A/N: So, the last fanfic that I read (in a massive archive binge) was Delenda Est by Lord Silvere. I liked it quite a bit, and I went through 400,000 words in a matter of a few days. I wouldn't rate it a 10/10, because I wasn't sure about some characterization, but it's easily an 8/10. If you like fics that take characters who were flat villains in canon and turn them into round protagonists, you'll probably enjoy it. (Since you're reading this story, that's a pretty safe bet to make.) Also featuring time travel.

Draco dragged Harry back to their dormitory. The only people in the dormitory were Crabbe and Goyle, playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"You two," Draco said. "Get out of here. Harry and I have to talk."

"But I'm about to win," Goyle whined.

"No you aren't," said Crabbe. He laid a card, and Goyle's cards exploded in a cloud of purple smoke.

"You heard Draco," Harry said. His patience had long since worn thin. "Buzz off. Now."

The two large boys collected their cards and left. Draco locked the door behind them.

"Alright. What is it?" Harry asked.

"You actually are the Heir of Slytherin. You can control basilisks. You have access to the Chamber of Secrets. And you've defeated the Dark Lord twice since we've been in school. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ANY OF THIS?"

"Dumbledore asked me to keep it a secret," Harry said. Hadn't he just had this conversation with Hermione?

"Dumbledore's daft, you can't listen to him!" Draco yelled. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this before. Just think of the possibilities! We could have been living like kings for the last three years!"

"We haven't, already?"

"Not like we could have been. We still would have been the most important people in Slytherin, even after you got grounded last year."

Harry frowned. Thinking about his grounding was not a pleasant memory. "Draco, this isn't something I want to advertise."

"You never use your fame the way you should, so it's a good thing you finally told me about this. With this sort of news, everybody will be clamoring to be seen sitting near you, let alone actually talking to you! Not even Daphne Greengrass will be able to make her sarcastic little comments about this. This is…"

"DRACO!"

"What?"

"We aren't telling anybody. Secret, remember?"

Draco gave Harry perplexed look, then waved his hand dismissively. "This is different. This isn't tactics or anything. It's just awesome!"

"It's nothing special, Draco. It's just a title. There are no secret benefits. I just did what I had to do in order to survive a basilisk attack."

"There are benefits, Harry. You've just been too thick to look for them!" Draco extended an open hand toward Harry, palm up. "Give me a week. I'll keep it quiet that you're the Heir. I'll only tell people that I know will be discrete. Seven days from now, you'll be treated like a different person, and you'll love it."

"Draco…"

"If you don't like it, I'll stop." Draco grinned. "But I know you'll like it."

"No way." Harry ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "This stays secret."

Draco threw his arms in the air. "You're completely hopeless. Do you know what I'd be doing if I was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Yeah, I can guess."

"Don't make it sound like a bad thing." Draco sat on the edge of his bed. "I'd be putting my title to good use. You're wasting one of the all-time most important titles ever to exist in the history of magic!"

"I did put the title to good use," Harry replied. "I saved my life, and Ginny's, and defeated Voldemort. Is there a better use?"

"Well, no. But there are MORE uses, and you're ignoring them."

"We keep it a secret, and that's final."

"Augh, fine," Draco said, dramatically flopping backwards onto his bed. "At least let me tell my father. He'll be fascinated to know about this, and he'll find some way to make this work for the two of us, even if we have to keep it a secret."

Harry felt very uneasy about the idea of Lucius Malfoy knowing that Harry had claimed the title of Heir of Slytherin. Something that Dumbledore had said at the end of last year—it wasn't wrong to give Mr. Malfoy a second chance at leading a normal life, but no good could come of presenting him with temptation.

"I'd rather not tell your dad, either," Harry said. "The only way to 'make this work for the two of us' is to tell people about it, and I just don't want people to know."

Draco stared at Harry, incredulous. "You're killing me. It's like you're actually stabbing my social standing with a knife."

"There'll be enough glory for both of us in the tournament," Harry said.

"Fine, whatever." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to keep this a secret. You realize that I wouldn't do this for anybody else in the world, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"Anyone else in Slytherin, and I'd just go out and tell people and damn the consequences." Draco shook his head again. "Really, it's a good thing you're my friend. If you weren't, I'd hate you for wasting something like this. I mean that literally: I would loathe you."

"I'm glad you're on my side, then," Harry said, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Between his two lengthy discussions with Hermione and Draco, it had gotten past midnight. "I need to get to sleep," Harry said. "I was up early to talk to Snape, and I'm exhausted."

"Who can sleep after this?" Draco asked. He was still fairly bouncing with energy.

"Me," Harry said. He had lived with this for the last year and a half. The novelty had long since worn off.

"Fine, sleep," Draco teased. "Tomorrow, you're taking me down to the Chamber."

"Absolutely not," Harry said.

"Come ON! If you won't let me tell everyone you're the Heir, you at least owe me that much!"

"The Chamber is a horrible place, and the last time I needed Dumbledore's phoenix to fly me out. Do you want to explain to Dumbledore why the two of us were poking around in the Chamber of Secrets? Or, even worse, do you want to explain it to Barty Crouch?"

"You never let me do anything fun," Draco said.

Harry opened his trunk and pulled out his pajamas. "Sleep is fun," Harry said. "Try sleep."

Draco laughed and went to unlock the door to the dormitory. Crabbe, Goyle, Theo and Blaise entered immediately, all looking very unhappy. While Draco and Harry had talked, the entire common room had cleared out, leaving the fourth year boys alone and bored. Neither Harry nor Draco apologized—apology was a sign of weakness, and everybody would forget this by tomorrow morning.

That night, Harry slept poorly. He had the most awful nightmare about a snake creeping through an abandoned house, and all the while the distorted and discordant sound of a half-wound music box plinked away in the background. The sound was familiar, as if from some half-forgotten lullaby.

When Harry awoke, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he did not feel rested in the least.

*!*!*

The next evening, Harry made sure to arrive at the library ten minutes early. He wanted to have some books selected before anybody else arrived. If he was going to ask for his friends' help, he needed to show that he was willing to help himself.

As Harry walked toward the back of the library, he saw that Hermione was already seated at their usual table, surrounded by several open books. She had half a foot of parchment covered in neatly scripted notes, with dramatic bullet points on the left margin.

Harry sat down across from her. "So… friends?"

Hermione looked up and smiled, just a little. "Friends."

"What made up your mind?" Harry asked.

"Two things. First, I can't turn you loose on the tournament with a book of curses and only the advice of two other Slytherins. Last night I kept imagining you using some sort of entrails-spewing curse or something equally awful on Fleur Delacoeur, just so you could gain an advantage in the standings."

Harry grinned. She was teasing. Well, mostly teasing. "What's the other?

"When you told Tracey that you were the Heir, it wasn't selfish. You were just trying to help somebody who needed a friend. You really are good at heart, Harry." Hermione looked into Harry's eyes. "But you won't get many more chances from me. At some point, your actions have to match your heart."

"Message received," Harry said.

Before Harry could say more, Tracey dropped into the seat next to Harry. She had all the energy of a small, blonde tornado. "What are you two working on? Was I supposed to be here already? I'm sorry. Did you find anything good?"

Harry put an arm on Tracey's shoulder. "Calm down. When Draco gets here, we'll all get started."

Tracey hopped out of the chair. "I can't wait. I'm going to go get some more books!" She was off into the stacks like a shot.

"She's a good friend," Harry said, looking after her.

"Friend?" Hermione asked.

"Yes?" Harry wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Mmm." Hermione made a noncommittal noise and returned to the book she was reading.

"What?" Harry asked. Hermione refused to answer.

*!*!*

Being a Tri-Wizard Champion turned out to be challenging in ways that Harry hadn't anticipated. It became difficult to study in the library; students would flock to the tables that surrounded Harry's, constantly whispering and glancing at the youngest champion. The other students' whispers would quickly turn to murmurs, and would build relentlessly in volume until there was outright talking in the library.

At the end of the first week of studying, Madam Pince approached Harry.

"Mr. Potter," she said, "I am afraid that I must ask you to leave the library."

Harry looked up from his book, surprised. "Why?"

"You are driving the other students to distraction," Madam Pince said. "It has become clear that no studying will be accomplished if you are present."

"I'm distracting them?" Harry asked, incredulous. "All I've done is read quietly all week! They're the ones who are talking!"

"Talking about you," said Madam Pince. "You couldn't be more of a distraction if you were setting off fireworks. Please pack your things. You may return during your evening free time."

"But that's only a half-hour before curfew. I'll never get any work done!"

"The decision has been made, Mr. Potter. Please pack your things."

Harry was devastated—without the ability to research the tournament, he was certainly doomed. He scowled at the students around him as he crammed his parchment and quill into his bag.

"Don't worry, Harry," Tracey said. "We'll keep reading. We're bound to find something."

"Twenty-five percent less likely," Harry muttered.

"Don't worry, mate," Draco said. "Why don't we take this time to practice spells? We'll make sure that your entrails-spewing curse is up to snuff." Harry had told Draco about Hermione's comment, and Draco had been rather offended—does Granger want you to lose the tournament, Harry?

Hermione made a face at Draco, and Draco sneered right back.

"Not today," Harry said. As important as spell practice would be, Harry felt that it would be useless without some idea of what the first task would entail. "I'm going to go take a nap. We'll practice spells tomorrow."

The social aspect of being a champion was surprisingly frustrating, as well. Harry had somewhat assumed that he would be lauded in Slytherin and tolerated by everybody else. Instead, the rest of the school seemed to rally around Cedric Diggory. Harry found himself receiving familiar glares and stares in the hallway. It was like second year all over again. The other students hadn't become aggressive, but if something bad happened to Cedric during one of the tasks, Harry didn't have high hopes.

Harry understood why the whole school liked Cedric. It was hard for Harry not to like Cedric, himself. Diggory was tall, good looking, and impossibly nice. He seemed to know everybody. Not just their names, but what they were interested in and who their friends were. Diggory was constantly smiling and laughing, and he always seemed to be surrounded by a large group of people. All the social things that were so challenging to Harry came naturally to Cedric.

In short, Harry disliked Cedric because Cedric was too likeable. And the rest of the school disliked Harry because Harry wasn't Cedric.

In the middle of November, as Harry was on his way to morning Herbology with Tracey, Harry noticed a change in the hallways. Gone were the sneers and jeers that he had been regularly receiving. Instead, people were pointing to the large badges on their cloaks. The badges read, "SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY – THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION." When they were pressed with a finger, the badge changed to read, "POTTER STINKS." They were most frequently worn by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but Harry saw a surprising number of them being worn by Ravenclaws. Ravenclaw had always been closer to Slytherin that the other houses, and Harry had hoped for a measure of neutrality from them, but apparently the Ravenclaw appreciation for cunning would only stretch so far.

As Harry and Tracey passed the Great Hall, they walked past Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. All three were wearing "Support Cedric Diggory" badges, but Ron's already displayed the "Potter Stinks" message. Before Harry and Tracey could pass by, Finnigan and Thomas stepped in their way. Both of them were sporting enormous grins.

"Potter, take a look at this!" said Thomas, pointing at Finnigan's badge.

"I didn't know that you fancied Cedric Diggory so much," Harry said. "You know that he's seeing Cho Chang, right?"

Thomas pressed Finnigan's badge, and then his own. The badges switched from "Support Cedric Diggory" to "Potter Stinks."

"Isn't that a riot?" Thomas asked. "And it's so true!"

"Wow," Tracey said flatly. "We certainly haven't seen that a dozen times already this morning."

"You see what it does?" Finnigan asked, knowing full well that Harry had seen. "When you press the badge, it says 'Support Cedric Diggory,' because he's the real Hogwarts champion. And when you press the badge again, it says 'Potter Stinks,' because… well… you stink!"

"How droll," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you write to your mother and tell her how funny you are? Then again, she might not be able to read it; she's probably too far into the bottle at this time of morning." Harry knew that taking a shot at Finnigan's Irish ancestry was a low blow, but Finnigan and Thomas had started this whole altercation.

Finnigan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "Don't talk about my mum that way," he snapped.

"So, because I called your mom a drunk, you're going to fight me? That's not the way to dispel hurtful stereotypes about the Irish, Finnigan."

Finnigan began to turn red in the face. "Say something else, Potter, and I'll make you regret it."

Harry heard a rustle of cloth behind him as Tracey reached into her robes and grabbed her wand. Harry hadn't planned on dueling in the hallways before class, and Harry and Tracey were outnumbered, but sometimes you had to stand up for yourself.

Ron stepped forward and draped his arms across Finnigan and Thomas's shoulders. "Harry, come on. I think what these gentlemen are saying is that you actually, physically smell. They're not judging you. They're just saying that things get rather musty down in the dungeons. Perhaps you could use a bath more frequently, right, mate?"

Tracey stepped forward, ready to hex the Gryffindors, but Harry put a hand on her arm. The weight of Ron's arms on Thomas and Finnigan's shoulders was restricting their arm movement and preventing the Gryffindors from attacking Harry. And while Ron's words seemed mean, Harry knew from Ron's voice that Ron was just taking the mickey. In fact, that was probably the reason that Ron's badge was set to "POTTER STINKS." Ron didn't support Cedric Diggory, and the badge was just a way of teasing Harry.

"Is that all it is?" asked Harry, playing along with Ron. Harry raised his arm and sniffed under his sleeve. "Perhaps I have been letting Crabbe and Goyle hang around me too frequently…"

"That's the spirit," Ron said. "So why don't you do us all a favor and jump in the lake?"

Harry stifled a grin. Ron was actually being fairly clever. He had managed to defuse the near-fight, and his banter was nasty enough that Finnigan and Thomas wouldn't notice that Ron and Harry were actually enjoying themselves.

Tracey finally relaxed and released her wand. She pulled her hand from her pocket and took hold of Harry's elbow. "Let's go," she said. "If there's anything that stinks around here, it's Thomas's breath."

"Hey!" Thomas struggled to pull away from Ron, but Ron held on tight.

"You do need to brush your teeth more often, mate," Ron said. "One man to another."

Harry waited until they were out of earshot to pull away from Tracey. Harry felt Tracey hesitate before releasing his arm. He wasn't sure why—it wasn't like Harry was going to go back and pick a fight.

"Where did they get those badges?!" Harry asked.

"I don't think there's any way to figure it out, short of asking," Tracey said. "Anybody could have made them."

"That's really impressive charms work, though," Harry said. "I doubt that a bunch of fourth-year Gryffindors put that together."

"So they got them from someone else," Tracey said.

"But who? And how are they distributed so widely?"

"What does it matter, Harry?"

"A lot of time and money went into making those badges," Harry said. "Somebody doesn't like me much, and I want to know who it is!"

A/N: Ah, Ron. Knows how to deal with blokes. It's girls that present a problem.

In other news, bonus chapter goes up on Tuesday, to celebrate the one year anniversary of the series! Don't miss out!