"Can we not just start already? This is getting ridiculous." A cold voice echoed in the hall.
"Miss Delacour, I understand that this is-"
"I agree with my student's statement." Another, heavier and deeper yet feminine voice echoed in the hall.
"Miss Maxime, I understand that this is a unfortunate delay, but I'll assure you that-"
"Oh, but what a fascinating event this is. But I do wonder- Has the Goblet of Fire gone barmy, or perhaps has our dear Headmaster gone moldy from age and merely hallucinated the existence of Harry Potter within these halls? Today, Rita Skeeter shall scour-"
"Miss Skeeter, please reserve your quill for just a moment-"
The doors of the dining hall of Hogwarts flung open.
"Ey." Harry Potter greeted the group who had gathered around a raised platform in the Dining Hall. "Sorry I'm a bit late."
"Only by five minutes, it's no problem. I take it that you had an event of your own?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a bit as he glanced up and down at the boy who was dripping with water and had seaweed in his hair.
"You could say that I stumbled somewhat during my trip here." Harry nodded. "Terribly sorry, but even suspension of disbelief has its limits when it comes to Time. It wouldn't help that I got lost and had to discover that I had written myself a letter to find my way back."
"Is this creature to be a Champion, then?" Fleur Delacour scrunched her nose as if she was looking at something quite disgusting.
"It would appear to be the case. Is this the Boy-Who-Lived?" Asked a stern-looking old man with a scraggly brown beard and thick fur coat, and equally thick slavic accent.
There was arrogance in the man's gaze, but beneath it, betrayed a degree of calculation and worry.
The huge woman of the group masked her own expression with expert ease, all the while Dumbledore just smiled.
"Indeed, Mr. Karkaroff. This would be Harry Potter. Ah, Harry, may I introduce to you- Your fellow Champions." Dumbledore motioned for the trio who had various expressions as they looked at Harry. "This would be Viktor Krum from Durmstrang, Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts, and Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons."
"Moreover, these fine ladies and gentlemen would be the Headmaster of Beauxbatons, Olympe Maxime, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkaroff, and the Judge of the Tournament and Ministry of Magic liaison for the duration, Bartemilius Crouch." Dumbledore gestured to each of the introduced persons. "Mr. Ollivander, who I believe that you have already met, shall perform the Weighing, and of course, we have Miss Rita Skeeter who I believe shall write a piece to the local newspaper regarding this event."
"I most certainly shall." The woman with the outrageous-looking quill and sharp glasses flashed a way too toothy smile.
"I am most honored to be in your presence." Harry bowed deeply, causing a bit of seaweed to fall to the floor.
Fleur's nose continued to crinkle in disgust to the point it started to get eerie. "Zis child is to compete with us? Headmaster Dumbledore, I hope I do not cause offense if I wonder if zis tournament has become an excuse for a kindergarten. Or do you plan to have zis child die in the Tasks that are too difficult for him?"
The girl then addressed Harry directly. "How 'old are you even? Twelve? Thirteen?"
"Yes, that is a good question. Harry Potter, how old are you, exactly?" Mr. Crouch turned to address Harry as well, and the boy opened his mouth.
"I'm…" Harry paused.
Dumbledore lifted his bushy eyebrow and prepared his harmonica.
Harry paced around. "Hm…"
Krum and Cedric glanced at one another.
Harry put a bottle of whiskey on the table where Ollivander had his measuring tools, and poured himself a shot while looking like he was having an existential crisis.
Karkaroff pulled a shot glass from somewhere and put it next to Harry's, and Harry filled it as well.
The two drank the shot in unison.
"Ahem, perhaps it would be easier to determine Harry's age?" Dumbledore coughed to his fist.
"A very good suggestion, Professor!" Harry perked up considerably as he looked like he had been on the brink of madness for a moment.
The boy then reached for his pocket and procured ten twenty-sided dice.
He tossed the die on the table. "I'm… Thirty-two years old!"
"A low roll." Karkaroff noted. "Very good. I was starting to get suspicious. Good whiskey, by the way."
"Oh zat is 'riddiculous…" Fleur groaned. "Do you really-"
"Ah, indeed, that makes sense. And also makes sense why Harry was picked to participate- After all, I had put on an age line that prevented anyone underage from attending the Tournament." Dumbledore smiled happily and nodded multiple times. "I hope that this is a good enough answer, Mr. Crouch?"
"Yes, it'll do." Mr. Crouch scribbled something to his notebook, ignoring Fleur's groan of exasperation.
"Ah, yes. Now then, your wands please." The old wand-maker took the center stage. "Greetings, Harry. I feel as if we'd met just yesterday."
"Indeed, for it was today when you made my wand." Harry bowed deeply to the foci-maker. "Or perhaps it was a lifetime ago."
"One can never truly tell." Ollivander nodded seriously. "Now then, Champions! Please form a line. Yes, like that, very good."
The three students formed a line and Harry walked to the end of it.
"Your wands, please."
The trio before Harry gave their wands for inspection, and Ollivander looked at each of them and gave his appraisal of their function.
All the while the woman with the quill scratched notes to a floating piece of parchment, and a stogie-looking small man took pictures with an ancient-looking camera that had a separate flash powder stand.
Interestingly enough, each of the photos seemed to be targeting Harry.
"...And now, Harry Potter. Your wands, please. Or other Foci that you plan to use." Ollivander finally addressed Harry, and Harry reached into his pocket.
Harry put the stick that Ollivander had given him to the table that Ollivander had set up for the weight scales that he had used for the ceremony.
After that Harry pulled his bong from the pocket, and put it down on the table.
Fleur paused to stare a bit.
After that Harry pulled a tarot card pack and put it on the table as well.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a worrisome amount.
Lastly Harry pulled a sawed-off shotgun and put it on the table.
Cedric coughed awkwardly.
"Very good. I shall examine this wand first." Ollivander picked up the stick, and poked the green leaf that was growing from it. "Have you been watering this at regular intervals?"
"I fear that I have only watered it once so far." Harry noted a bit mournfully. "A sorry case of unfortunate circumstances."
"Do not fear, as long as you water it from time to time this will work wonderfully." Ollivander noted and gave a few flicks with the stick.
"I- I'm sorry, but what are you zaying?" Fleur blurted out and let a thick french accent creep into her voice from the amount of sheer disbelief in her voice. "Zat is a stick!"
"Indeed. A peculiar wand for a peculiar wizard. Six inches, european birchwood, with a living core, freshly cut from the living tree. Fret not, Miss. Delacour, Mr. Potter's wand will work quite well - And judging by one's appearance or size is unbecoming of us all." Ollivander noted with a gentle voice, causing Fleur to grow an angry blush and look to the side, accompanied by a loud 'hmh!' sound.
"Now then… Weendus!" Ollivander gave a small flick to the wand, and a flowering bush of green popped from the wand's tip.
The wand-maker took the bush and gave it to Harry, and then returned the wand to him as well.
"Oh my, thank you." Harry curtsied in a feminine manner as he took the flowering bush and smelled it a bit. "I shall do my best to learn that particular Magic Spell."
Krum gagged a bit.
"Yes, I imagine that it would be quite useful." Ollivander nodded quite seriously while Harry stashed the bush of flowering cannabis to his pocket. "Now then…"
Ollivander looked over the tarot deck without touching it, and did the same for the bong. "Hm, yes. I cannot say much about this sort of foci, but I suspect that it has served you well, Harry Potter?"
"Very." Harry gave a small bow.
"Of this I can say even less." Ollivander glanced over the gun. "A muggle invention, I presume?"
"Indeed. A vicious one at that." Harry noted. "Very useful if one needed to project Forces within sight of wider Consensus, but with many flaws- Ones that, fortunately, can be easily ignored or concealed. I do not expect I'll get much use out of it here, sir."
"Ah, I keep forgetting that you are of different Tradition. My apologies." Ollivander noted. "It's been quite a long time since I last met someone who was not of the Order. My, it's like yesterday that your father came to my store to seek for his wand, and…"
"Order?" Krum whispered to Karkaroff who let out a small shushing sound.
"But where are my manners? Yes, these tools will serve you well." Ollivander snapped out of his daydream and motioned for Harry to recover his foci. "Yes, they will do well. Now then, the Ceremony is concluded."
"Zat was it? We waited for midnight for-" Fleur blurted out but her Headmistress put her hand on the girl's shoulder, quieting her objections.
"Very good. Each of the Champions may compete, for they have the tools, the will, and the capability to do so." Mr. Crouch noted from the side. "The Ministry of Magic authorizes this tournament… despite its particular peculiarities."
The old man nodded to Harry. "Mr. Potter. I wonder, what exactly has returned you to us in these strange times?"
"A prophecy of the Goblet of Fire, sir, if you speak literally. Of other meanings I know little." Harry bowed deeply to the mage.
"I see, I see… Well, it is getting late, and I hear that you only got in touch with the proper magical community today, so I'm certain that you are exhausted." Crouch nodded a bit to Harry, and then without further ado waddled out.
"Do forgive Mr. Crouch. I fear his age is starting to catch up to him." Dumbledore walked to Harry's side, blocking Skeeter as she had practically dived for Harry as soon as the Champions started to file out. "I instructed Professor Severus Snape to guide you to your dorms- I'd also tell you that your luggage has already been taken there, if the house-elves had found any. I hope you still have your luggage in your possession?"
"Yes. I have a bag of holding in my pocket." Harry nodded completely seriously.
"Very good, and for the record, we use expanding charms." Dumbledore winked a bit and then turned around. "Ah, Rita! I sure do hope that the events of today are good material for the Daily Prophet, in fact, I would prefer it if you began writing it right now-"
"Indeed, old goat, perhaps if you got out of the way so I may approach today's biggest event-"
Harry took his que, and ran out of the dining hall.
"Five points from… hm. Yes, this will be quite… challenging." A drawling voice came from somewhere and Harry found himself stopped on the spot as a hand grabbed his forearm as soon as the dining hall's doors closed behind him.
A dark-robed man sent Harry a look of cold loathing that almost hid the calculating expression in his eyes, as he had seemingly appeared out of thin air. "For the record, Potter, running in the hallways is a punishable act."
"Greetings. May I presume that you are Professor Severus Snape?" Harry bowed slightly to the man, even if doing so proved to be a bit hard when the man was gripping his forearm.
"You may. You may also presume that I am the head of house of Slytherin. The House that you now, regrettably, belong to. But rest assured, I shall see to it that whatever trick you pulled will be undone and you'll return to where you belong." Snape spoke to Harry with a cold drawl. "You will be calling the Slytherin Common Room your home for now. If I find that you are bothering them in any way or practicing your magic there, I'll have you meet with mr. Filch and his… Alternative means of punishment."
"Ah, I was wondering at which point the hot tongs, chains and flesh-hooks came in. Indeed, as I suspected, I looked at gold but not what it was covering. Thank you for this information, I shall be very careful, Professor." Harry nodded and Snape practically tossed his arm off as the professor let go of him.
"Be careful with those wits of yours, Potter. You'll get yourself killed." Snape seemed quite upset.
"I am most grateful for caring for my safety. I will keep this in mind, Professor." Harry bowed slightly, and then found himself floating upside-down in the air by his knees.
"Are you mocking me?!" Snape had a red face even if his expression was still stuck to a cold drawl and he merely flicked his wand before returning it to the folds of his sleeves.
"I assure you that I am not, Professor Snape." Harry had a severe, serious expression even if his face was starting to turn red from the blood that was rushing to his brain, and it was not helping his growing headache from the substances he had consumed earlier. "I am merely thankful for imparting this knowledge to me. I hope that I have not offended you, Professor."
"...Be sure to keep it that way. And do not presume that your mild words conceal their meaning- Your housemates at Slytherin will certainly see through them, and they may not be as forgiving as I am. Dumbledore might have suffered your lip and wit, but keep trying it on me, and you'll find that not everything in Hogwarts goes through him." Snape flicked his hand and the magic was undone, causing Harry to fall on his head and flop on the floor. "Now, get up and follow. Do not dare to tarry."
"Yes, Professor."
"...hmh." Snape didn't say anything else as he turned and walked off with a swish of black robes in his wake.
.
.
.
Minutes later the door of the Dining Hall opened and Rita Skeeter stomped away with red face after engaging the Headmaster of Hogwarts in a thinly-veiled insulting match, with Rita having considerably thinner veil than the rainbow-coloured wool that the headmaster used, and thus had been delayed from her catch-of-the-day.
'Oh, but you think I haven't had my ear to the ground… Hooo no. You old goat, you think that your meddling is enough to get between me and the scoop of the year?' Rita felt as if her quill would burn a hole in the parchment that it was writing on as the quill moved with nearly inhumane speeds. 'But you didn't think I hadn't already interrogated a bunch of students on my way here… hehehe… hehehehehe…'
'Harry Potter, resurfaced to Magical Britain at last, and in Slytherin? Hehehehee… Just you wait… heheheh…'
.
.
.
"The keyword is 'Pureblood'. Do not tell it to anyone else, and do not use the keyword so that others may hear it. If I so much as suspect that you have told someone from Gryffindor the keyword to the Slytherin common room, I'll have you skinned, flayed, whipped and covered in salt." Snape spoke with a soft, eerily cold voice while a portrait swung open to reveal a tunnel somewhere in the bowels of the castle. "I'll see you tomorrow in your Potions class. If you are as late there as you were for the Weighing, I'll ensure that you regret that you were ever born."
"Yes, Professor." Harry bowed reverently.
"And do something for that lackluster attitude of yours. If you bow and scrape and eat from everyone's hands like a meek little squirrel then you'll find your neck snapped by the Snakes, just like any other prey animal."
"I shall do my best to avoid this scenario, Professor." Harry bowed, causing the professor to let out one last derogatory 'hmph' and walk off in a billow of black robes.
'Man, I almost fell for the shiny exterior. Still, thank you for the heads-up and reality call, Professor Snape.' Harry nodded seriously as it looked like Hermetic Order was shaping out to be pretty much what he had expected, at least as far as the Slytherin went.
Moreover even if Snape's lessons had been hard and perhaps humiliating, Harry couldn't see that they came from a place of ill intent- Indeed, if he looked through the very surface layer of the words, they were a very genuine warning
And it was true- Harry had been trying his limits in Hogwarts. From leading the conversation with the Headmaster to nearly incurring Paradox or Backslash, to nearly missing the Weighting if not for him wandering the castle and finding a message from himself to himself which detailed the exact route from the fountain to the dining hall…
Harry knew that he had his limits- He just wasn't exactly what those were in the Hermetic Order's Consensus. And he genuinely appreciated Snape for pretty much telling him directly that he was approaching the limits.
But he would keep pushing for a bit longer.
After all, his Ecstatic side would not settle for half-measures, half-felt feelings, it needed more.
'Perhaps the Sorting Hat was right… Heh, I am getting pretty warped.' Harry remembered the wailing of the hat when it had looked at his memories, and seen the things he'd done and tried.
'That being said… Heh. I could never really practice vulgar magic in the wider Consensus. Man, this is so cool…' Harry made a small dancing motion as he walked into the painting, and emerged on the other side into the Slytherin common room. 'I can see why Hermetics would be so keen on keeping others from learning about their own little treehouse. And that gives me a clue as to what is expected of me if the Headmaster called me here from the outside.'
'Still, I deduced that my parents were Mages, but I didn't know that they were Hermetics… If that Voldemor-person killed them… Hm…' Harry glanced around as he came into the massive green-and-silver detailed room that had very long shadows.
…And he saw that pretty much everyone in the common room stared at him.
Those that were awake anyhow, considering that it was a bit past midnight already.
…And those who were present looked like they had been scheming until Harry entered, and practically forced the group to turn and stare.
"Greetings." Harry made a show-offy motion of bowing and scraping towards the group of boys and a few girls who had gathered around a silver-haired boy.
However, unlike with the 'Professors', Harry didn't let his eyes off of the other students while he bowed.
"Harry Potter." The silver-haired one didn't bow or scrape back. "It seems that House Slytherin has… A new celebrity."
"I am flattered. Could I hear your name, mister…?"
"Draco Malfoy." The silver-haired boy drawled. "Come, sit with us."
"Malfoy- surely you don't mean-"
"Come sit with us, Mr. Potter. Theodore, I did not ask for your opinion." Malfoy glanced at the boy who had spoken.
"Very well." Harry nodded and sat on the chair that Malfoy indicated. 'So, is this a hazing ritual or something else?'
He knew that hazing rituals would be touch-and-go situations: If he resisted too much, he'd be seen as a threat. And threats would be eliminated. But if he didn't resist enough, he'd be seen as weak, and would either be gotten rid of or used as a slave.
The trick would be to find the proper balance between the two.
So, Harry sat on the chair with an air of arrogance around him and leaned back as if he owned the place, setting sufficiently 'high initial bid' so that the 'haggle' would start from a position from where he could be knocked down from, without actually doing him too much real harm. "So, what do you have for me, mr. Malfoy?"
"Hm." Malfoy seemed to be resisting the urge to say something and swallowed instead of blurting out what was on his mind- Which Harry guessed would have been an insult of some sort, if the boy's angry blush was anything to go by. "I find it curious that a Potter ended up in Slytherin, after all this time, and after spending such a long time under the Sorting Hat. Care to explain yourself, mr. Potter?"
"My. You're already asking me for Secrets? Tut, tut." Harry clicked his tongue a bit. 'Hermetics value secrets, so if I just blurt one out it'll be seen as too weak… Gotta be economical with the ones that I have.'
"Oi, da boss ask-" A brutish-looking boy took a step forward from behind Malfoy and the silver-haired boy lifted his hand a bit.
"It seems Mr. Crabbe is a bit overzealous. I hope you understand where he is coming from. But I wish to hear about your… recent appearance." Malfoy drawled.
"Hm. I was… Called here for a mission." Harry bent the truth a bit, as he guessed the nature of the hazing ritual correctly.
In other words, the hazing ritual of Slytherin would be that of cunning words and of trading secrets, with a hint of physical harm in the mix.
Malfoy had the minions, the influence, and possibly rank, and Harry had secrets that Malfoy wanted.
It would be an entropic trade of influence for secrets, seeking to gain equilibrium.
Indeed, Harry was fairly sure that a similar hazing ritual in Gryffindor would just involve a lot of big burly boys ganging up on Harry and beating the snot out of him.
Granted, that too could be fun- After all, pain and suffering were very much foci for Ecstatics, as were all other sorts of elevated feelings that would change one's perception of reality. Being delirious from getting the shit beat out of him would require a bit of recovery, though, so Harry didn't feel like indulging in that unless he didn't have plans for a couple of days.
"I see… " Malfoy seemed to be thinking quite hard. "I find it curious that you were sorted to Hufflepuff. And you still haven't told me of the Hat- After all, you're sending very mixed signals here. In fact, I had to tell several older students to refrain from beating you to pulp the moment you would arrive through that portrait- If you made it here at all."
"I am grateful for your foresight. Indeed, the Hat played a small prank for me- I did hinder it quite a bit while it looked at my thoughts. Looking into the thoughts of a Sahajiya is a dangerous act by itself, even if one that did the looking was an inanimate object." Harry nodded. 'So, Malfoy won't sic the older students on me in exchange for that little tidbit. Honestly, a good trade for me. I'm guessing that there are hooks?' "So you could say that I was guiding the Hat's way of thinking a bit."
"So you deceived the Sorting Hat to sort you into Slytherin?" Malfoy's expression darkened a bit.
"In a manner of speaking." Harry nodded his head a bit. "But no, my decision and that of the Hat were one and the same."
And then he felt a small tug, as if he was forgetting something crucial.
Something that he needed to do at the moment-
Harry scrunched his eyebrows a bit and reached for his pocket as he felt the sort-of familiar eerie feeling of procrastination, like he was forgetting something very important that he needed to do.
Several of the boys moved their hands to their side while Malfoy's expression tightened considerably.
"A drink, gentlemen?" Harry put a bottle of whiskey on the table and poured a round of shots.
"Thank you, but I'll pass." Malfoy kept staring at Harry without flinching or even glancing at the shots.
'Well, it would have been surprising if that worked as a trade-off.' Harry thought as he drank another shot, and felt the burning of his throat intensify while his vision blurred a bit. 'Ah. Right. In all this excitement I almost forgot how I got here. Or rather, there. Well, good thing that Vulgar Magic is fairly risk-free to perform here, as long as one uses pseudo-latin and wands as cover.'
Harry turned his attention to Malfoy. "I'll need to send a message, excuse me."
"Hm…" Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "To whom, I wonder."
"Myself."
"Oh, this I want to see." Malfoy drawled while some of the boys around Harry snickered, and Harry realized that they had surrounded him while he had been drinking.
Harry pulled out his wand and a piece of paper.
Many of the boys flicked their hands a bit while holding them to the side, causing their wands to fall from their sleeves and land in their hands.
"Snepsis Messagislum." Harry pronounced with a hiss while tapping the paper in his hand with the stick, concealing the fact his eyes blurred and caused snake-like cursive writing to form on the message while his vision swam.
The words curled like snakes on the paper, and curled around his arm while the paper turned to scales.
"Snekum." Harry spoke to the message while lifting his wand-arm as if what he said was an actual Magic Spell, and the snake slithered away, exiting the Slytherin Common Room to sit on the edge of a certain pond with a slip of paper between its teeth, so that when a certain butt-naked teenager fell to the pool, the snake could stash the message to the discarded pants that were left on the grass.
Harry lifted his eyebrow at Malfoy who suddenly looked utterly horrified.
The circle of boys had scrambled away from Harry and looked like they were terrified.
Harry went with the flow, and lifted his legs to the table between him and Malfoy. "A shot, mr. Malfoy?"
Malfoy drank the poured shot instantly, and almost gagged while coughing violently.
'Point one for pseudolatin.'
.
.
.
The Heir of Slytherin smirked at Draco who felt as if his insides had tied themselves into a rope and hanged themselves.
Potter had asked to send a message… And had hissed in Parseltongue at a piece of paper, and it had turned to a snake that had slithered lovingly around Potter's arm, hissed back at Potter, Potter had hissed back at it, and the snake had slithered off to do his bidding.
And Potter had asked to send a message to himself.
Via snake.
And only person who could perform Parseltongue was the Heir of Slytherin- Who was the Dark Lord.
Lucius Malfoy had been worried about Potter, and had instructed Draco to approach him but be very careful not to become his enemy. That should Potter require any amount of money, Lucius would provide it without question as a 'loan'.
Malfoy realized it.
He glanced at the scar on Harry's temple, and his eyes, the whites of which were blood-red and terrifying, while Potter himself leaned back as if he owned the place after strolling in with zero fear in his voice or posture.
He knew.
It made sense why Potter had not been around until now.
Malfoy had heard of very faint rumors, caught glimpses of his father's face, seen the Dark Mark that was cast during the Quidditch World Cup some months ago… and deduced something.
That Lord Voldemort was returning.
Nay, he had never been gone.
There was no way 'Harry Potter' killed the greatest Dark Lord that ever lived.
There were no living witnesses. No bodies.
It was all an act.
The real Harry Potter is dead. It was all made up.
They are one and the same.
And now Lord Voldemort had 'sent' 'Harry Potter' to Hogwarts to do something.
Malfoy realized all of it in an instant.
…And Malfoy realized that had almost gotten Potter beaten up in the Slytherin common room, so that Malfoy could 'save' Potter and that way get to his good graces.
It took all of Malfoy's concentrated willpower to not pass out from terror on the spot.