Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his whole universe belongs to J. K. Rowling and her associates. I'm just having a good time playing with it all, and I - unlike the owner - don't make a penny from it.

A/N: This has two possibilities. It could either be ch. 1 of yet another 'Harry says no' fic where more is implied than is explained, at least if I ever get around to write the second half, or it could be ch. 3 of something similar but fleshed out in much more detail with ch. 1 being the summer after 3rd year and meeting up with Sirius, and ch. 2 being the first third of 4th year. I've transferred a lot of the ideas I had for this to 'Enough is enough', so it may never be any more than it is now. It still has some sentimental value to me though, being the first fic I ever began to write. Tentative title:

I quit!

"Potter, the champions and their partners –"

"What partners?" said Harry.

Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him, as though she thought he was trying to be funny.

"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly. "Your dance partners."

Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel. "Dance partners?" He felt himself going red. "I don't dance," he said quickly.

"Oh, yes, you do," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball."

…

"I'm not dancing," he said.

"It is traditional," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter."

"But – I don't –"

"You heard me, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, in a very final sort of way.

(Quoted from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire')

Suddenly four months' worth of conversations with Sirius crystallized into one single thought in the forefront on Harry's mind: 'Now's the time to put your foot down old bean. Grow a spine – or at least look like you've acquired one!'

"I'm sorry Professor but I don't dance, and I don't intend to change that for the sake of the traditions of a tournament I'm not supposed to be in," he said in an equally final tone.

Minerva McGonagall was absolutely gobsmacked! A student was talking back to her, and not just any student... One of her favourites, the son of her all-time favourite couple, and normally – despite possessing an abundance of Gryffindor courage – a suitably pliant boy. What had gotten into him? This couldn't stand!

"Mr. Potter! You and your partner will most definitely open the Ball as I tell you! No more of this nonsense, or I will be forced to deduct 50 points from Gryffindor." The order was not to be mistaken this time.

"If you say so, Professor," Harry answered. "I've been slandered and vilified by around 95% of the students here this year. Losing 50 points for Gryffindor will at least only make 25% of the student body hate me this time, quite an improvement I'd say. I am not opening any ball; I am not going to have a dance partner; and - come to think of it – I'm not even going to be at the effing Ball," he said in an even tone. "In fact I'm still not sure if I'll be at Hogwarts over Christmas at all." Harry decided to press it: "Will that be all, Professor? I'd hate to lose Gryffindor additional points by being late for Herbology."

"50 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, and detention tonight with Mr. Filch!" McGonagall snapped. This was unheard of! The sooner the Headmaster heard about this, the better.

"I'll acknowledge the points Professor, but I don't think you can justify detention for refusing to participate in an extra-curricular activity. ...And now I'm running late for Herbology."

Inwardly Harry trembled. He was sure he'd be in serious trouble with Dumbledore later, and McGonagall was turning an interesting – if somewhat scary – colour already. He definitely had to get Sirius on the mirror before Dumbledore called him to his office, and he had to have a chat with Susan Bones before dinner.

"Dismissed, Mr. Potter. But don't think we won't have words about this later!" McGonagall said in a voice trembling with barely suppressed anger.

...

Outside the classroom, Hermione and Neville were waiting for him, and Ron lurked a few steps away, still trying to latch on.

"What did McGonagall want?" Neville asked.

"Nothing terribly important," Harry answered evenly. "She droned a bit about me having to get a dance partner, since the champions are apparently required to open the Ball. I told her I'm not going to attend the bloody Ball, and it kinda escalated a bit from there. I lost 50 points in the end because she got mad..."

"What?" Hermione shrieked. "50 points! Are you out of your mind? You'll lose us the House Cup, Harry!"

"Gee thanks Hermione. I'm deeply touched by your concern," Harry mocked. "I honestly can't bring myself to care much for the Cup right now. I've got bigger problems than that."

"But..."

"No, Hermione. I don't give a rat's arse about it. All I care about is staying alive and somewhat healthy, and a ball isn't going to help me with that."

"All of Gryffindor will hate you, you know," Neville said.

"Yeah, I know," Harry admitted. "Kind of a nice change actually... Usually it's the whole school."

"I can't believe you, Harry," Hermione stated. "How can you be so cool about it? The Cup is important, you know."

Harry sighed. "To you, maybe. My priorities are a bit different though. I value my life and health a bit higher than an insignificant trophy, and I'm used to people hating or vilifying me, so it won't be that much different to the usual."

Hermione ploughed on: "You know, it could cost you the prefect's badge next year."

"So what?" he snapped. Hermione flinched.

Harry was losing his patience now. "It's not like I want it anyway. I don't see what the big deal is. You're supposed to be happy about being given extra duties. They cut into your time for study and homework because you have to do rounds and be available to help the younger years, and you're still expected to get top marks. Not very reasonable, is it now?" Harry was building up a good bit of steam. "Regardless of that, I wasn't going to be a prefect next year anyway, Yule Ball of not, so this won't change a thing in that regard. Leave the badges for those who want them, then those of us with any measure of common sense can get on with our lives with minimum fuss," he said in a mocking tone. "That is of course if we don't get killed before we get that far. At least for me that's a perfectly viable option you know, thanks to the incompetence of the senile old goat who was supposed to provide protection to people like us, so none of us could get ourselves elected by that bloody goblet!" The last remark was delivered with a serious dose of venom in his voice. Hermione looked horrified.

"Harry! How can you say that about the Headmaster? He's the greatest wizard alive, and he certainly is looking out for our best interests! You can't mean what you just said!"

"Hermione, I know that's what most people believe – and it's what he wants us all to think – but I really thought you had more brains than that." Harry was getting fed up with this now. "Whose best interests he's looking out for I don't know, but I'm sure it's not mine. Now if you'll excuse me, I've lost the desire to learn about Stinging Tulips today. I'll go work on cracking the Egg. After all the Tulips can only hurt me – anything concerning the Egg could probably get me killed."

With that, Harry turned around and headed towards Gryffindor Tower.

"I can't believe that arrogant git!" Ron exclaimed from behind the gaping pair. "Who does he think he is?"

"Well, he does have a lot of pressure on him these days," Neville mused, "but this is not like him at all. It's like his whole personality has changed lately."

"Whatever," Ron said dismissively. "I'm not going to stand for him acting like that. Like he's more important than Gryffindor. Prat!"

Hermione was torn. On one side, she really wanted to defend her friend, and she could definitely sympathize with him, someone out to kill him and all. On the other side she understood Ron somewhat, and she could definitely not agree with the way Harry had spoken about her great idol, and she was horrified with his attitude towards the honour of being a prefect. With a sigh she decided to let it all slip for now, and followed the boys down to the greenhouses.

Harry watched them walk away. 'That went well,' he thought. '3 down and a couple of hundred to go.' He turned around and disappeared into an abandoned classroom.

After locking and silencing the door, Harry pulled his mirror out of his pocket and tapped it's upper left corner with his wand. "Padfoot," he called, "pull your finger out and answer, you mangy old mutt!" Harry tapped his fingers impatiently on the tabletop for a minute or two. "Come on now, Padfoot, or I swear you'll get a flea-bath and a neutering for Christmas!"

"Oi Bambi! No need to give Father Christmas any nasty ideas," Sirius chuckled in the mirror. "What's the hurry Pup?"

"The shit is hitting the fan here Padfoot," Harry answered with a grimace. "I kinda lost it 20 minutes ago – answering back to McGonagall of all people! I'm sorry, but it can't be undone now," he said, having the decency to at least look bashful.

Sirius was not amused. "You really know how to pick them, don't you Kiddo? That was just about the worst professor you could choose. What happened?"

"She announced a Yule Ball and then held me back after class, droning on about me having to have a partner as I'm apparently required to open the dance since I'm a champion. I told her that I'm not going to have a partner; that I'm not going to open the effing dance; and that I don't intend to be at the bloody Ball at all." Sirius did a fair imitation of a goldfish.

"Damn Kiddo! I'd have given a decent pile of gold to have seen – and heard - that!" he let out a trademark bark. "And you're sure you're both still alive?"

"Evidently I'm still around," Harry said wryly. "As for my esteemed Head of House, I'm not quite sure. When I left her, she was turning a rather unhealthy shade of purple – but then again, since she managed to survive you and Dad, I'm sure she'll survive this too. I'm more concerned about what happens once Fumblemore stops choking on his revolting sweets. He's going to try to rip me a new one, that's for sure, and I don't know if I'm far enough with my shield yet to stop him from snooping around in my head."

"When you screw up, you really do it royally it seems," Sirius chuckled. "Take it easy Bambi. I got the last parchments today, and you should get the extra mirror tonight along with my memory, so I'll be ready as soon as you get a hold of the Bones girl. By the way, why don't you want to go to the ball? You've made it sound like she's a nice girl, so it could be an excuse to get to know her better. I'm fairly certain that one of the offers is from her family. I seem to recall James chuckling for hours about receiving an offer from Emery Bones when you were 5-6 days old," he smirked.

"The ball is on Christmas Night, and I'd rather be at your place that day," Harry said, flushing at the comment about Susan. "As for Susan, I'll get hold of her before dinner. Whether there's an offer from her family or not, I'd prefer to have things a bit more securely in hand – not to mention more firm knowledge - before making any moves. You know, apparently I'm so clueless about the whole girl/boy thing, there are rumours that I seek for the other team now." Harry let out a wry laugh. "I guess I should do something to prove them wrong, but I just can't make myself care enough. And before you ask: Yes, even though I'm still a virgin I'm certain I prefer girls thank you very much!" Harry shot a menacing look. "Susan is a nice girl, and really pretty too, but that doesn't mean we'd be good together, now does it? She'd be one of the two top choices on my shortlist if I was in the market, but until the relevant documents are filed and sealed, not to mention we've been through what's in the vault, it'll all be speculation, and I don't have time for that right now. Besides – I can't be seen being too chummy with anyone for the next couple of months if 'what I'll sorely miss' is what I think it is."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked with a frown.

"Oh yeah, I haven't told you yet. I've solved the Egg – or more precisely, Dobby overheard some of the Professors talking about it and then told me what to do," Harry smiled widely. "Something I'll sorely miss will be taken from me and given to the Merpeople, and then I'll have an hour to get it back. If my hunch is correct that would mean either Hermione as my best friend or any girlfriend I might have at the time of the task. I've already done a bit to chase Hermione off, but I might have to put a bit more effort in."

"Whoa Pup. Slow down here!" Sirius looked quite confused. "Why would this keep you from dating?; why are you chasing Hermione off?; and who is Dobby?"

"Right, I'll try to be slow enough for even you to understand it," Harry teased. "Dobby is the Elf I tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing a couple of years ago. He's a complete nutcase, but he's 100% loyal to me for some reason. I'm chasing Hermione off for the same reason I can't date now: I don't intend to complete the task, and since I don't trust Fumblemore to keep anybody safe in a holding cell, much less at the bottom of the Black Lake, I'm trying to reduce the number of potential victims to zero. After all that senile old bastard couldn't even keep whoever it was from confounding the goblet and dropping my name in it. Dammit how I hate that man!" Harry scowled.

"O...kay" Sirius scratched his neck. "I can almost follow your logic. Almost... But you realize of course that if it's required for the task, they'll have to put someone down there, right?"

"Yeah... Bloody wankers!" Harry fumed. "I suppose they could stuff my Firebolt down there, but I plan on dropping it off at your place when I get there. Other than that I suppose it has to be a person, but I'd rather it's not someone I actually like. Ron Weasley would be a great choice, stupid howlermonkey!"

"What?" Sirius almost shouted. "What's going on up there Pup? What's wrong with him now?"

"I told you about the tantrum he threw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he kept it going until just after the first task, then he came around and offered the most insincere apology I've ever heard. I'd talked to Neville about him a few times before that, and we agreed that he's only hanging around me for my name, so I kinda smacked him right down with a rolled up paper like you'd do a puppy. Since then it's mostly been Hermione, Neville and me, but he keeps stalking us, trying to look like he's still 'in with The-Boy-Who-Lived' or some crap like that. Really pathetic, but it's apparently all the ambition he can drum up." Harry made a disgusted face. "His grades are dropping in every subject too, even when Hermione still offers to help him out. It seems he's spending all his free time gawking at the Beauxbatons champion; playing chess; dreaming about Quidditch, or stalking me."

Sirius looked gobsmacked. "Erm.. We're talking about the same Ron Weasley who tried to stand up for you on a broken leg in the Shrieking Shack this spring, right?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds weird, but it's the same guy alright." Harry paused to collect his thoughts.

"I've talked to Hermione and Neville about what his problem might be, and we think we might've cracked it. He's the youngest of 6 brothers, and there's a sister a year younger than him. All the boys are successful in their own rights: Bill was Head Boy and now he's a Cursebreaker for Gringott's; Charlie was a top notch Seeker and Team Captain, turned down a pro-contract and now he's a Dragon Handler; Percy was Head Boy last year and now he's working directly under Barty Crouch in the Ministry; Gred and Forge have set themselves a goal to outprank you and Dad. They give the impression that they're just here to pass time, but the charms and potions for their pranks are 'O'-quality work, and they've actually begun selling their stuff now. They want to open a joke shop when they graduate. And then there's Ginny.." Harry paused for a breath. "She's been coddled a bit as both the youngest and the only girl – at least that's how Ron sees it. She's one of the most powerful witches in the school, and she's devious and ambitious enough that she could – and probably should - have been in Slytherin." Harry stopped again for another breather.

"We think he sees himself disappearing in that bunch. The irony is, he probably has the highest potential of the lot – besides Ginny maybe – but he just can't see it and he definitely won't work for it. He's been heard quite a few times bitching and moaning about how I just get everything and he gets nothing. Basically he's just expecting a fully developed life of success to drop into his lap, and until that happens he at least wants whatever discounts and female attention he can get from being close to me," Harry scowled.

"That sounds like a real friend," Sirius said with a frown, "or more correctly, that sounds disturbingly like the Rat, except for the siblings and the potential part," Sirius wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Now tell me about this Neville figure who seems to have taken Ron's spot."

"Right... He's a Gryffindor in my year, born the day before me..."

"Hold on!" Sirius broke in. "That wouldn't be Neville Longbottom, would it?"

"How do you know Neville?" Harry asked.

"He was born in the room next to yours at St. Mungo's, Pup. His mother, Alice, is your Godmother."

"What? Why haven't anybody told me this? What happened to Neville's parents in the first place? I know he lives with his Gran and she's a bit harsh with him. She's given him his Dad's wand, and it doesn't fit him at all. The other Houses call him 'the Squib Wonder of Gryffindor', but I'm dead sure he's one of the most powerful students in school. That wand could just as well be a stick." Harry was not amused!

"I have no idea why nobody told you, Pup. I haven't said anything because I thought you knew," Sirius said soothingly. "I guess Albus would be the one to ask that question – along with a long list of others.
I know what happened to Neville's parents though, even if I was already in Azkaban at the time. Alice and Frank were aurors, and bloody good ones too. My cousin – Narcissa Malfoy's sister – Bellatrix, her husband Rudolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan, along with Barty Crouch Jr., tortured them into insanity a few days after I was thrown in the Hole, apparently because they had heard a rumour that the Longbottoms knew Voldie's whereabouts. My cousin was insane already then, and the Lestrange brothers were no better. Somehow they left Neville alone, but I don't know anything about what happened after that, other that they were caught a few days later and Barty Crouch Sr. slapped a life sentence on all 4 of them. They're all in the same area I was in, or at least 3 of them are. Barty Jr. died a few years ago." Sirius looked haunted. Azkaban was still too close for comfort.

"I'm sorry to hear that old Augusta has forced Frank's wand on the lad. It'll seriously hamper him later on, if he doesn't get one that matches him. We'll have to come up with something after I've had my chat with Amelia Bones."

"Right," Harry said. "First things first. As soon as I get the mirror and the memory, I'll get a hold of Susan. I'll let her see me store my own memory and swear on my magic that there's nothing harmful in yours. Then I'll ask her – on my knees if I need to – to send the lot to her Aunt and to vouch for it." Harry paused... "Come to think of it, better send the stuff to Susan and make sure it's here no earlier than dinnertime. I'll need to warn her that it's coming before it gets here."

"Why that way, Pup?"

"I'm not entirely sure that my mail isn't being screened, and I'd rather not let Fumblemore get his hands on it," Harry scowled.

"OK, I can do it that way. Don't forget that Amelia is supposed to watch the memories first before she calls me on the mirror, Pup."

"Sure thing, Padfoot. She'd probably have kittens if she did it the other way round, getting you on the mirror without warning. I mean it's bad enough even when I know it's you," Harry chuckled. "By the way, what's the callphrase for the mirror? I may have to demonstrate that it's not a portkey or something."

"Good thinking, Pup," Sirius praised. "Erhm... It's 'Ohmybones'" he added with a flush.

"What!" Harry laughed. "Where in the world did you get that from?"

Sirius groaned. "It was her nickname in the Auror force 15 years ago. She doubled as a PT-instructor, and she was as tough as they come. Everybody hurt all over after a lesson with her."

"And you're suggesting I get her for an Aunt-in-law? You're bloody mental!" Harry grinned. "We'd better break off now, Padfoot. I've been skiving off Herbology, and I strongly suspect Fumblemore will call me up for a chewing out soon," Harry pantomimed gagging.

"Right, we'd better then. Have fun," Sirius smirked. "Close mirror."

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry groaned as he looked up to see him lean over the railing, 2 floors up.

"Can I have a moment of your time please?"

"Of course Headmaster," Harry answered courteously – but rather tersely. "Does it have to be right now, or can it wait 'til after dinner? I'm quite hungry right now. I've been working on the Egg for hours today."

"Yes I heard about that. Skiving off classes in order to do so too," the Headmaster said in his sternest voice.

"So?" Harry shot back. "You broke a good number of laws and regulations to keep me in this farce of a Tournament. I think it's only fair that I break a few to try and stay alive through it." "...Sir." The last word was added as an afterthought, making it painfully clear that Harry meant absolutely no respect by it. Quite a few of the onlookers looked alarmed at each other, and several gasps were heard. This was a serious accusation, and it was baffling to hear the Boy-Who-Lived address the most revered wizard alive in such a manner. They could almost hear the scorn drip onto the floor.

The Headmaster took a step back as if struck, shocked by the obvious anger - almost hatred - in Harry's statement. It was painfully obvious that the boy had neither forgiven nor forgotten his minor bending of the rules – a bending that was most definitely not meant to be public knowledge! Didn't he understand that it was for the best that he was gifted with this opportunity to test and improve himself? Didn't he realise that it was his duty and his destiny to become the best he could, within the limits he, Albus Dumbledore, set for him?

"After dinner will do, Mr. Potter."

"After dinner then, Headmaster," Harry said curtly. "I'll need a password, though."

"I will send you a note at dinner, Mr. Potter."

"As you please, Headmaster. Just have an Elf give it to me."

"Why would I need to do that, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled. "I assure you, I am perfectly capable of banishing a note to your place at the table."

"Because I'll only be in the Great Hall until the mail has arrived, Headmaster. After that I'll go eat in the kitchens. That way my fellow students can feel more comfortable using the privileges they've been granted."

"What privileges are you talking about, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore frowned. "I can't think of anything that would require anybody to leave the Great Hall."

Harry snorted. "The right to insult, slander and ridicule me without any repercussions, Headmaster. When I'm not there, my fellow students should be able to maximize their enjoyment from it since they'll have no reason to keep their voices down... Not that they do so when I'm present, come to think of it, but some of them tend to look a bit awkward when I'm in the room," Harry elaborated. "Would that be all Headmaster?"

Taken aback once more, the Headmaster could only tell Harry to carry on his business.

Something was wrong with this! He didn't expect Harry to understand that he allowed him to be persecuted in order to harden him - to mould him into the leader, he had to be – as well as to keep him humble and sufficiently off balance to make him susceptible to his – Dumbledore's – ideas and suggestions, but he didn't expect this... hostility either. Things were getting out of hand. Harry had changed much more – and much differently – the last couple of months than expected. He was pushing away his friends; he seemed to disappear from the castle from time to time; and he seemed much too self-assured and self-sufficient for Albus' liking, but he couldn't put a finger on what had caused the changes, except for the unfortunate episode when Harry had learned that he could actually have been withdrawn from the tournament.

With a sigh the Headmaster retired to his office to ponder the situation until it was time to send a note to Harry.

With the dismissal, Harry continued on his way to the Great Hall. When entering, he quickly scanned the room, spotting the pretty blonde at the Hufflepuff table (OK, there were several pretty blondes at that table, but he was looking for a particular one), and quickly made his way to her.

"I come in peace, Miss Bones," he said in a grave voice, holding both his hands up, palms open. His cheeky grin belied the seriousness though. "Can I have a quick word, please?"

"Erm, yeah, sure... What about?" Susan looked a little taken aback. She'd never spoken much to Harry outside of class before, and with the general animosity towards him from Hufflepuff House these days, this was quite unexpected.

"Well... You'll receive a small package in the mail this evening with your address in a handwriting you won't recognize. It's really for me, and it will do you no harm." Harry did his best to look honest and innocent. "It's being sent to you because my mail is getting searched, and because ultimately I have to talk to you about what's in it anyway. Once I've added something to it, it's supposed to go to your aunt, and I was hoping you'd help me with it." By now the 'honest and innocent' face had become a full blown puppy-dog look. "Believe me, your aunt will be delighted to get what I'll send her!"

"Oh..." "Right..." Susan looked flustered. "I thought you were going to ask me to the Ball," she blurted, then blushed fiercely. "I mean..."

"The idea definitely has merit," Harry smiled. "Or it would have if I was going, but I'm not."

"B-But... Y-You have to, Harry! You're a Champion..."

"No I'm not! I didn't put my name in, and I never wanted anything to do with this bloody farce in the first place."

"Right.. Sorry," Susan looked equally shocked and contrite. "I'd like to know a bit more about this cloak-and-dagger thing you're trying to get me into, before I say yes or no."

"Can you cast a privacy bubble?"

"Yeah," Susan traced a pattern with her wand.

"Well, you see, it's like this..."

...

After Harry's hurried explanations, Susan was wide-eyed and almost speechless.

"Y-Yes, I'll meet you on the 7th floor when you're done chewing out the Headmaster," she agreed. "Auntie is going to blow a gasket when she learns about this!"

"That would be tomorrow if everything plays out. I just hope she won't suffer anything permanent. Sirius is going to need to see her within a week or two," Harry grinned. "If anybody asks, I was asking to borrow your notes and the assignment from Herbology – which I actually would love to borrow if you could take enough pity in me. See ya." With a quick wave he left for the Gryffindor table, to wait for Susan's mail to arrive.

Albus Dumbledore was doing what he'd been doing a lot lately. He was examining the problem 'Harry Potter' from every conceivable angle – or at least from every angle, he was able to conceive – and he couldn't see where things had begun to go this wrong. Sure, the 'incident' when Harry had found out that he could've been removed from the tournament had been unfortunate, but after he'd melted all his tracking devices, he surely couldn't hold on to that much anger for so long, could he?

No, it had to be something else. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think that young Harry had found out about his parents' will, but since it was sealed up in the Ministry, that wasn't possible.

Perhaps Black had set ideas in his head? No, he was still somewhere in the tropics, and the two letters he'd sent were both harmless enough. Then why was young Mr. Potter still angry, brooding and disrespectful? Not to mention that he'd rejected young Mr. Weasley's apology and friendship, and seemed to distance himself from Miss Granger and his more casual friends too.

No, Albus Dumbledore was at a loss, and he didn't like that at all.

Suddenly he straightened, took on a grandfatherly expression, reached for a lemon drop and said:

"Enter Mr. Potter."

"Headmaster," Harry said by way of greeting.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. Sit down please. Lemon drop?"

"I'll stand Headmaster, and no thanks," Harry's voice and face were tightly controlled and emotionless, and his eyes didn't meet the Headmaster's.

As it was almost becoming a habit, the Headmaster reared back slightly, once more taken aback by the poorly repressed hostility emanating from Harry.

"Can we get to why I'm here, please? I've got things to do, and this is keeping me from them," Harry said, his voice monotone and flat.

Albus flinched at this blatant disrespect. He was starting to fear that forcing Harry into the Tournament was a serious mistake. Harry had always been so respectful, but these days he all but radiated disrespect – or perhaps contempt was a better term.

"As you wish, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster sighed. "I need to know why you didn't attend your Herbology class today, and where you were."

"No you don't!" Harry countered. "You want to know, but saying you need to makes it sound less nosy." Harry barely kept his face expressionless. "As for why, I've already told you I was working on the Egg, and as for where... Well, if nobody knows, nobody can disturb me, and I really like that. I've had it with stupid people making inane comments about goblets and dragons, and I'm pretty sure it won't be any easier getting a bit of peace now, with the Ball coming up and all..."

"Yes, the Ball..." the Headmaster pounced on the subject. "Your Head of House seems to believe that you're refusing to attend. You wouldn't know how this misconception came about, would you Mr. Potter?"

"It's no misconception, Headmaster. I have absolutely no interest in attending a social event that means nothing at all to me."

"Of course you'll attend, Mr. Potter. It is after all tradition that the Champions open the dance," the Headmaster's voice held a slight threat.

"The Champions, Sir, are Mlle. Delacour, Mr. Krum and Mr. Diggory," Harry sneered. "I was forced into the Tournament because a malicious old man somehow gets his kicks from forcing me to jump through hoops set up for his amusement. I never wanted anything to do with this farce; I am not going to attend the Ball, and I refuse to do detention for not participating in a non-compulsory extra-curricular activity. If you have a problem with that, expel me!"

Harry caught his breath. "Now that we've got that sorted, will that be all? I've arranged to get a set of notes and the homework assignment from Herbology, and I'd like to get them soon so I can get on with it."

"No Mr. Potter, we are not done. We have yet to reach a suitable conclusion to your attending the Ball, and I would very much like to know why you are suddenly acting so hostile." Dumbledore was getting frustrated. He still couldn't read anything at all from the boy, and he still hadn't met his eyes.

"We have already reached a suitable conclusion. Sir... I will not be attending and that's that." Harry glared at the old man. "Am I 'acting hostile'? Well why would I do that? It's not like being forced into something life-threatening that I want nothing to do with, against several laws and scores of regulations, could have that effect, could it?" The sarcasm could be cut with a knife. "..And it's not like everybody and their uncles having your blessing to say and do anything they want about - and to - me, without any consequences whatsoever, while every teacher, head student and prefect in this ruddy castle comes down on me as soon as I even look like I'll stick a foot out of line, would encourage me to be anything less than positive, is it?" "...Sir!"

"Harry, I..."

"Mr. Potter!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Mr. Potter, Headmaster. I'm 'Harry' to my friends and to those I trust, and since you're the one who condemned me to ten years and three summers in Hell, as well as forced me – illegally – into that blasted tournament of yours, you don't belong in either category. Sir. Furthermore you don't call any other students by their given names, so why should I be any different?"

"My apologies, Mr. Potter." The Headmaster had a look of supreme disappointment on his face.

"Now, as you're set on holding on to your unfounded anger, I fear we will not be able to reach a suitable conclusion today. However I have to tell you that if you fail to attend the Ball, you will be docked 150 house points, and you will be banned from playing Quidditch for the remainder of your time here." The ancient wizard couldn't keep a smug look from creeping over his face.

"Good night Mr. Potter."

"You can take away enough points to keep Gryffindor in the negative for a decade, Headmaster. I couldn't care less. Your little ban will be appealed to the School Board as soon as it's issued though." Harry's voice was like steel. "Maybe it's time to remind you that you're not omnipotent." Harry turned to the door.

"Good night Headmaster. May your dreams be as pure as your conscience."

As the door closed behind Harry, Dumbledore slumped in his chair, his face showing all of his 113 years. He was losing Harry at an alarming rate, and this year that he'd had such high hopes for now looked like it was heading straight down the drain. Even worse was that he had absolutely no idea what to do about it, and with young Mr. Weasley out of Harry's small circle of friends, as well as Miss Granger being pushed towards the fringe of that same circle, his subtle Legilimency-probes on the two youngsters provided no useful information. He would have to attempt a scan on Harry himself, but his curious aversion to meeting his eyes indicated that he was aware of the risk of Legilimency being employed. How had he found out, and who'd taught him how to avoid it?

No, this wasn't a good year.

With a sigh the centenarian turned to his collection of more-or-less repaired tracking instruments, only to discover that Harry once again couldn't be found anywhere.

A/N2: No, if I ever write it, it will not be Harry/Susan.