess. Hornbeam and... dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who confirmed this guess with a nod.

Ollivander produced a fountain of wine out the end of Krum's wand and handed it back. "Now, Mr. Diggory." Cedric handed the wand over without ceremony. "Ah, this is one of mine, is it not?" He asked, sounding more enthusiastic.

"Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches … ash … pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition… You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Harry couldn't resist snorting, and he shot a look at Hermione, who pouted. Harry very well remembered the time that she had tried to talk him into polishing his wand in first year. Instead, he had managed to convince her that that was ridiculous. Polishing a wand? Who did that, anyway, besides Cedric?

Ollivander returned Cedric's wand and gestured for Harry's next, those creepily luminescent eyes following his movements.

"Yes, most curious," Ollivander reiterated, sending Harry into a flashback of when he had first met Mr. Ollivander before his first year, when Hagrid and his parents had taken him to get his wand. "I believe that I said that we could expect great things from you, Mr. Potter." Harry flinched. "After all," he added, further examining it, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

"And what, precisely," Karkaroff interrupted, "does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have to do with Potter's wand?"

"The Phoenix that provided this wand core did give another feather. Just one other. And it was always curious that, though this feather provided one of the strongest reactions to a matched wand that I have seen in decades, why, its brother—it's brother gave him that scar."

Everyone in the room was staring at him. Harry had never shared this piece of information with anyone but his family—Fleur, who already knew, had looped an arm around him. Hermione was staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

Harry decided to do something to prove that he wasn't dark. "I bet you could use more of those feathers, hey, Mr. Ollivander?"

Ollivander immediately caught on. "Yes, of course. Fine specimen. But that bird always did prove to be rather plucky and standoffish. Not at all unlike his master."

Dumbledore looked about three seconds away from rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes. Very funny, you two. Really. Fawkes isn't likely to give any other feathers now."

The knowledge that Harry's wand core had come from Dumbledore's Phoenix seemed to break the tension in the room, and everyone relaxed. Ollivander handed Harry's wand back before Bagman, seeming eager to break the tension further, enthused that photos were to be taken. Between the photographer trying to showcase Fleur, Rita Skeeter trying to drag Harry to the front and Krum doing everything that he could to avoid the camera lens and scowling when he failed, it was a rather lengthy photo shoot. Finally, though, the photographer had taken a shot that Rita approved of, and had dragged Fleur and Cedric off to finish her interviews with them. Harry and Hermione set out for the Great Hall.

Gabbi had had an excellent Transfiguration lesson. She had enjoyed McGonagall's teaching methods, found her to be fair, but strict, and to be good at explaining the process of the actual magic, which was something that really helped, according to her.

"I was so excited to have you here," Harry said wryly. "And we've barely spent any time together. Do you want to walk around by the lake?"

"Please," Gabbi agreed cheerfully. Just moving out of the castle with her at his side was enough to temporarily erase the stress from his frame.

Gabbi was too young for him to have romantic feelings for her, really. And he was definitely noticing Lavender Brown's well-developed chest recently, and Parvati Patil's luxuriously long legs. But he also knew that Gabbi would be even more gorgeous eventually, and what was a little waiting for someone that you loved? For now, though, Gabbi was his best friend. It made sense, since all of his other friends, nominally Ron and Hermione, had been shoved into the sibling bracket in his brain. Even Ginny, to some extent, though he didn't know her as well. They had talked more frequently, whenever they had the chance, after he had pulled her out of the Chamber of Secrets at the end of his second year.

Gabbi followed him to the tree next to the lake. It wasn't raining, and it wasn't that cold with cloaks on, and Harry was thinking that if they had time before it got dark (and cold), he could take her to see Hagrid. It had surprised him when Dumbledore had given him no indication that he knew about his changed guardianship, instead behaving as though he thought that Harry was still with his aunt and uncle. Harry assumed that his retrieval hadn't been organized by Dumbledore, and that it simply hadn't occurred to Hagrid to mention it to him.

"I love it here," Harry admitted. It wasn't something that he could tell just anyone—he was a teenage boy, after all, and his reputation as an insensitive prat had to be upheld. But sitting under this tree on the deserted grounds after dinner with Gabbi, looking over the Durmstrang ship floating on the surface of the lake, Harry felt that he could say anything to her. And that was the mark of a good marriage, right? Being able to say anything to the person that you loved?

"It is peaceful," Gabbi offered, pushing him down by the shoulder and laying her head onto his torso. "But I think it reminds me of home more than anything. Like the fountain at the mansion."

"Yes," Harry answered. "That's it exactly. It reminds me of home. So much. And not much here does, but this particular view of the lake does." Harry pillowed his head on the crook of his arm, already propped on a protruding root. "What do you think of Hogwarts?"

"It is not as delicate as Beauxbatons," Gabbi answered softly. "Beauxbatons makes me think of a fairytale princess, with its grooming and the towers and turrets. Hogwarts was probably a war castle."

"During Anglo-Saxon times," Harry added gently. "Yes, of course. Everyone was at war then, and that's when the castle was built."

Gabbi sighed in a gentle sort of agreement. "I miss Maman and Papa," she murmured softly. "My first month or two was too busy to really feel homesick, but now I'm even further away..."

"We'll see them at Christmas," Harry reminded her. "Unless something comes up. But maybe we could work around it. We'll see. Do you want to write then a letter?"

"Fleur already sent Pierre," Gabbi said. "I don't have an owl to send it with."

"Hedwig's gone too," Harry admitted. "But the school has lots of owls for student use, you could borrow one of them."

Gabbi looked at him with her eyes shining. Clearly, being able to send the letter meant a lot to her. Harry sometimes forgot that she was only eleven, that she relied on her parents more than he did now. And as the baby of the family, she had always relied more on her parents than he and Fleur had done. Harry stood up and offered her his hand. "The owlery's a long way away, we'd better get going.

It was good to be able to see her smile properly, Harry mused to himself. Sometimes, she just looked so radiant that way.

There's the end of chapter 4. I thank the reviewer who mentioned that there hadn't been much interaction between Harry and Gabbi—I was subconsciously avoiding it, because I wasn't sure how to approach it. She really is too young for real romance, after all. Add to that the fact that it was easy to avoid simply by covering other events, I wasn't even realizing what I was doing. So that's kind of my first shot at it. Hope you liked it, tell me what you think. We also get the Weighing of the Wands out of the way, and we have a Harry/Rita alliance. He knows how to deal with politicians better due to his upbringing, and the press as well. And he thinks that maybe he can use the sheep-like mentality of the wizarding world to free his Godfather, who he would like to be able to openly meet during Hogsmeade weekends, and stay with him whenever and all of that.

Tell me what you think.

~ITookTheOneLessTravelled