Disclaimer: Standard stuff (I don't own anything, I won't be making profit, any resemblance to previously published content is purely coincidental, JK Rowling is the coolest, etc.). If I make any legal errors regarding copyrighted material, inform me and I will correct them immediately.

Pre-A/N: Read through the Author's Note for this chapter for my discussion on pairings.

Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar

"Crucio!"

Wormtail screamed in pain, tearing his skin and flesh on nails protruding from the rickety old hardwood floor and neither noticing nor caring—compared to the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse, such injuries of the flesh were negligible. It's like déjà vu all over again, he thought dimly as the curse ceased. It was a muggle phrase that Lily had often said when the Marauders pulled a prank or did something equally ridiculous that reminded her just who she was dealing with. Apparently some sort of bear had said it, or something—Lily had tried to explain it a dozen times, but the pureblooded Marauders had never quite understood.

Wormtail had once again been forced to deliver bad news to his master. On a routine mission to kidnap a few more virgins for the Dark Lord's potion (to Wormtail's delight, one of the muggle teens had not turned out to be a virgin, so he had been free to use her as he wished; she hadn't even begged at first, perhaps hoping that he might be gentle—of course, her hope was in vain, and she had died screaming in pain and misery), he had had the misfortune to pick up a Daily Prophet from the previous day. Apparently, Harry Potter had made quite an impression during the second task.

Wormtail had hoped that his master would be pleased—after all, he reasoned, if Potter were truly capable of such powerful magic, surely the Dark Lord could only gain from using the boy in his plan. Unfortunately, Wormtail had forgotten that the Dark Lord's moods were unpredictable, and Wormtail's delivery of the news had been a bit too descriptive of—and perhaps a little too impressed with—Potter's skills. The Dark Lord had taken it as praise for his greatest foe, and now Wormtail was choking on his own bile and wallowing in his own filth, all while shaking from head to toe from the residual pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Get out of my sight!" the Dark Lord roared—somehow, that high, cold, flat voice managed a terrifying roar, though one might think it much better suited for softer, quieter threats of dire harm. Wormtail instantly obeyed, dragging himself (as his legs could not yet support his weight) out of the room. Maybe he'd work on his Imperius Curse and go find a virgin of his own, he mused—anything to take his mind off his pain. If someone else suffered for it...well, that wasn't really his problem, was it?

Harry was surprised, on Friday morning (two days after the second task), to see Albus Dumbledore—looking very much not like a prisoner of Azkaban—sitting at breakfast. The headmaster had not been seen by staff or students since he and the other judges had disappeared into the DMLE's custody; it seemed that he had somehow managed to keep himself out of prison. Even more incredibly, he still held onto his office as headmaster of Hogwarts.

The flurry of owls bearing issues of the Daily Prophet, though, cleared up at least that last issue. Though the first page was entirely dedicated to Harry's victory in the second task (hilariously, Rita Skeeter had used Harry's sarcastic jibe at Percy Weasley as the title of her article: Tournament Judges Kidnap Children; Ministry Official Accuses Harry Potter of Dark Magic for Rescuing Them!), the second page described Albus Dumbledore's crimes in detail.

Harry was interested to see that, aside from clearly throwing Percy Weasley under the bus (he was exceedingly unlikely to remain employed at the Ministry), Rita had shown a great deal of mercy to the Ministry in general. Some back-room accord must have been reached, in which poor Weatherby had been sacrificed in the name of public relations, and Rita focused her article on Dumbledore. Karkaroff and Maxime, after all, had some measure of diplomatic immunity, so it would do little good to have the public up in arms against them, and Bagman was a British Ministry of Magic department head, and thus was presumably shielded by the deal that had been struck with the Daily Prophet.

Reading between the lines, it was clear to anyone with half a brain that a second deal had been struck, this time between Albus Dumbledore and the Minister himself. Knowing how the Minister operated, Harry assumed that a massive amount of gold must have changed hands, and Dumbledore had probably been forced to make other concessions as well. In addition, Dumbledore had been forced to pay "an undisclosed sum" to the Grangers, the Davises, the Delacours, and the Changs—despite the fact that Hermione and Cho had agreed to be hostages, they were not of-age, and their parents had never been consulted. Even more notably (and worse for Dumbledore), the Hogwarts Board of Governors would convene over the weekend and hold their own trial for Albus Dumbledore, not for his life or freedom, but for his position as the headmaster of Hogwarts. Rita predicted that by the beginning of the next week, Hogwarts would be under new management. Harry could only hope.

"Harry Potter."

Harry looked up, startled by the gruff, accented voice that had said his name. Viktor Krum, who had spoken, was flanked by Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory, and the three champions were standing next to the opposite bench of the booth.

"May we seet at zis booth?" Fleur asked.

"Feel free," Harry responded.

Cedric and Viktor sat down across from Harry, and Fleur slid into the space next to him, snuggling up somewhat closer than was strictly necessary. Harry raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Cedric opened his mouth to begin speaking, but Viktor held up a hand, silencing the Hufflepuff, and took out his wand. A few privacy spells later, the four champions knew that anything said at the booth would not be heard—and would barely be seen—by any of the hundreds of suddenly extremely interested onlookers and would-be eavesdroppers. Viktor nodded at Cedric to continue.

"So Harry," the "Real Hogwarts Champion" began, "it's becoming very clear to the three of us that this tournament...it's not exactly as glorious as we had originally been led to believe."

"Oui," Fleur continued throatily. "Zis competition 'as become a joke—even more 'zan it was when eet began. Zee question izz not what will ze champions do, but what crime will ze judges commit!"

"Ve vanted to thank you," Krum rumbled, "for maykink it clear to us vat is important. You saved all four hostages—"

"You rescued ma soeur," Fleur breathed. She had begun to press her chest against Harry's side, and he was extremely glad that he was seated, as her "thanks" would be making him very...obvious...if he had been standing. You already have a girlfriend, you already have a girlfriend, he chanted to himself internally, desperately trying to ignore the way her soft curves seemed to mold perfectly to his body. He was especially glad for the privacy charms that Viktor had cast; if Daphne had been able to see what was happening, she'd blast Fleur's head off, and his likely wouldn't be far behind. As it was, her veela allure was leaking beyond the borders of the privacy charm, turning several boys in the vicinity into drooling idiots (terribly unfair, considering that they were unable to at least earn it by gawking at her).

Cedric cleared his throat, and continued. "The bottom line, Harry, is that there's clearly something dark at work here, and we all know it, even if we didn't want to believe it at first. When it comes to us and the judges...well, we're of the opinion that the champions should stand together. If nothing else, we can watch each others' backs. What do you say?"

Harry considered the offer, such as it was. Basically, the other three champions were offering their goodwill and tentative friendship, and asking nothing that he wouldn't give them for free (that is, sticking it to the Tournament judges). Despite the lingering irritation he still felt about how the other champions had reacted during and after the Goblet Incident, it was still an easy decision. He grinned, and stuck out his hand.

Cedric and Viktor put their wand hands on top of his, and Fleur did the same, sighing as her hand—which had been sliding up Harry's trouser-clad inner thigh—left the warmth of Harry's body, as Harry internally sighed in relief (he wasn't certain what would have happened if it had reached its original destination).

"I'm in," Cedric said, grinning.

"And I," Viktor rumbled.

"Moi aussi," Fleur sighed, already feeling tired from pumping out so much of her aura—it was truly amazing to be sitting with three strong, virile young men who were more or less immune to it.

"We're all in this thing together," Harry intoned. "The least we can do is make sure we all make it out."

The headmaster's office was silent. Fawkes made no sound, the whirring, puffing, and blooping instruments had been put away, and the human occupants of the room were engaged in a staring contest.

Albus Dumbledore stared at Harry Potter, and Harry Potter stared right back.

Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick stared at the scene before them; never in their years at Hogwarts had any student sat so fearlessly before Dumbledore's gaze. Harry showed no sign of wavering, and, to the absolute shock of the two professors, Dumbledore broke first.

"It is good of you to come see me, Harry," the ancient wizard said, attempting to adopt his normal jovial tone. "But do you really think it necessary to have an audience? Of course, I mean no offense, Filius, Minerva."

The two professors inclined their heads; no offense was taken, as they had practically jumped at the opportunity to see Harry and the headmaster interact behind closed doors. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"It seemed prudent to have witnesses present," Harry drawled. Flitwick and McGonagall blinked, wondering if somehow Severus Snape was speaking out of the boy's mouth. "After all, you've recently developed a bit of a reputation. Granted, I'm not currently asleep in my bed, but one can never be too careful."

Dumbledore had to stop himself from wincing, but there was a distinct tightening of his jaw. His normally-bright blue eyes dimmed a little bit. Before he could respond, Harry continued.

"I was pretty surprised to be summoned here, actually," he said; his tone was casual, but the sharp glint in his eyes betrayed more than a little anger. "I was certain that you would have been fired. Ah, well, can't have everything, I guess. How exactly did you manage to stay out of Azkaban, by the way?"

"Bribery, of course," Dumbledore said flatly, his eyes dimming even more. McGonagall gasped—she had never really thought things had gone that far—but Flitwick was unsurprised. Fawkes crooned mournfully. "Much of the Dumbledore family fortune now lines Cornelius Fudge's personal vault, and most of the remainder sits with the families of the hostages."

"Still, I imagine it was difficult to make that deal—what did Lucius Malfoy have to say about it?"

Dumbledore's jaw tightened, and anger flared in his eyes briefly. "Lucius was the reason it was so costly. He engaged in a bidding war, of sorts, driving up the cost of the bribe—he knew that I would pay anything and everything to make this go away, so Lucius made sure that doing so took the bulk of my wealth. The Minister, of course, approved wholeheartedly, and happily took home much more money than he had anticipated."

"And how did you keep your job?" Harry asked, his tone still light despite the subject matter. "I can't imagine the Hogwarts Board of Governors would be bribed, with the safety of their children and grandchildren on the line."

Dumbledore's eyes dulled considerably. "Effectively, I did not keep my position. All major decisions are remanded to the Board, and I had to agree to resign at the end of this term. Even more, Professor McGonagall may very well be denied the position next year, simply because she was my chosen successor."

This, at least, was not news to McGonagall; she carefully kept her expression blank, while Flitwick—to whom it clearly was news—had to bite back a cry of outrage.

"So let me summarize this incident," Harry said cheerfully. "Maxime and Karkaroff are pretty much diplomatically immune, and international politics makes up the difference, Percy takes the bullet for making the Ministry look bad for accusing me of dark magic, and Bagman is too high-ranked to be saddled with any guilt, or else Fudge's administration looks bad. That leaves you holding the bag, and it has cost you Hogwarts and all of your gold. How could you have failed to see this coming? I mean, you kidnapped and endangered children. Are you so accustomed to centering your plots on orphans that you forgot that other children actually have people looking out for them?"

McGonagall choked, and Flitwick stiffened. This was unbelievable—sure, Harry Potter was Harry Potter, but Albus Dumbledore was Albus Dumbledore, and nobody talked to Albus Dumbledore like that. It just...wasn't done.

Dumbledore, though, was clearly in no mood to defend himself. He looked...deflated, as though someone had simply sucked all of the life out of him. The headmaster slumped in his chair, and Fawkes gave another low, sad "caw."

"Now that we've got that pleasant bit of business out of the way," Harry continued, his voice finally taking on the dark sarcasm that had been shining in his eyes, "why, precisely, did you summon me to your office this time? It can't just have been to make sure we were all on the same page about you betting everything you had on a meaningless task in meaningless tournament, for no real reason, and losing." Harry had finally gone too far; McGonagall opened her mouth to scold him, but Harry continued unabated, his tone downshifting into an accusation. "You called me up here because you want to try to pull some information out of me, so for once, why don't you make this quick and just ask your questions, and we can all go our separate ways? I'm already missing Herbology."

As Harry stopped speaking, Dumbledore held up a hand in McGonagall's direction, keeping her from flying off the handle at Harry—despite his sudden excellence in all of his classes, the boy had been trying her patience and tolerance all year, and she was finally ready to give him a piece of her mind—and addressed Harry.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said softly, "you are right, in saying that I have made many mistakes this year, and this most recent one was far beyond what I should have expected to commit without consequences. However, I have been doing these things to try to help you. Your estrangement from your peers and the wizarding community, the change in your personality from previous years, the magics you are wielding—do not think that your use of blood ritual magic has gone unnoticed, the signs are obvious...you have told me that you are not becoming a dark wizard, and I believe that you believe that, but these are all signposts lining a dark path. I would not see you take that path! I cannot think of a world where the son of Lily and James Potter becomes a Dark Lord!"

Harry was stunned. On the one hand, it was further evidence that, for all his scheming, vast bias toward inaction, and general bumbling idiocy, Albus Dumbledore was generally a good guy. On the other, it showed Dumbledore's absolutely staggering arrogance—just because he was Albus Dumbledore, self-proclaimed paragon of the Light, he thought he had the right to try to control any and every aspect of Harry's life that he could get his hands on? Harry had to physically shake his head to clear his thoughts, and stood up to leave.

"I've told you, time and again, what I want with my life." Harry's voice was almost a whisper, but in the deathly-silent office, he may as well have been shouting; the headmaster and the two professors could hear the barely-restrained fury anyway. They all noticed the sharp tang of ozone saturating the air; in his anger, Harry was allowing the thunderbird to make its displeasure known. "All I've ever wanted was to be normal, and have a normal life, with people who care about me. And here I thought you had finally gotten the picture! I don't understand why you think you have the right to dictate my life to me, when you're nothing but a schoolmaster, and not a very good one at that. If I had known that this meeting was just going to be more of you trying to justify your crimes to me, then I wouldn't have bothered to come. Have a nice day, professors. I'm going to class."

The heavy oaken door slammed shut behind Harry as he disappeared down the revolving staircase, and the scent of ozone began to dissipate in the wake of his departure.

Flitwick was the first to find words after the long silence.

"Really Albus, I thought you were turning over a new leaf?"

McGonagall followed the diminutive Charms professor out of the office, leaving Albus Dumbledore to his thoughts.

Fawkes crooned softly, and Dumbledore looked at the phoenix.

"Hmm..."

The aging headmaster strode to the bookcase that he used for biographies, and pulled down a slender text about an old American.

"I wonder..."

An unexpected visitor graced Harry's booth that afternoon at lunch.

As was now the norm when someone approached the booth, the Great Hall fell silent (even the small corner of the Gryffindor table where several redheads were celebrating Ron Weasley's birthday by pranking him mercilessly). This visitor, though, was almost unthinkable.

Draco Malfoy asked for permission to sit.

Harry Potter nodded.

The two stared at each other silently for a few moments; under the table, Harry had his elder and thunderbird feather wand pointed directly between Malfoy's legs, ready to end the Malfoy line at the slightest provocation. The two had had almost no interactions this year; after Moody had transfigured Malfoy into a ferret, the only words they had spoken had been about the "POTTER STINKS" badges, and even that hadn't gone very far. Since Harry had blown away the Horntail, Malfoy had kept his distance, too intimidated to risk provoking him again.

Maybe Malfoy was just saving it all up for right now.

The Great Hall collectively held its breath.

"Tracey Davis," Malfoy said casually. "What is the nature of your relationship with Tracey Davis?"

Or maybe not.

The Great Hall released its breath.

"I barely know her," Harry responded simply. Inwardly, he was marveling at Malfoy's cordial tone; it lacked all of his customary pretentiousness and condescension. Where was this going? "In fact, the only times I've ever spoken to her were at the pick-up Quidditch tournament, the party afterward, and after I pulled her out of the lake."

Malfoy blinked in surprise, and quickly brought his expression back under control. Potter's voice practically rang with veracity—over the years, Malfoy had sparred verbally (and otherwise) enough with him to know the sound of Harry Potter stating the truth.

"So you are not...together?"

"No, Malfoy, we are not together. In all honesty, I don't see why you care one way or the other—you must know that she's not the type who would want anything to do with you."

Malfoy paused, stifling a remark about Tracey's inferior status as a half-blood, and spoke again, carefully keeping his tone light (not that Harry bought that for a second). "Are you not concerned what people will think of her? Surely you know that if people believed her to be connected to you, it makes her a target. Especially in Slytherin, where you can't reach her."

"I'm not too worried," Harry said with a casual shrug, but his eyes hardened and narrowed, and Malfoy could suddenly half-smell-half-taste ozone. Harry's amiable tone was further belied by his next words. "You know, since if anything happened to anyone on account of their alleged connection to me, well...that would get my attention. Lately, people who have drawn my attention haven't done so well."

Harry's eyes flicked up to the head table, and the gesture was not missed—Draco Malfoy was a fool, but he had learned at the foot of his father, who was a capable politician and wizard. Draco nodded, and stood to leave.

"And Draco," Harry called softly. Malfoy blinked—Potter rarely used his first name, except to make fun of it—and turned back. "You might be surprised just how far my reach really goes."

Malfoy turned and walked away, his footsteps the only sound echoing through the Great Hall. He hadn't liked the look in Potter's eyes, just then. He would have to make sure everyone understood that Tracey Davis was to be left alone (except for the normal insults about her being a half-blood, of course); Potter might be bluffing, but it didn't hurt to be cautious, and it might really hurt if it turned out he wasn't bluffing. After all, everyone had thought that the bottom of the lake had been out of Potter's reach, too.

Author's Note

Wormtail has a bad time! Dumbledore feels the consequences of his actions! Harry gets mad! Dumbledore starts putting clues together! Malfoy narrowly avoids being splattered all over the Great Hall!

I feel that I should point out that as of Chapter 29, I've eclipsed the word count of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone, which was ~77K words; it's just kind of exciting to realize that I've written essentially a novel-length fic on my first at-bat. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. At the end of Ch. 29, Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar was at ~79800 words (once all the disclaimers and Author's Notes were removed)—and yes, I did compile every chapter into single ODT file solely for the purposes of getting an accurate word count (it was a huge pain in the ass). I'll keep a running count from now on; as of the end of Chapter 30, HPatLS is at ~83335 words.

I'm glad that people seemed to like the way Harry dealt with the second task. I've always seen the second task as a test of cunning (champions had to figure out the clue from the egg, and then come up with a way of dealing with the task), in the same way that the first task tested courage in the face of the unknown, so having Harry come prepared, using rare and powerful magic, and exploiting the environment seemed appropriate. Honestly, I was never really impressed with the way the champions dealt with the second task in canon—I'd think that a witch or wizard would be able to come up with something pretty spectacular, given a few months to prepare, but all any of them actually did was come up with a way to breath underwater, and then swam to the mer-village (lame, right?). My Harry shows why the word "wizard" comes from "wise"—he uses his brain, and ends up working smarter, not harder.

I've gotten several PM's and reviews asking about the "pairing" for this story. I'm reluctant to come out and say anything about that, for a few reasons. First, I don't—and never did—intend for romance to be the (or even a) central focus of the story, as it is in many fics—honestly, I don't believe that it would be appropriate or believable, considering the fact that the protagonist is literally a child. Yes, he has sexual encounters, but never really "on screen," and it's not something on which I want to focus too heavily. Second—and probably more importantly—identifying a fic as having a specific pairing would literally make things less interesting for the reader, despite satisfying an initial curiosity. For example, say I tagged this story with a "Ginny W." pairing—the reader would know ahead of time that first Annie and later Daphne were not sticking around, so the reader's impression of the depth of Harry's relationships with those characters would be skewed. I'll say this: at this point in the story, Harry has been with (more precisely, spending time with and sleeping with, and only recently "dating") Daphne Greengrass since before the Christmas holidays, and things are looking good between them.

Finally, it is rapidly becoming clear to me that I have a much more active social life than I had originally thought, and it has become increasingly difficult to find time to sit down and write. So, in all likelihood, I'll probably be "officially" slowing down to one chapter per week ("unofficially" it's been that way for about three chapters).