Note: If you have an idea about what one of the tasks should be or really any other ideas, please...write a story. There's a shortage of decent stories in this world. Fix this problem.

CHAPTER TWELVE: TOURNAMENTS AFLAME

The day after he was forcibly entered in the Tournament, Harry learned a few things he missed while in hospital, recovering from the Goblet's attempt to kill him. First; that he had two weeks to prepare for some unknown task. Second; no matter how many different people or ways he asked, no one would tell him what it was. Third and finally; he was pretty sure he had just been stolen by Luna Lovegood.

How had he arrived at this conclusion? Simple.

She'd told him.

"I'm stealing you." she had said, before doing just that. Which was how they'd ended up out under a tree by the lake, as far from the school as they could get without going into the forest. He had ended up- by some mysterious girl magic, no doubt- acting as a sort of pillow/blanket combination. Luna was seated between his spread legs, back to his chest, with his arms wrapped around her middle. The side of her head rested against his cheek.

It was, overall, very pleasant.

He was feeling very content, so when she turned her head to say something, and brought her beautiful looking lips within millimeters of his own, less attractive set, he could maybe be forgiven for kissing her instead of listening to what she had to say.

Kissing Luna was...well, he didn't have anything to compare it to. Her earlier kisses were nice- more than that, but this was a wholly different experience. The ones before this were brief, lip-to-lip contacts that were over before he really registered they'd begun in the first place.

This wasn't that.

This was nowhere near that.

She overwhelmed him. Her presence alone was driving him mad. The warmth of her body, her arms looped around his neck. The steady, rhythmic euphoria of her lips moving against his. It was as close to perfection as he'd ever been.

So, naturally, it had to be interrupted.

"Um, excuse me?"

They broke apart. For a brief moment nothing else existed. Just her. Just her eyes. She blinked up at him; slowly, eyes half-lidded and a darker shade of her usual bright silver. He saw in them questions, answer, promises, things he couldn't fully understand but wanted so desperately to.

Then he remembered why they had stopped kissing in the first place. With one final, stolen peck- he didn't know which of them moved first- he turned to see who had interrupted them. It was someone he'd never seen before, who looked small enough to be a first-year. He fidgeted nervously with his fingers, and his eyes never left Harry's face.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, as Luna turned a bright red and buried her face in his shoulder. The boy danced from foot to foot like he had to use the bathroom. Harry was slightly concerned for the kid. He looked like he was about to explode.

"I'm uh, I'm supposed to- to retrieveHarryPotterfortheWeighingoftheWands."

Harry blinked. "What?" the first year took a deep breath, looked somewhat calmer, and repeated himself, more slowly.

"I'm supposed to retrieve Harry Potter for the Weighing of the Wands."

"Oh." he frowned. "What's that?"

The boy shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. Professor Dumbledore said you'd be out here. He uh, he- he didn't say you wouldn't be alone."

Harry smiled and gave Luna a squeeze. She refused to budge. "Where is the-what was it?- Weighing of the Wands?"

Short First Year nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It's on the fourth floor, next to the Transfiguration classroom."

"Okay. I'll find my way there. Thanks, uh..."

"Colin. Colin Creevey." Short First Year waved, then dashed off. It was only when he was long gone did Luna lift her head out of Harry's shoulder. He couldn't help it. The look of sheer mortification on her face was too much. He burst into laughter.

"Shut up!" she started hitting him on the chest. "It's not funny!"

"Yes it is." he assured her. Then he groaned. "I don't want to go."

"Yes, well.." she stood and brushed off her jeans, then extended a hand to help haul him to his feet. "You have to, and that's that."

"Fine." he grumbled, taking Luna's hand and starting back towards the castle. "Its not like I even use a wand anyways, I don't know why they want me there."

Luna shrugged and released his hand to wrap herself around his arm. She seemed to like that better, and he wasn't going to complain. "Publicity, I suppose." she made a face. "That means the press will be there."

"Oh, great. More reasons to not go."

"You have to, Harry."

"Don't remind me."

Harry walked into the room repurposed for the Weighing of the Wands-was he supposed to capitalize it- took in the room's occupants, specifically a familiar, stooped old man with crazy white hair and gray eyes. His eyes narrowed and he said, "You."

The old man, Ollivander, gave no notice to Harry's curt tone and simply smiled. Perhaps sensing Harry's change in mood, Dumbledore strode to the center of the room, clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention and stated, "Now that all the champions are here, we can begin."

The other champions were here? Harry looked around and saw that indeed, they were. The supplanted Hogwarts champion(he felt a guilty twinge, even though it wasn't his fault) was a good looking seventh year whose face he knew but whose name escaped him grinned from where he lounged in a seat in the room's center. The Durmstrang champion glowered at everyone from a corner stool, his headmaster standing behind him with a proprietary hand on the boy's shoulder. Beauxbatons' champion was a gorgeous girl with white-blonde hair who studied everyone with calm, ice-blue eyes.

Harry and the other champions sat in the red velvet chairs arrayed in a diamond and waited for the Weighing of the Wands, whatever that was, to begin. He turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who was explaining what it was.

"The Weighing of the Wands is a tradition that dates back to the third Tournament. Its purpose is to ascertain the status and care put in to each of your wands. The exception of course being Mr. Potter, who doesn't need one."

Harry turned a faint shade of red at everyone's curious looks and slid lower in his chair.

The Hogwarts champion stood and handed his wand to Ollivander. The old man ran thin, nimble fingers over the ten and a half inches of ash, murmured to himself, produced a sound like a gunshot- scaring Harry half to death in the process, before handing it back.

Twice more this process occurred, each time the old wandmaker would produce a different effect. Some humorous; the Durmstrang champions wand sang opera for a few moments, and some merely interesting; conjured birds fluttered around the room before vanishing in a puff of smoke and feathers.

Then it was Harry's turn. So, feeling like an idiot, he went to Ollivander and didn't present the wand he didn't have. That didn't stop the old wandmaker from eying him like he was the most fascinating thing to ever happen. Aged gray eyes roved over him, focusing on the tattoos on his face. Fingers twitched as if they itched to examine them. A long two minutes passed before Harry lost his patience and asked, "Well, do I pass inspection?"

Ollivander blinked. "Hm? Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my boy. When you're as old as I am your mind tends to wander occasionally. Now," he tapped the pads of his fingers together. "How to proceed? We have all heard the tales of your prowess, so there's no need for anything tremendous...perhaps, if you're agreeable, a small demonstration for the officials and school heads?"

Harry didn't want to. He really didn't want to. But, it looked like the quickest way to get out of here, so he nodded and stepped back.

What to do, what to do, what to...ah-hah!

He held his hands out to his sides, palms up, and wove a pattern of swirling amber light in the air around him. Gradually, flickering like fireflies, streamers of energy coalesced in a tight egg shape around him. As the strands wove together their inherent glow increased until to the room's other occupants it felt as if they were looking into the sun. Then, with a sudden burst, the shell faded, leaving a blinking Harry to drop his hands and look around sheepishly.

"Sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck. "it was the best I could think of."

Ollivander recovered first, smiling happily. "And a good show it was, Mr. Potter! I can say without reservation that you are fit to compete in the Tournament. Though, those markings...hmm, curious. Albus, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time when we are done here?"

"Certainly Horace," Dumbledore replied. He then looked to the man standing beside him, a round, smiling man with no hair and an enormous mustache. To Harry he resembled Vernon's slightly demented- though very pleasant- twin. "Unless there was something else, Ludo?"

"Hmm?" The round man, apparently called Ludo, blinked before shaking his head. "No, nothing coming to mind. Well," he amended. "there is one thing."

"Let's hear it, then."The Durmstrang headmaster(Karkarov? No, Karkaroff) said curtly. "None of us are getting any younger, here."

None of Ludo's ebullience left the man. "Quite right, Igor! Quite right. Now, before we let you champions leave, a reminder: the first task is set to begin in two months' time, and because it is a test of your courage in the face of the unknown, you won't be told what it is until the day of the task. Any questions?"

Harry had several, but figured Ludo was just being polite and kept his peace.

"No?" the round man almost looked disappointed. "Alright then, off you go. I'm sure some of you have class to attend."

Harry didn't, actually, but left the room at a fast walk. He didn't like the speculative or hostile looks he was getting from the other champions and their respective school heads. It wasn't that he hadn't felt scrutiny before- with his past, he most certainly had, it was something about the way they looked at him.

Not for the first time he felt that he was a child playing a game meant for adults. It wouldn't have been as depressing if it weren't so accurate. He was a child, and he was playing a game meant for people older than him. The plain and simple truth was that he was out of his league, and if he had his way at all he'd have nothing to do with this in the first place.

Since that wasn't in the cards, and refusing to compete wasn't either, he didn't have much choice. Vernon's words came to him then, a reminder of his father's quiet confidence. Petunia, though more worried than her husband, believed in him just as strongly. They believed he could win.

So he would. Not for him, not for Hogwarts, not for Luna- though the idea held some interesting appeal- not for glory or money. He would win the tournament for his parents and their belief in him.

It was remarkable how quickly eight weeks had gone by. Harry could still remember with almost perfect clarity the Weighing of the Wands back in August. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. His days had been filled with practice, training- both physical and magical. He started up his old boxing workouts, because he didn't know what he'd be facing, other than he had to be ready.

And since he had been entered against his will, which had disturbing implications, he had to be especially ready.

Which was why he'd asked Hermione to divert some of her incredible intellect towards designing some exercises he could use to perfect his control. She had happily complied, and now he felt more confident in his abilities even as they exacted a greater toll on his body.

Where there were runes, no hair would grow. He discovered this one September morning in the shower, when as he was brushing his teeth he noticed that his hairline was not where it normally was, the skin of his forehead was paler than it had been before. But it wasn't until two weeks later that it really sunk in. He, at fourteen years old, was going bald.

Joy of joys.

The morning of the first task was crisp and clear, with a slight breeze ruffling what was left of Harry's hair. He, as a champion, had been excused from the day's classes to prepare. Instead he'd gone to his favorite place in the castle and hid, an act which gave him a stroke of good luck all on its own.

From that high up he could see the stadium they'd built, near the small lake that used to be the Quidditch pitch. He couldn't see exactly, but it looked like an arena. Rocks of various sizes were scattered around a sandy ground, and a mound rose from the far side of the oval area, the top of which had been excavated to create a sort of bowl.

On the far side of the bowl outside of the arena he saw cages. Cages that, even from this distance, looked massive. His stomach sank as he put two and two together. Courage in the face of the unknown? More like, 'fight a giant, magical monster and try not to die'. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and nipped his ear, as if to say, "You can do this."

"Thanks, Hedwig." he rubbed her head the way she liked. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Indeed," a new, familiar voice said, causing Harry to whirl around and Hedwig to fly off, scolding him all the way back to her perch. Dumbledore was standing with arms folded, eyes twinkling. "there is nothing like the belief of friends and family to buoy us, is there Harry?"

Harry just shrugged noncommittally, still unsure if he had forgiven the old wizard or not. "Was there something you wanted, Professor?"

"Yes," Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle. "it's time to begin."

The Champion's tent stood a few dozen meters to the side of the arena. It was a wide, low canvas affair that was- true to wizard fashion- much larger inside than out. Once entered, there were benches and chairs and even a small brazier in the center, giving a warm, glowing feel to the place. A cast iron tub with clawed feet stood in a corner, filled with ice and presumably drinks.

Harry had made a beeline for the drinks cooler, knowing how thirsty he'd be soon and wishing he had a drink. Then he retreated to a corner chair and sat, sipping his water and spinning a small, amber ball in a circle above his palm. Part meditation, part fine control exercise, he used it to keep a lid on his rising anxiety.

"How do you do that?"

He looked up to see the Hogwarts champion watching him with open interest. He closed his hand, banishing the ball, and raised his brows. "Have we met?"

The older boy started, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Right, sorry. What with all that's been going on I forgot we actually haven't been introduced." he held out a hand, which Harry took. "I'm Cedric."

"Nice to meet you." Harry said, shaking and releasing Cedric's hand. "Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Another laugh. "True, true." A silence fell for a moment before, "I'm sorry if it's a bother to you, but I really am curious."

Harry sighed and opened his palm. The ball reappeared and floated idly in open air. "Believe me," he said, somewhat bitterly. "So am I."

Cedric frowned. "You mean you don't know? Why not?"

To which Harry shrugged and said, "Because as far as anyone knows, I'm the first one."

"Wow." the older boy's eyes widened. "I had no idea. Sorry."

"It's okay. Nothing to be sorry for. I made my peace with the idea a while back. Now it's just...like walking or breathing."

Cedric digested this, giving Harry a moment of time to remember that he was supposed to be competing against this guy, as likeable as he was, he was still an opponent. "That's a little hard to imagine." the older boy confessed.

Harry blinked. "Why?"

"I don't have your gift. So to me, it looks like this mysterious, wonderful thing, something...almost superhuman."

"Well, it's not." he assured Cedric. "It has its limits. And it is wonderful and magical and all that, but I grew up with it. I've never not had it, if that makes sense."

"It's part of you."

Harry was about to reply that in a way, it was him when he heard voices approaching the tent, Harry could hear Dumbledore, Ludo, and-oh, no- Hagrid coming their way. He twisted his head to better hear them and Cedric followed the motion. He turned back to the older boy and said, "I think we're about to start."

"Good luck." Cedric said, either by design or accident forgetting his almost-question. Then the tent flap was thrown back, the speakers entered, and the first task of the Triwizard Tournament officially, finally began.

"Welcome, Champions," Ludo boomed, grinning widely. "to the first task! Today is a test of your bravery in the face of unknown danger, of your quick wit and ability to think on your feet. Today we test your courage, your heart, your very being. Now," he reached into his robes and removed a squirming red velvet bag. "in this bag is a model of what you'll be facing. You will go in order from one to four, and your task is to collect a stone tablet in the arena. Miss Delacour? Ladies first." he offered the bag.

The Beauxbatons champion-Miss Delacour- strode over to the bag and put a shaking hand into it. Her face cycled through several emotions; worry, surprise, concern, before wincing and drawing her hand back out. Curled in her palm, gnawing on her fingers with tiny, metal fangs was a small golden wolf. Etched into the wolf's back was a number 1.

"Ah!" Ludo exclaimed, because he seemed incapable of just saying something. "Miss Delacour has chosen a Fenrir wolf. Mister Krum, you're up!"

Mister Krum drew an angry golden figurine that had the body of a lion, the tail of a snake, and the head of a goat. The chimaera had a number 3 tied to the goat's neck. Cedric picked a two headed dog with two tails; an Orthrian hound. This had the number 2 dangling from a little collar. Then it was Harry's turn. He put his hand in the bag, felt cool, metallic scales curl around his wrist, and drew his hand out of the bag.

Curled around his hand, head flicking its metal tongue out, was a small, golden snake. It had the number 4 etched into its scales. Harry didn't need Ludo's excited shout to know what animal he'd chosen. He looked down at the miniature basilisk in his hand and wondered once again if Fate hated him.

Sooner, much sooner than Harry expected, it was time for Miss Delacour to face her monster. Her beautiful face was pale, but determined and she walked confidently out of the Champion's tent to the roar of the spectators.

Ludo really wasn't helping anything. The excitable man was giving a vividly detailed account of everything each champion did. He'd shout things like, "Oh Lord! I don't know how he'll get out of this! Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen!" or "Devious! Cunning! I like it!". It was getting to the point where he couldn't decide what was worse; watching the described actions or listening to them.

Every now and again he'd hear a bestial roar and that tended to make up his mind. He would stay right here, thank you, and not be eaten by a giant snake. After fifteen or twenty minutes of shouts, cries, roars, and spellfire, the crowd would roar as the Champion inevitably finished their task. Points were tallied, scores announced, and soon Ludo was calling for "Mister Harry Potter to enter the arena."

So, throat suddenly desert dry, Harry did.

The arena was enormous, bigger even than Slytherin's Chamber. The rough mix of sand earth crunched under his feet as he blinked his way into the bright day. The roar of the crowd filled his ears as his gaze was drawn past the gullies carved into the ground, past the boulders dotting the landscape, up to the mound at the far end of the arena. Curled around its entirety, from top to bottom, was the brilliant, emerald green basilisk.

It was watching him. And it looked hungry.

Somewhere in the back of his mind not shrieking like a six year old girl at a slumber party he heard Ludo whispering excitedly to the crowd, "...surprise entry, Harry Potter is the youngest champion ever to make a bid for the cup. Whether or not his skill matches his confidence will remain to be seen."

Hey, they're getting the story wrong!

Now is so not the time. Fight big snake now, call lawyer later.

Then Ludo addressed him directly. "When you're ready, Mr. Potter, you may begin."

He rolled his eyes. Well, now that he had permission...

Harry took a step forward, and that was all the basilisk needed. With a thunderous hiss it shot forward, carving a path through the boulders and looking like a bloodthirsty, out of control train. He stood transfixed at its approach, seeing only teeth, it's got teeth the size of me!

It was meters from him, the air of its approach whipping dust into his eyes, that his instincts kicked in. He directed power to his legs and pushed, feet digging divots out of the ground as he threw himself out of the basilisk's path. He flew a dozen feet, wove a shield in front of himself, cracked a boulder and landed in a crouch.

The crowd roared, a section of it screaming, "Ole!" as if the whole thing were some kind of joke. Ludo was jabbering excitedly and the whole of them sort of turned into a buzz in his ears, unimportant, annoying at worst. The basilisk impacted against the arena with an almighty crash that shook the stands and whirled around, eyes glinting with reptilian anger.

Harry met its gaze. His power, his unique gift sang in his veins and he buried himself in the music. His eyes began to emit wisps of light and his runes glowed. He curled his palms, facing down, and as the king of serpents began to rush him again he threw his hands forward with a wordless shout.

Force- pure, unassuming force raced across the closing distance, raising a trail of sand and wind in its wake. The basilisk wailed at the impact, but kept coming. Harry wasn't finished. He wound his open hands around each other and spun, reaching out with his will and catching the debris still settling in the air.

The storm would not be contained. He didn't even try. Harry wove a dust devil from earth, sand, and latent wind and threw it at the deadliest snake in creation. Then he scanned the landscape with glittering eyes, searching for a hint of his goal. He caught a glimpse of something, a piece of not-earth that sang the way his power did.

He charged his legs with power and jumped again, leaving a furiously hissing basilisk in his wake.

Harry's shoes dug lines in the sand as he slid to a halt near the mound of earth on the far side of the arena. He turned, expecting to see a basilisk caught and confused in the spinning eye of a tornado. The bottom fell out of his stomach when he saw instead a careening set of fangs headed in his direction.

So he did the sensible thing. He turned and ran. Up to the top of the mound where he could face the thing on even ground. The snake circled the mound, keeping a yellow eye the size of a small dog on him, hissing with a primal malevolence. He turned on his heel to match its gaze. Then it stopped and rose, swaying side to side, to the top of the mound.

Harry drew power again, heart in his throat, mind racing to think of how to deal with when it tried to bite him. He was completely unprepared when its jaws snapped closed and it slammed its blunt snout into the earth at his feet instead.

He flew again, spinning in the air and surrounded by a cloud of dust and broken earth. He shielded himself just before he hit the ground and bounced to a halt at the base of a large stone. His ankle twinged when he stood, and he wouldn't have been surprised to know it was sprained. He would have looked, but his vision was occupied by the basilisk sliding gracefully over the mound towards him. Its eyes were cold, calculating pits.

Harry rested a hand on the boulder behind him, feeling its cool grit under his palm. An idea came to him. It was a bad idea. Hell, it was a horrible idea, but it might work. The basilisk circled again, toying with him, taunting him. He funneled his fear, his anger, and his worry and reached out with his mind to the rocks around him, building an image of what he wanted in his mind.

The crowd was silent, Ludo was silent. Harry breathed hard and under that breath whispered, "Wake."

Nothing. His heart fell. He took his hand off the boulder and prepared to run just as the basilisk lifted its head and opened its mouth to strike when he heard something. A sound like colliding stones. He waited, holding his breath, barely daring to hope that it had worked.

Slowly, but with increasing speed, the boulders of the arena rolled towards each other, stacking on each other, building up and up and out. Thick boulders formed stout legs, hips and chest before going back down into arms. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the boulder golem reached down and picked up its head as it rolled into its feet. It turned to the basilisk and crashed its fists together; a challenge.

The basilisk screeched; an answer.

Harry watched with a mile-wide grin as his golem and the basilisk charged each other. When they met, their impact shook the ground for hundreds of yards.

Like all things, there was a downside. The strain of holding his golem together was tremendous. He could barely stay upright as he staggered towards where he last knew the tablet to be. Behind him his creation gave its battle cry; a sound like an erupting volcano, wrapped its arms around the snake and slammed it to the ground. Harry fell over and rose to his knees. His vision blurred and his breath came in gasps.

He couldn't hold it for much longer. Through his connection to the golem he could feel the basilisk wind around its body and begin to squeeze. He felt the stones breaking under the snake's immense muscle strength and knew he was running out of time.

Just a bit longer. You can do this, you will do this. Hold. The. Spell.

So he did. He crawled on his hands and knees, but he did. Ahead of him, half buried in the sand, glinted a stone tablet covered in carvings. His golem hammered a fist into the snake's head, freeing it enough to shove the snake away and rise to its feet, fists raised in a boxer's stance.

The basilisk rushed it and received a jab-cross combo to the jaw, followed by an elbow to the base of the skull. Harry reached the tablet and dug it free, wrapping his arms around it and staggering to his feet. He looked through squinting eyes at the people shouting his name. On the opposite side of the arena to his golem and the basilisk Madam Pomfrey, Moody, and someone else was waving to him.

Harry nodded to himself. The golem lost an arm and used it as a club to batter the basilisk senseless. Boulders rained to the ground as the spell holding them together began to fray. His run was more of a continual forward fall, but it covered ground, and just as he reached the exit his construct fell apart with a final, defiant bellow, leaving a battered and unconscious basilisk beneath it.

As for Harry, he fell into Madam Pomfrey's arms, allowing her to steady him but refusing to be carried. He limped under his own power to the arena's exit before turning back to the stunned crowd. His body ached. His ankle was killing him. He could barely see and his breath came in great, whooping gasps. And he had never felt more alive. He'd won. He'd faced a basilisk head on and beat the son of a bitch into oblivion. A fierce grin split his features as he hefted the tablet overhead for a brief moment before turning to leave.

He was halfway to the medical tent when he heard it. It started in the same his construct did; slowly, building on itself, reaching a crescendo of stomping feet, clapping hands and howling voices. The applause of the crowd washed over him like warm water. He limped into the tent and finally allowed Madam Pomfrey to descend on him. She poked and prodded and clucked her teeth like the worried mother hen she was, but Harry didn't care.

He'd won.

Apparently he had to go receive his score. So, after Madam Pomfrey reluctantly freed him to do so- having extracted a promise to use the crutch this time, Mr. Potter- he hobbled back out into the arena to get his scores. The crowd, having quieted down somewhat in his departure, picked up their applause again as he re-entered the thankfully snake free arena. The pile of boulders that used to be a golem, however remained.

Tablet under one arm, leaning heavily on the crutch, he waited. Soon, the spectators settled down and Ludo stood, wand once again held like a microphone in front of his face. "Never in all my years have I seen magic like that!" he exclaimed. "It's safe to say that our Mr. Potter here has more than enough skill. Now, the judges, having been informed of Mr. Potter's unique abilities, are now prepared to deliver their scores. Judges?"

At the judge's table sat Minister Scrimgeour and Professors Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff, the last of whom looking like he'd been force-fed a lemon. Maxime was gaping at him, Scrimgeour had a particular glint in his eye, and Dumbledore was smiling proudly at him.

Karkaroff went first. He glared at Harry and very deliberately raised his wand. A scarlet ribbon shot from its tip into the air, twisting itself into a five. He smirked, clearly trying to get a rise from Harry. It would have worked, but exhaustion was settling around him like a warm blanket and he really didn't care about his scores, could he just go to bed now?

Maxime recovered her composure, thought hard for a moment, and raised her wand. Harry saw the barest hints of a smile as her ribbon shaped itself into a nine. He nodded to her, trying to convey his respect. She nodded graciously back. Message received.

Scrimgeour gave Harry a nine as well. Then it was Dumbledore's turn. He would be lying if he said that the old wizard's opinion meant nothing to him. Yet, at the same time, it wasn't Dumbledore that he was trying to make proud. Regardless of motivation, Harry found his hands shaking as his headmaster raised his wand into the air.

The ribbon shot out.

The crowd howled.

A ten.

"A ten?"

"Yep."

"A. Ten."

"Yes."

"Dumbledore gave you a ten?"

Harry glared tiredly at Neville. "What part of this is so hard for you to understand?"

"I just wasn't expecting it, is all." Neville confessed.

"Oh. Wait, why?"

"Because...he's Dumbledore!" Neville said, as if that explained everything. "I just thought he'd be harder to impress."

"Neville. I made a thirty foot golem out of boulders and went toe to toe with a basilisk. That's impressive."

"Just ask him," Neville grumbled. "he'll tell you all about how awesome he is."

"Hang on, why weren't you there, anyways?" Harry asked as it occurred to him.

Neville turned an interesting shade of red and refused to answer.

Oddly enough, when he asked Hermione at dinner later, she did the same thing.

Out of everyone's reaction to Harry's performance, his favorite was Luna's. They had been up in the owlrey, sitting as they usually did, when out of nowhere she proclaimed, "Next time, you should put a face on it."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The rock man," she explained, lacing her fingers with his. "I think it would have looked better if it had a face."

"Luna, it did have a face. That's how it made noise." he yelped when she pinched the back of his hand.

"That's not a proper face. It had no personality at all." she said. Harry digested this for a long moment. An owl took flight. After a moment he gave up and shrugged.

"Next time, I'll give it a face."

"Good. Now that we've settled that..." she lifted her face towards his. He grinned and bowed his own to meet her.

There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Three days after the task the champions were called together and told to bring their tablets with them. In the same classroom that the Weighing of the Wands took place Ludo sat them all down and explained what would happen next.

"Now that you've all got your clues to the second task, here's what it's about. In the first we tested your courage. In the second, we test your intelligence. What you have on your tablet is a riddle. This riddle will tell you everything you need to know about the second task. It's a few months away, and you've got plenty of time to solve it, but I wouldn't procrastinate if I were you."

Harry rolled his eyes at this. The chances of that happening with this group were nonexistent. He wagered all four riddles would be translated and solved by December. Maybe sooner. He made a note as they were leaving to get Hermione in on this. Translating and solving a riddle written in an unknown language? She'd never forgive him if he left her out.

END CHAPTER TWELVE

Note: Nothing to see here, move along. If anyone has questions about what's going on, PM me. I'll do my best to help, unless you want to know the plot. Then I call up the assassins. Cheers!