A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
Room of Requirement
A loud sigh escaped Harry's lips as he stared at himself in the mirror, inspecting his unruly black hair and almost-but-not-completely emerald-green eyes. A black tie with green stripes hung around his neck, but apart from that, he was entirely naked, save for a pair of white boxer briefs. To his left, Hermione was hastily looking through all of his clothes, which had been spread out across the queen-sized bed the two shared.
Over the past couple of days, Harry and Hermione had all but moved in here, and started using the Room of Requirement as their own personal bedroom. After their little… stint a while back (which Luna had so conveniently walked in on), they had quickly found that sleeping without the other was far less enjoyable and far more lonely that it had used to be. As such, Hermione had been quick to come up with a plan that allowed them to stay together here in the Room of Requirement rather than apart in the Ravenclaw Tower. There was only one problem.
The Room of Requirement could in theory be accessed by anyone at any time, as Luna had so graciously demonstrated to them. Therefore, it was imperative that, should one happen to stumble across the Room, one did not walk into it only to find Harry and Hermione's shared (and quite possibly occupied) bedroom.
The solution to this was simple: always keep the Room in one specific configuration, but add a secret compartment to it that was hidden from sight. After some mild discussion, they had settled on a replica of the Gryffindor common room as their chosen configuration.
Hermione had been the one to transform the Room into the replica, as Harry had never seen the inside of Gryffindor Tower with his own eyes. Seeing it for the first time through Hermione's recreation of it, he thought it looked rather warm and cozy. He still preferred Ravenclaw's common room, though, with its massive bookshelves and silk-covered tables.
Once they had successfully replicated the Gryffindor common room, they proceeded to add a wooden trapdoor underneath one of the many rugs covering the floorboards. Then, they covered said trapdoor with as many Notice-Me-Not charms as they could, coupled with a Disillusionment charm.
This made the entrance to their secret bedroom nigh impossible to find. Anyone wandering into the Room of Requirement would find nothing but a replica of the Gryffindor common room, and nothing more, unless they knew specifically where to look for something out-of-place.
The bedroom itself, however, was much different from the common room above. It was rather big, and consisted of a massive queen-sized bed, a window overlooking the Black Lake, two identical mahogany desks, a wall stacked with bookshelves, several tables and couches, a couple of recliners, a fireplace, and finally, a walk-in closet for Hermione.
In short, it looked like something out of a Christmas fairytale. And Harry absolutely loved it.
Today, however, he found himself in a bit of a hurry, as he had been summoned to a Champion event regarding the Tournament, and he had two separate meetings with both Dumbledore and Hagrid lined up for the afternoon.
"Your wardrobe is in desperate need of an upgrade, Harry," Hermione suddenly sighed, pulling him from his daydreams.
"You don't say," Harry quipped in response, turning to address his brown-haired female companion.
"You own basically nothing in the way of formal attire, and even your normal school robes seem to be in a state of disrepair. The only thing you really have is Muggle clothes, but even those are way too big to fit you properly."
"That's because they used to belong to Dudley," Harry explained. "And he is… if you'll excuse my French; fat as shit."
"Then why haven't you simply bought your own clothes? I mean, Godric knows you can afford it."
"There was never any need," Harry shrugged. "I basically always use Transfigured clothing either way."
"Ugh." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Remind me to take you to the tailor's sometime in the near future."
"If you say so," Harry chuckled, circling behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.
"I do say so," Hermione responded with a sigh, leaning into his chest. "I will not have my boyfriend walk around in nothing but magically-maintained clothing."
"Why not?" Harry asked, taking the opportunity to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "They look just as real as normal clothes, and they help me improve my magical stamina, seeing as I have to maintain the spell constantly for several hours on end."
"Because… it is a superfluous solution to a tiny problem," Hermione huffed. "And there are better, more effective ways to train your magical core."
"Alright, alright. You win," Harry smirked. "I'll buy myself some new clothes."
"Thank you," Hermione nodded, before turning around in his arms to face him. "And… I'm sorry. For being such a worrywart…"
"Don't worry," Harry winked. "I find it more cute than annoying."
A warm smile spread itself across her face at his words, and she stood up on her toes to plant a kiss to his lips. Harry responded with affection, cupping her cheek with his hand and bringing forth his tongue, seeking entry into her mouth. She gladly let him, and met his tongue with her own, her breathing growing rugged and needy as she clung to him.
"We have to stop this," Harry said after a while, breaking their kiss and placing his forehead against hers. "Or I'm not going to be able to focus at all during this Champion event."
"Oh… I reckon we have a couple of minutes," Hermione smiled as she sunk to her knees and grabbed hold of the waistband on his boxer briefs.
"Well… Now that you mention it…" Harry breathed, allowing her to pull his underwear down, freeing a certain entity that was rapidly swelling in size. "I don't think anyone will blame me for being a liiiiittle late."
He did not get to say much more than that, as Hermione promptly took his cock into her mouth and slid her tongue across his swollen crown, causing him to lean his head back and groan.
Harry was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.
Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. She looked more than a little uncomfortable talking to the Hufflepuff boy; almost as if she wanted the ground to swallow her up where she stood. For a brief moment, Harry considered walking over to the pair to save her from Cedric, but he quickly thought the better of it. He didn't owe Fleur anything, and he believed he had made that exceedingly clear the last time they spoke. And so he simply waltzed on by, a tiny smile adorning his lips.
As he walked, Ludo Bagman suddenly spotted Harry from across the room, got up in a jiffy, and bounded forwards to meet him.
Harry had met Bagman only once before; just a couple of days prior, in fact. He was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired man with rosy skin. Sometime in the past, he may have had an athletic build, but any sign of that had long since faded, giving way to what many might consider a stereotypical "dad-bod".
"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come..." Bagman smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white. "There's nothing to worry about, it's just a wand-weighing ceremony! The rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"
"Wand-weighing?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman nodded. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," Rita Skeeter interjected with a clearly faked smile, her eyes landing on Harry.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles, and thick fingers with two-inch nails (painted crimson) clutched a crocodile-skin handbag.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, her gaze still fixed on Harry. "The youngest champion, you know. . . to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" Bagman smiled jovially. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"
Fucking delightful…
"No objections here," Harry replied, his voice perfectly monotone.
"Lovely," Rita Skeeter nodded, and nary a moment later, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, steering him out of the room and towards a nearby door.
"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said, pulling open the wooden entrance and dragging him inside. "Let's see . . . Ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
It was a broom cupboard. Harry sent her a deadpan stare.
"Come along, dear - that's right - lovely," Rita Skeeter urged him, perching herself upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. "Let's see now..."
She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.
"You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally."
"I suppose not," Harry replied, trying his best to keep his annoyance from reaching his face. Godric, how he hated nosy journalists.
Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached into her crocodile bag yet again and emerged with a long, acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked on it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.
"Testing. . . my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Harry's eyes immediately went to the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, it had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment. What it had written, however, did not coincide in the slightest with what the reporter had said:
"Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations – "
"Lovely," Rita Skeeter nodded as she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Then, she leaned towards Harry. "So, Harry... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I didn't," Harry replied evenly, but once again, he found himself distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn't speaking anymore, it was still dashing across the parchment, and in its wake, he could make out a fresh sentence:
"An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes – "
"Ignore the quill, Harry," Rita Skeeter said firmly. Harry looked up at her again, but this time, his facial expression was several degrees colder than before.
Cheeky little bitch…
"Now – There's no reason to lie, Harry. We all know you had to put your name into the Goblet of Fire to be selected. So why did you decide to do it?"
"I didn't," Harry said again, his patience already stretched thin. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I certainly didn't put it there."
Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.
"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" she continued, moving past the previous question. "Excited? Nervous?"
"Annoyed, maybe, mixed with slight nervousness," Harry replied, eyes narrowing.
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Rita Skeeter said briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"Well… They say it's going to be a lot safer this year," Harry said.
The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, writing at a breakneck pace as they talked.
"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Rita Skeeter smirked, watching his reaction closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"
"… I like to think I've turned out okay," Harry replied, a thin veneer of ice present in his voice.
"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because - "
"I already told you, I didn't?" Harry half-sneered. "I didn't put my – "
"Can you remember your parents at all?" Rita Skeeter continued, talking over him.
"No," Harry replied. He realized a little too late that he had let his temper flare up, and so he took a deep breath to compose himself. "No, I can't."
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Harry scoffed at the question. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive?
"I have no clue what they'd think. Maybe they'd be ashamed of me. Or maybe they would be proud. Who's to say?" he shrugged, attempting to remain cool-headed and rational despite the ridiculously annoying conversation he was currently engaged in.
"Proud?" Rita Skeeter blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, my dad was known to be quite the troublemaker, wasn't he? So I think he'd be at least a little bit happy to see that the apple didn't land too far from the tree," Harry smirked.
"So you think you've inherited your knack for getting into trouble from your father?" Rita Skeeter said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"I never said that," Harry frowned.
Before she could say another word, however, the door to the broom cupboard suddenly flew open. Bright light flooded into the little room, and in the opening stood Albus Dumbledore, looking down at both of them.
"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, standing up straight. Or, as straight as she could, considering the low height of the roof. "How are you?"
Behind her back, Harry noticed the Quick-Quotes Quill disappearing into her crocodile-skin bag, together with the parchment. Before it vanished from sight completely, however, inspiration struck, and Harry sent off a wordless, wandless Incendio at the exposed paper. It caught fire immediately, and within seconds, their entire interview had been reduced to cinders.
Serves her right, Harry thought to himself with an amused smile. Good luck writing that article now.
"Ah, Rita Skeeter. A pleasure, as always," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling with humor. "I especially enjoyed your piece on the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference over the summer. Enchantingly nasty, might I say."
His backhanded compliment did not seem to bother the woman in the slightest, however. If anything, her smile only seemed to grow wider.
"I was just making the point that some of the ICW's ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that –"
"I would be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness later, Rita," Dumbledore said, cutting her off. "But I am afraid that I will have to steal Harry from you now. The Weighing of the Wands is about to begin, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."
"Of course," Rita Skeeter nodded, seemingly delighted that the old wizard had not asked her about the nature of the interview she had just conducted. "He's all yours."
"Thank you, Rita. Now, Harry, come with me, please. And ready your wand, as well," Dumbledore nodded, before taking a couple of steps away from the entrance so Harry could step out of the cupboard.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry said, glad to be away from Rita Skeeter and her scarlet nails.
Back outside, the other Champions had found their seats near the door, on the front side of the velvet-covered desks. Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch and Ludo Bagman sat on the opposite side, acting as judges and overseers of the Tournament. Harry took the only remaining seat, which placed him all the way to the left, next to Cedric Diggory, the other Champion representing Hogwarts.
"Now that all of the Champions have been gathered, I would like to introduce Mr. Ollivander, wandmaker extraordinaire and an old friend of mine," Dumbledore smiled as he found his place on the judges' side of the table. "He will be the one conducting the wand-weighing ceremony."
An old wizard with large, pale eyes took center stage, and Harry immediately recognized him. It was the same man that had given him his wand in Diagon Alley all those years ago. He looked very much the same now as he had back then, if not a bit more grey and wizened.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have yours first, please?" he asked, turning to address the French Veela. He did not seem to be affected by her passive Allure at all, which Harry had to admit was a bit impressive.
"Of course," Fleur responded, sweeping over to him to hand him her wand.
"Hmm…" he hummed, twirling the wand between his long fingers and examining it carefully. "Yes… Nine and a half inches… Inflexible, made of rosewood, containing… dear me…"
"An 'air from the 'ead of a Veela," Fleur nodded. "It belonged to my grandmother."
"Ahh," Mr. Ollivander said. "I've never used Veela hair myself, to be honest; I find it makes for rather temperamental wands. But I can tell that this one was made by a talented wandmaker."
The old man tightened his grip around the rosewood handle, and then, with a flourish, uttered the phrase: "Orchideous!" A bouquet of flowers burst forth from the wand tip.
"Very well. This one is in fine working order," he smiled, picking off the flowers and handing them to Fleur, together with her wand. "Mr. Diggory. You're next."
The brown-haired boy rose from his seat with vigor, and smiled at Fleur as he walked past her. She smiled back at him, but Harry couldn't help but notice that it appeared a touch more strained than what would perhaps be considered normal.
"Ahh… Now this one I remember," Mr. Ollivander said as Cedric handed him his wand. "Ash wood, twelve and a quarter inches, with Unicorn hair as its core. Pleasantly springy, and in surprisingly fine condition… You treat it regularly?"
"I polish it every night," Cedric grinned.
"So I can see," Mr. Ollivander nodded. "It is a fine wand, for a fine wizard. May it continue to serve you well."
A silver stream of smoke erupted from the wand's tip at Mr. Ollivander's behest, glimmering softly as it floated through the air. Harry had never seen anything quite like it before, and quickly found himself enamored by its delicate gleam.
"Mr. Krum, if you would be so kind as to present me with your wand next…" Mr. Ollivander said, breaking the spell and handing Cedric's wand back to him.
The Bulgarian Seeker stepped up to the wandmaker with a stern expression on his face, wand at the ready. The old man took it into his hands with great care, and proceeded to inspect it from every angle imaginable.
"This is one of Gregorovitch's creations, isn't it?" he asked, turning it over before his pale eyes. "And a fine creation it is. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, correct?"
Krum nodded.
"Rather thicker than one usually sees… Rigid and firm to the touch… Ten and a quarter inches… Avis!"
A blast like that from a gun sounded throughout the room as a small number of twittering birds flew out of the wand's end. They circled the room a couple of times, before dashing through an open window, out into the bright sunlight.
"Good, very good…" Mr. Ollivander nodded, before handing Krum his wand. The Bulgarian Seeker accepted it with a grunt, and slinked back to his corner, eyes hard and shining with determination.
"That only leaves you, Mr. Potter," Barty Crouch Sr. said from his seat at the judges' table.
"I suppose so," Harry replied, getting to his feet with a sigh before walking over to where Mr. Ollivander was standing.
"Yes…" the old man smiled. "How well I remember this particular wand. Let me see it, boy."
Harry stuck his hand into his robes to retrieve his wand. Moments before his fingers touched the wood, however, he remembered what had happened after the ritual in the Room of Requirement, and halted.
Ohh, that's right. I can't actually touch my wand yet.
So, instead of wrapping his hand fully around it, he cast a wordless Wingardium Leviosa on it and let it hover just a couple of centimeters above his skin. That way, it would look like he was holding his wand, when, in reality, it was actually just floating in his hand.
"Ahh…" Mr. Ollivander breathed as Harry presented him with his wand. The old man spent far longer inspecting this one than he had anyone else's, turning it over multiple times whilst whispering softly to himself. Eventually, though, he summoned forth a fountain of wine with it, before handing it back to Harry with a nod.
"I am finished," he announced, turning to look at the judges. "Mr. Potter's wand is in perfect condition."
"Thank you, Garrick," Dumbledore replied with a smile. The old wandmaker gave a stiff bow, before bidding his adieu to the Champions. Just as he was about to leave the room, however, his eyes landed on Harry yet again. There was an oddly humoristic gleam present in them, as if the old man had realized something during his inspection of Harry's wand, but chosen to keep it to himself.
Harry did not get the chance to ask him about it, however, as the man disappeared through the door within seconds, which Dumbledore took as his que to rise from his seat.
"Now, before you all leave to go back to your lessons, I believe our journalist friends here would like to take a couple of photos," he said, gesturing towards Rita Skeeter and an accompanying photographer, who had remained hidden in a corner of the room until now.
"Good idea!" Ludo Bagman nodded enthusiastically. "Let's get one of all the judges and Champions together! What do you think, Rita?"
"Er… Yes, of course. Let's do those first," Rita Skeeter replied, looking up from her crocodile-skin bag. She had been desperately trying to find something in there for the past couple of minutes, to no avail. Harry knew what that something was, of course. He also knew that she wouldn't find it, which filled him with a grim sense of satisfaction.
It took a while to get everyone set up for the big photo, but eventually, they got there, with the judges standing in the back and the Champions in front. They had placed Harry all the way to the left, with Fleur as the person standing next to him.
"… 'Arry…" she suddenly whispered, leaning over to him.
Oh Godric… What is it now?
"Yes, Fleur?" he whispered back, taking care to put as little emotion into his voice as possible.
"I… I wanted to apologize…" she continued, biting her lower lip in consternation. "I realize that I overstepped some boundaries with what I did in the Owlery, a couple of days ago…"
"No, really," Harry responded drily.
"Yes. I… I can only say that I am truly sorry… I am not used to being ignored so completely by someone my age, and it… it caused me to overreact."
"And you realized this all on your own? Good job!" Harry scoffed, his tone overly sarcastic.
"'Arry, please… I am trying to apologize 'ere. This is all… very new to me…" Fleur sighed, throwing back her head so that her long, silvery hair flowed over her shoulder. The action did not go unnoticed, as the photographer manning the camera peeked out to send her a glassy-eyed stare.
"Watch out; you're hypnotizing the camera man," Harry replied, trying his best to hold in his laughter. Fleur furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, then turned to the left. Her facial expression quickly switched to one of exasperation when she noticed the middle-aged man gawking at her.
"Ahh, merde."
"It's okay. I'll… I'll accept your apology," Harry said, dragging her attention back to him again.
"You will?" she responded, a thankful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Yes, I will. I'll also admit that I might have… overreacted… a bit when I grabbed your hair like that. I apologize."
"Do not worry. It was scary in that moment, but I deserved it," Fleur nodded.
"But…" Harry continued, eyes narrowing. "Don't ever do something like that again. I'll forgive it this time, but should you ever decide to give it another shot… I will not be so kind."
"You can rest assured I will never do it again, 'Arry," Fleur replied. "What would even be the point? I know that you are truly immune now. I couldn't charm you even if I tried."
"True enough. I just wanted to set the record straight," Harry shrugged.
"I understand."
"Good."
"Yes."
An awkward silence descended between them, before Harry broke it just a couple of seconds later.
"I'm Harry, by the way."
"Hmm?" Fleur blinked.
"Harry Potter. We kinda got off on the wrong foot the first time around, so I figure we should probably do the whole introduction thing again, seeing as we are no longer mad at each other."
"Ahh… Good idea. I'm Fleur. Fleur Delacour. And might I add that it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter."
"Likewise, Miss Delacour," Harry nodded.
"Oh? What's going on over here then?" the voice of Rita Skeeter suddenly cut in. "A budding romance between two rival Champions, perhaps?"
The gaudy woman came rushing over to them at the speed of sound, parchment and quill at the ready. She had a positively wicked grin plastered on her face, and the sight of it pissed Harry off to no end.
"Non." Fleur shook her head. "I was simply complaining to Mr. Potter 'ere that this is taking too long."
"Ahh…" Rita Skeeter replied. "I somehow doubt that, Miss Delacour. I somehow doubt that very much. But that's alright. I won't tell if you don't."
The audacity of this bitch… Harry thought to himself with a scoff.
"Then it would seem we are in agreement," Fleur smiled. But it was not the same kind of genuine smile she had given Harry just moments earlier. No, this one was downright predatory, as if warning Rita Skeeter that she should not push this any further than she already had… or else.
The rest of the photos took a long time, as Rita Skeeter and the photographer kept insisting that they needed more material for their article, even after taking well over 20 photos. Nobody really believed them, of course, but they went along with their whims regardless, until at last… Harry and the rest of the Champions was free to go.
Harry did not to get to enjoy this newfound freedom for long, however, as he already had a meeting with both Dumbledore and Hagrid lined up in quick succession afterwards.
This is going to be a very long day, Harry sighed to himself as he stalked off towards the Great Hall. He had no idea just how right he was.
A/N: And there you have it! Yet another chapter of my story completed. I am a tad bit late with this (9 days, to be precise), but I have made the chapter a bit longer to make up for it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I really like this life Harry is building for himself with Hermione. I always felt like the Room of Requirement was severely under-utilized in Canon (I mean, it's literally a room that can turn into any other room imaginable), which is why I am featuring it so heavily in this story. I know for a fact that if I had been a student attending Hogwarts, and I knew about the existence of the Room of Requirement, I would have been using it for absolutely anything and everything, just like Harry and his friends are doing now.
I would also like to point out that a decent chunk of this chapter (specifically the early parts regarding the Champion meeting) has been ripped straight from Canon. I have reworked a lot of it, of course, but some parts are just straight copy-and-paste, as I believe J.K. Rowling did a good job with that portion, and I did not feel like changing it. Feel free to pull up a copy of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" and compare it with this chapter. See how many differences you can spot.
Oh, and to all y'all Fleur haters; stay mad lol. I like Fleur, and I have a lot of plans for her going forward. Sure, the first impression might not have been all that great (and purposefully so), but give her a chance, and who knows? Maybe you'll grow to like her? :)
Either way, I've been rambling on for a bit too long now. No ETA on the next chapter, I'm afraid, as I've got something of a busy schedule for the next couple of weeks. I promise I'll do my best to not spend TOO long on it, though. So until next time, ladies and gents. Twisted, signing off.
-Twisted