A/N: Hey guys, I'm still trying to figure out the formatting on ff net so if some sentences look weird to you, it's because the site didn't accept my original format. I'm trying to fix it but it's a hit-and-miss situation xD.
Since when did the time get this loud?
The clock ticking far inside Harry's brain couldn't be silenced. It was so distracting that on a Monday morning, Harry spent five minutes trying to slip his foot into his hat instead of a sock.
He was tired, and he was scared. Terrified. Nervous. Exhausted. Fed up. Miserable. Dejected…The list of emotions Harry felt was endless, and the threat of him exploding magnified with every passing second.
Tomorrow. It was all going to happen tomorrow.
Would he humiliate himself in front of the whole school? Making a fool of myself is the least of my worries. Would the dragon eat him up whole, making his death remarkably unceremonious? The Boy-Who-Lived passes away unfortunately in an attempt to achieve eternal glory during the Triwizard Tournament. It would make a great front page. Harry cringed at the idea of Rita Skeeter making him the mighty hero and martyr, then he chased the negative thoughts away. Focus, Harry. Focus.
After he got dressed up, he headed outside to the lake where Hermione was already waiting for him. Her eyebrows were crumpled into a frown. Before she could lecture him about punctuality, Harry gave her an apologetic look and drew his wand.
Every wake moment was devoted to practice. If Harry wasn't eating, in detention or attending classes, he was summoning all objects within his reach. It had never taken him this long to grasp a simple spell. Hermione consoled him that it was just his emotional instability affecting his magic but Harry wasn't buying it.
"I don't think I can do this, Hermione," Harry confessed when he summoned a book instead of a ball-shaped rock. "I'm not ready. I'll never be ready," he voiced his concerns and grimaced at how pathetic it sounded.
"Harry, you're doing great, you've almost got it," Hermione rushed to encourage him, seeing the frustration on his face. The lack of progress during their morning practice was making Harry moody.
"Yeah? At this rate, I'll summon a pillow instead of a Firebolt tomorrow. Then what?"
"Then… you'll improvise. There are things you could do with a pillow."
"Like take a nap," Harry concluded sourly, "and maybe by the time I wake up the task would be over."
"No, but you could transfigurate it into something useful, a sword for example," Hermione stubbornly argued but her voice began to falter.
Harry could see her patience was running out, yet it didn't stop him from pushing the issue further. He desperately needed to vent his anger somewhere.
"I'm not fighting a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione."
"You might as well be. Harry, you killed an overgrown, deadly snake at the age of twelve on your own. Besides, taking into account everything you've been through since attending Hogwarts, you're far more experienced in combat than any other champion."
"It's different," Harry replied vaguely, suddenly unsettled from where the conversation was heading. He had no desire to discuss his previous accomplishments or hear his friend praise them. Yet, when Hermione bestowed him a "how's it different" look, he was forced to explain.
"I was very lucky back then. And I wasn't alone. I had loads of help from everyone."
"You're not alone now either," Hermione opposed. Harry shrugged and tried to summon the ball-shaped rock again. A dried tree branch flew into his hand.
"Hagrid tipped you off on the dragons, Moody suggested the Firebolt, which means Dumbledore is keeping a close eye on you, I'm helping you with the charm as we speak…" she elaborated when Harry didn't reply.
"Dumbledore? What's he got to do with this?"
"Moody is his friend, haven't you seen them at the opening feast? He must have told him to watch over you," Hermione stated the obvious.
"Well, neither of you is going to fight a dragon for me, so I don't really see the point-" he snapped but was cut off.
"I know this is hard for you but I'm trying too!" Hermione fumed. Her patience ran out. "Yes, you'll face a dragon tomorrow and I'll be the one hopelessly spectating it. I'll watch my best friend get hurt before my eyes, how enjoyable! But what's done is done and I'm doing my best to help you before it's too late. Now, stop with the whining and summon that bloody rock already!"
Her cheeks were flushed and Harry couldn't tell if it was from the freezing weather or the unexpected outburst. He was so caught off guard he immediately did as he was told and 'Accio-ed' the rock for the third time. To Harry's utmost surprise, the ball-shaped stone flew neatly into his palm.
The pair fell quiet.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Hermione spoke up first after a while and her lips curved into an awkward smile.
"No…" Harry admitted, squeezing the rock tightly. "Thanks." He wanted to say he was sorry for his foolish behaviour but Hermione shook her head.
"Come on, let's get some breakfast, I can't feel my toes anymore."
ooOooOOoO
The morning bickering with Hermione did calm down some of Harry's distress but the ticking in his head quickened. At one point, he considered going to Madame Pomfrey for a check-up but then decided against it. The last thing Harry needed was to be loaded into St. Mungo for turning mad.
Classes weren't any more bearable than normal and the detention with Filch any more pleasant than usual and yet Harry looked back fondly on those moments, those moments when meeting the dragon wasn't an hour away…
He managed to learn Accio on a Monday evening. If he didn't, Harry was ready to fight the monster with bare hands but then his broom floated smoothly into his palm and an indescribable relief washed over him. He would've gotten emotional if Hermione didn't beat him to it, crying and laughing from the ease.
An awkward hug and some patting on his friend's back later, Harry was sent off to bed. He complied, needing as much rest as possible before the big day.
OoOOooOo
The time behaved strangely on Tuesday. Harry's perception of it was broken – he found himself dozing off in History of Magic they had in the morning, and moments later his feet were dragged towards the Great Hall for lunch.
Harry's stomach was spinning fiercely and he was afraid that any food shoved down would come back up immediately.
The castle was pulsating with excitement. The afternoon classes were cancelled so everyone could spectate the grand first task. If Harry wasn't so busy checking his temper and trying his best not to hex everyone coming too close to him, he'd feel jealous. He'd long for being a normal student, and cheering for Cedric instead of being a champion himself, but as Hermione would say – what was done was done. Harry had to focus on the present.
What brought him back to reality was a particularly harsh voice barking out his name. Harry was playing with his food and zoning out when someone called him.
"Potter!"
Almost every head turned at the commotion. A black figure stalked down the Great Hall to where Harry was sitting, Snape's cloak fluttering with grace only he could attain.
"Always an exception, aren't you? Do you need a personal escort to accompany you to the grounds? Should I fetch the Headmaster and mobilize the rest of the school to march down to the first task with you?" Snape was wearing an exceptionally furious expression. "Come!" He ordered, spun around and just as swiftly exited the Great Hall.
Harry got to his feet, the cutlery in his hands clinking loudly. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and mouthed "good luck," and then he was rushing after his professor. He ignored the smirking and snickering of some students and instead focused on navigating his jiggly legs.
Snape was already outside the castle when Harry caught up with him. If the professor was trying to wear him out before the competition even began, he was doing a marvellous job. Harry could barely keep up with his pace.
"Does it make you feel superior, having the champions wait for you and somebody coming to fetch you? How come you're the only one constantly demanding special treatment without showing even a speck of gratitude when it's provided?" Snape wasted no time faultfinding Harry as they stormed down the hill by the Forbidden Forest.
Harry frowned. Showing gratitude to Snape would be the last thing he'd ever do.
"Maybe if someone told me the time and place, I would know where to be without the special treatment," he tried his best to return the animosity the Potions Master was giving him but his voice came out strangely - as if it belonged to somebody else.
Harry noticed he was swaying on his feet and only Snape's presence prevented him from throwing a massive fit about not wanting to battle a dragon in, like, ten minutes. If there were anyone else accompanying him, Harry would've had a breakdown.
"Oh. Nobody told you."
He couldn't see his professor's face but he'd bet his whole Gringotts vault that the man sneered maliciously.
"You've once again relied on others to fill in for your lack of capability. How shocking," there was no doubt Snape was enjoying every moment of the unpleasant walk. "Do you want me to hold your hand as well? Or, even better, complete the tasks for you?"
Harry reckoned 'That'd be nice, thanks for offering' wasn't the answer Snape wanted. Or any, really.
"What were you hoping to achieve when you foolishly decided to enter the tournament? In case nobody told you this either, Potter, it is not a game!"
Harry spotted the place where Hagrid led him a few nights ago, but he couldn't see any dragons as there was a gigantic tent covering the area.
He was starting to look forward to the battle - given it would cut short his conversation with Snape. The man asked an awful amount of rhetorical questions.
"Yeah, because I'd love to spar with a dragon if it was on a friendly, game-only basis," slipped out of Harry's mouth, anger flaring up inside him. He'd been feeling numb and distant since he woke up but Snape successfully ruined the false emotional balance he tried so hard to maintain.
Harry was expecting some sort of degrading remark in response but instead, he almost collided with the black robes the following second. Snape stopped walking abruptly and whipped around, looking at Harry as if he was an alien. Harry shrugged consciously, not enjoying one bit how Snape sized him up. His eyes were squinted in puzzlement and bored into Harry's green ones.
"W-What?" he asked when he couldn't bear it any longer.
Snape made a sound similar to a grunt and then they were rushing down the hill again in silence.
Harry felt relieved when they finally reached the place and spotted McGonagall nearby the huge tent. She was discussing something with Filch, the usual stern expression plastered on her face.
"Despite how thrilling it sounds, I do hope there won't be a need to scrape you off the ground after the first task is over. I have more interesting activities to entertain this afternoon than to deal with the consequences of your incompetence," Snape stated in a 'matter of fact' manner just before McGonagall noticed them.
Harry had no time to react to that weirdly constructed criticism as his Head of the House interrupted them.
"Ah, Severus! Thank you for getting Mr. Potter."
Snape nodded curtly and then dramatically wandered off. Harry watched him go before McGonagall clasped his shoulder tightly and led him towards the tent's entrance.
"Now, Potter, there's no need to be nervous. Everything is ready and we have the situation fully under control. Should something happen, we have people prepared to take action… anyhow, I'm sure you'll perform to the best of your abilities. Of course, nobody would blame you if… are you feeling all right?"
The sudden question made Harry flinch as he realized his professor was staring at him intently.
"Yes," he heard himself say, "Yes, I'm fine." I've never felt worse in my life.
"Other champions are already inside, Mr. Bagman will explain the rest. Good luck," her eyes were clouded with rare kindness and worry. Harry wanted to voice his appreciation but nothing more than a lame "thank you" came out of his mouth.
He entered the tent and braced himself for what was to come.
OoOooOooO
Not counting the burn on his back and a deep slash located on his right calf from where the dragon's tail hit him, Harry determined he did pretty well. He successfully summoned the Firebolt and obtained the golden egg while managing to stay alive the entire time so the performance was deemed nothing less than outstanding. Sharing first place with Krum and gaining full marks from the judges was just a bonus.
Harry barely landed on the ground, saying a mental goodbye to flying and to his broom, when his professors rushed to him. Loud cheering was still torturing his eardrums.
"That was brilliant, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed once she got close enough for Harry to hear her. It was the highest praise he'd ever received from her.
"You've done it 'arry! You've really done it!" Hagrid shouted over the undying applause. "A Hungarian Horntail, Charlie mentioned that's the worst one…"
"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry shouted back loudly, suddenly worried about what Hagrid intended to say next. 'I've shown him to you, remember?' wouldn't be ideal.
"Neat and simple trick, Potter!" Moody roared, effectively cutting Harry's anxiety short. Harry gifted him a grateful smile and they exchanged meaningful looks.
"Mr. Potter, you need immediate medical attention. Madame Pomfrey is in the tent over there patching up Mr. Diggory. Have yourself healed up before celebrating with friends," McGonagall insisted upon noticing his wounds and navigated him towards the place.
Harry spotted Hermione waving to him and smiling widely but before he got a chance to wave back, his Head of the House rushed him towards Madam Pomfrey.
Harry limped to where he was instructed, suddenly glad someone was forcing him to tend to his injuries as the burnt skin on his back started to sting. The adrenaline was quickly wearing off, making him aware of the ragged state of his body.
"Dragons!" Madam Pomfrey complained loudly when Harry entered the smaller tent, "last year it was dementors, this year dragons… what's next?! Ah, Mr. Potter, sit on the bed there, I'll be right with you. Stop moving Mr. Diggory!"
Cedric looked like he was ready to leave when the nurse pushed him to sit back down, flicking her wand several times in distress. Harry cringed at the long slash on Cedric's back and quietly headed towards the unoccupied bed.
He barely sat down when Snape barged in.
Just what I needed, Harry frowned and turned away when Snape's eyes searched the room. He'd had enough dose of the Potions Master's presence for the rest of his life, thank you very much. The last thing Harry wanted was for Snape to see him all weak and injured and shame him for it.
"Severus, good that you're back already. You were right about the burnt salve, judging by the state of Mr. Potter's back, I'll need more than one jar. Thank you for retrieving it for me," Madam Pomfrey addressed Snape energetically and then returned to fixing up Cedric.
Curiosity got the best of Harry and he glanced at his professor stealthy, but Snape was already coming towards him, an unreadable expression occupying his face.
He placed a small bottle, suspiciously similar to the ones Harry had to wash a few days ago, on a nightstand next to Harry's bed and then turned to stare at him.
Harry noticed Snape's eyes flickered with an unusual gleam.
Here we go again, he made a mental bingo chart while trying to guess for what reasons was Snape going to berate him now.
Your earlier performance can be scarcely considered satisfactory. You've once again managed to waste my time, Potter. Detention for a month and fifty points from Gryffindor seems like appropriate compensation.
I've seen five-years-old flying better than you did today, Potter. You really are an embodiment of recklessness, is this how you set an example for younger generations to follow?
Getting hurt on purpose, aren't you, Potter? Did you intend to make me your personal house elf from the beginning? First, I had to fetch you and now I became a deliveryman for your medicine. The great saint and martyr…
Potter, if you think your wounds would earn pity points, let me assure you - they won't. In fact, what I've just brought is the Draught of Living Death. It seems like the dragon failed to do the deed so it is up to me to finish it….
Okay, the last one was a bit of a stretch but Harry could never be too sure when it came to Snape. Even then, Harry failed to assess Snape's behaviour properly. The man just stood there for three uncomfortable seconds, looking impassively at Harry.
It was a wonder how the man managed to scold Harry for Merlin knew what without uttering a single word.
"Your today's detention with Filch remains," Snape said at last, making Harry sigh in relief. The list of things he imagined Snape say got progressively scarier so the reality seemed far milder in comparison. At least no Draught of Living Death was offered.
Snape's stare travelled down to Harry's bleeding leg where it lingered and then he was gone.
That was weird. Harry would've pondered on the strange encounter longer if Hermione didn't storm inside with Ron behind her back. He really couldn't catch a break, but at least this was a company he genuinely enjoyed.
"Harry! You did it, you were amazing! And you placed first!" she ranted, kneeling beside him and squeezing his hand tightly. Harry was just glad she didn't hug him. The pain in his back intensified with every passing second.
"Blimey, Harry, what was Snape doing here? He looked like he was going to murder someone," Ron remarked casually but the uncertain glance gave him away. He was nervous to reconcile with Harry.
"Dunno, just the usual. Reminded me of my detention," Harry shrugged but returned the casual tone. He realized he'd long forgiven Ron and the last thing he wished for was an awkward apology to ruin the cheerful mood – Snape had already done enough damage.
"Slimy git."
Harry smiled. It felt good having Ron get angry for his sake again.
"I saw him leave when the fire hit you. I thought maybe he'd let you off the hook at least for today…" Hermione's voice trailed off and she frowned at the sight of Harry's torn calf.
"Let Harry off the hook? Hermione, this is Snape we're talking about. I wouldn't be surprised if he went to organize a party with Slytherins to celebrate Harry's injury!"
"Despite the popular belief, Professor Snape is still a Hogwarts staff member and the safety of his students should be his priority. Seriously, Ron."
"Are you defending him now? This is outrageous. Harry, are you hearing this?"
Harry wasn't hearing it. It felt so good to have both his friends by his side. If Madame Pomfrey didn't kick them out the following moment, he'd willingly listen to their bickering for hours.