Fleur was ecstatic. Ecstatic. In a moral orgasm. Honestly, what had just happened gave her more pleasure than her favorite sweets, which she ate in unrealistic quantities. In her eyes, Potter had risen from the rank of 'interesting boy' to 'guy she wouldn't mind going on a date with'... not even on his initiative. Honestly, she was almost in love.

No, she didn't fall for his aristocratic, cold beauty. No. Well, except in a small way...

The thing about him was his brains.

She clearly knew she was beautiful. Hell yeah, she's a Veela, she can't be ugly. But even amongst the veela, she stood out. Delacour was very strong, and that affected her veela heritage. Which was why she couldn't completely hide her aura. It was too strong. It was the reason no one looked beyond her firm breasts and slim waist. And there lurked a huge intellect, and the girl was aware of that as well. It wasn't hard to realize this when her studies came too easily to her. She probably could have even graduated with an externship.

Two courses ago.

But she had been rejected simply because she thought "that veela half-breed thought too much of herself," to quote a woman from the Ministry. It really hurt Fleur. She cried for weeks. Until she decided for herself... a lot of things. She's been acting like a typical blonde bitch ever since.

And then Harry Potter comes on the scene, the Boy Who Turns Out To Be Smarter Than Most. Maybe even smarter than her. An Oxford degree at fourteen is no joke. That kind of background was powerful even in the magical world. The French girl could hardly replicate that, but in her defense, math isn't what she's interested in.

He's strong, damn smart, and very attractive... Oh, his cold eyes, and his high cheekbones... But looks, of course, are not the point for her. Of course it is. Yeah. Definitely.

Veela decided to get close to him, no matter what. Even if he tore up his contract and left, she would find him... she even came up with baby names... boy... Marie-Victoire, right...

As Fleur drifted off into her distant fantasies, everyone in the room sat silently, thinking to themselves.

Snape was furious and shocked at the same time; he was trying to figure out what Potter had called him - whether it was offensive and what it meant. He was not enlightened in Muggle psychology at all.

Diggory doesn't seem to be in this room mentally at all. A pattern breaker he is. His mind was blank.

Krum figured he would probably lose the Tournament. A nonverbal spell from a fourth year student. Combat. No words, only swear words.

The rest of us were just shocked. It's not every day a principal shows a different side of himself. It's not every day a fourth year student... well, does something like this. And then there was what he said about Oxford. It was all very strange.

In the great hall, Hermione waited. The whole hall was buzzing, discussing: some blamed Potter, some remembered second year and Parseltang. But most opinions agreed that Potter was a fraud.

Even at the Gryffindor table.

But then the door to the champion's room swung open. The entire hall froze.

Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter walked with wide strides towards the exit of the Great Hall.

The Headmaster was... well, himself. He walked, albeit quickly, but still radiated confidence and kindness. And Harry was himself. Almost. His eyes weren't covered in a film of aloofness like before. He was staring at Dumbledore's back, trying to keep up, clearly analyzing something in his head... well, or he was under imperius.

The girl only awoke from the spectacle when the hall doors slammed shut, which was like a cannon in the unaccustomedly quiet great hall.

Potter was silent. Albus was as well. Like that, silently, they sat staring at each other for about five minutes.

Harry analyzed the office and Dumbledore himself. Nothing really lent itself to a coherent analysis. It could be the home of an evil mob boss or a grandfather with a quirk. The sleeping phoenix Fawkes on a perch. The allotment hat he'd had such a hard time convincing to be sent to Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw was lying on a shelf. Potter wasn't paying attention to all the ticking gauges and other, other things. He was looking for the little things. For example, he appreciated the very shape of the office. Very properly pressed psychologically on a person. The same throne-chair of the director implicitly towered over the chair of the "petitioner". And a lot of other such psychological tricks.

Or, to say, an inkwell with a quill that stands to the left of Dumbledore, while he uses his wand with his right hand, which means that the headmaster is ambidextrous.

The same ticking shimmering gadgets are mostly magical or Muggle trinkets. But they were relaxing. The Headmaster is "crazy," so you don't have to worry. You can tell him everything. In short, the vigilance was soporific. And Harry wasn't sure that magic wasn't used here.

Potter liked it. It would be cool to have an office like this. But then again... Harry liked the "typical British" image. He didn't want the "kind but crazy grandfather" image.

Dumbledore, for his part, was just wondering where to start. For a long time, he thought. His chance to retire sits in front of him: Harry can be given all his responsibilities when he's a little older and more adept at magic. Now he's not so upset about the boy getting into the Tournament. After all, the winner of the ancient Tournament is no joke, and when you also consider that it's the Boy Who Survived…

"Principal, weren't you going to say something to me?" The teenager was the first to break the long silence.

"Uh, yes, of course. So, an Oxford degree? Is that true?"

"Yes, I got my degree two months before my eleventh birthday. I started when I was nine," Harry said, a little puzzled. Is it really that important? And the headmaster of a magical school shouldn't give a shit about a Muggle diploma.

Albus seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Harry, an Oxford degree is highly regarded even in the magical world. In fact, the only people who don't know about magic are the common folk. Need I remind you, we have a Ministry of Magic. Not a magical government, a ministry. Just another department in the British government. After all, we are all subjects of the Queen. And even the magical world, she's got a handle on it, just in case. And the Chancellor of Oxford knows about our world. Considering that this very institution offers higher education in magical fields. Which branch did you graduate in, by the way?"

"Math, of course. It's my hobby," Potter said again, starting to analyze what was happening all over again. Harry had thought a lot of times that no matter how hard he looked at it, it was very strange that someone had gone to such lengths to get him a scholarship and a diploma, and he hadn't even shown up once. He'd written it off as the standard fish reaction to a smart little kid. It was a stretch, but it was a situation he could model. But now it made sense. Harry Potter's name opens doors for him not only in the magical world.

The Headmaster, too, was breaking out of the image that had been forming from various hints. He expected to be persuaded or threatened. And here Dumbledore sits and talks about Oxford and his hobbies. It was a little unexpected. At least the "Good Grandpa" manner was dropped, just normal conversation.

"That's very good... very... And tell me, how far ahead of your classmates are you?" the principal asked a question.

"I could basically pass the N.E.W.T already. Both the practical and theoretical parts. At least what I asked the seventh year students last year, I would have passed for sure," Potter answered the question after a second of thought. This was not information that should be withheld at the moment.

And it's quite nice to see the principal's shocked face.

"The practical part? Even DADA? Are you sure about that? How many combat spells can you give out when you're fully rested and to the point of exhaustion?" Albus even pitched forward a little.

"As I recall, we're here to discuss another matter," Harry turned down the headmaster's pace. The answer to that question might suggest Potter's potential to the Headmaster. And he didn't want that.

"Well, when I was training Expelliarmus, I could give out about sixteen in a row. But that's not total exhaustion, just fatigue.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. He bloody well needed a break. If it was true, and the Headmaster had decided to believe Potter this time, how had he not noticed before? Why was Harry's results so...umm, unimportant?

"Harry, explain to me why you're so frankly so bad at school then?"

For the first time, a slight embarrassment could be seen on the teenager's face. But he quickly pulled himself together and looked directly at Albus again.

"Childhood complexes that I had diagnosed in myself but didn't want to eradicate because they weren't so useless. When I was a kid, the Dursleys used to beat me up, deprive me of food, and put me in the den when I got my perfect scores. Ever since then, I've been expected to perform just above average."

The Headmaster had to make an effort to keep his cool. When he'd sent Harry to the Dursleys, this wasn't what he'd planned. Yes, he wanted the hero to be raised in strictness. But it was that strictness, not... not what they were doing to him.

"Harry...when I sent you there...I didn't think it would be this bad. I apologize. You're not going back there. And the Dursleys, as well as whoever sent me the reports on your condition, will be punished."

"You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"Yes, an owl flew me a report once a week. And all it said was that you were fine. If you remember Mrs. Figg. She was watching you... I'm sorry," Dumbledore dropped his head onto his hands. His whole look said that he was remorseful.

Potter could detect no lies in his words or emotions.

"It's nothing, sir. You'd better tell me why you were so surprised when I told you about my training."

The Headmaster raised his head and looked carefully into Harry's eyes, not seeing any anger... or any other negative emotion there, pleased, he continued.

"You see, any combat spell is very complex and energy intensive. There's a reason why upperclassmen have DADA classes once a week. The energy reserves of an average seventh year student would be enough for about a couple of nonverbal disarming spells. After that, I doubt even Lumos will work. I should have known when you learned Patronus spells last year. Bloody hell..." Albus said the last words almost in a whisper, obviously lost in his own thoughts.

"That's all well and good, of course, but my plan to break the contract and get out is still on the table," the teen decided to remind him.

"Oh, right. Now I owe you an explanation. You see, a year before you were born, a prophecy was spoken: "One is coming who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord... born to those who have defied him three times, born at the end of the seventh month... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but will not know his full power... And one of them must die by the hand of the other, for neither can live in peace while the other lives... one who is powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord will be born at the end of the seventh month...". It was true, believe my long experience. There were two children who fit that prophecy: you and Neville Longbottom...

"Who's that?" Harry interrupted him.

"Your classmate Neville," Dumbledore said, a little surprised.

"Uh... Ah! A chubby, clumsy fish... human? I get it."

"Do you think everyone around you is a fish?" The principal asked with a slight smile. "Why the comparison?"

"Well, they're just as stupid and pointless. A typical fish has a memory of three seconds. But let's say... uh... well, that curly fish... it also likes to study..."

"Ms. Granger?"

"Yeah, I guess so. She has a four-second memory, let's say. It's my peculiar way of labeling the intelligence of others."

"Frankly, I think it's a bit arrogant, but it's not far from the truth. I, for one, think of everyone as children. The age I mentally give them depends on their intelligence. Yeah, why are you looking so incredulous? I knew the entire Hogwarts curriculum by fourth year, and I'm kind of a genius, too. Admittedly, I'm a bit behind in modern psychology, judging by the fact that I didn't understand most of the terms you used to call Severus. And, getting ahead of your question, you are what I consider an adult in my measurement system, so to speak. If anything, you're the second person, after Flamel, to be able to rise that far in my eyes."

Indeed, Potter only now noticed that Dumbledore's speech did not have his typical "my boy" and "my girl" look. There was no look like he was looking at a child who had done something wrong or, on the contrary, encouraging. All in all, he looked and acted like an adult, a wise wizard speaking to his equal. It was very…

"Oh, I consider you a "person" in my fish measuring system too. You're the first, even if I'm not completely convinced yet. That said, let's get back to the reason... Why do I have to stay here?"

"Ah, yes. At first the plan was this, to make a long story short... I lure Voldemort to your house, and he dies because of you. Only I was counting on him keeping your parents alive. James was a nth generation pureblood after all, and Lily was... well, let's just say that's what people close to the Dark Lord asked for.

"Snape?"

"Oh, right. Snape. Of course, you guessed it. Now, you, you might say, killed the Dark Lord. For your life, frankly, I wasn't sure. But you have to understand. The lives of even three people against thousands... No matter how much the image of a light grandfather is painted around me, I'm not exactly that.

"Wait, and how is the fact that you sacrificed me, albeit unsuccessfully, supposed to make me stay here?" The teenager asked neutrally.

"You are one of the few people I now hold as my equal, at least intellectually. I'm telling you the unvarnished truth. I'll tell it up to this very day. And then you'll decide whether or not to leave. I swear I won't keep you here by force."

"I see. Yes, you thought right, I completely agree with your decision so far and would do exactly the same. It's a shame my parents died, but in chess you have to sacrifice pieces to win…"

"Yeah. I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you. I swear by magic, everything I've said since I stepped foot in this office today, and will say until you leave this office, is true. Lumos. Knox."

"Uh, wow. Unexpected…"

"I really want you to understand me. Well, here's the thing. When James and Lily died and you survived, I didn't know what to do. Where to put you? Yeah, a lot of people say they'd take a one-year-old. But in reality... Sirius is in prison, Lupin is a werewolf, Pettigrew is dead. On Lily's side, there was only Petunia, which is where I gave you to. I thought you'd be raised strictly, but not... not like this. They will be punished, believe me. But that's not what's important. Tom survived. There's a lot of circumstantial evidence, and the prophecy still stands. And I needed to train you as a hero. So for two years in a row, I've been giving you adventures while making sure you didn't die. You've always performed just above average. And how to defeat Voldemort with that was unknown to me personally. Again, preempting your question, no, I couldn't defeat Tom and then deliver him to you to kill him. The prophecy doesn't tolerate that. Tricks don't work with magic. If I go up against Tom, anything can happen, but I can't win. A brick on my head, my wand fails, or I slip on my beard. But I won't win. Honestly, looking at your results, I was planning on not touching you at all until O.W.L. so you could study in peace, but no such luck. First Sirius escapes, who turns out to be innocent, then the cup."

"Wow. That's just wow. You can't tell from my face, but I'm shocked. I was sure you guys were staging the whole thing. But you swore, so jokes aside. But that still hasn't yet convinced me to abandon the idea of getting lost in the Muggle world and live and work quietly as, say... well, a consulting detective first in the world! Why not?"

"And here's the argument I've saved for last. You stay in school and we ALL defeat Voldemort. For that, I'll take you on as my personal student and arrange for you to pass the N.E.W.T at the end of the year. Correction, I'm arranging the exam itself, you'll take it on your own. Then you'll still be at Hogwarts, but you'll be taught by me personally. I can't right now: the Tournament is starting, and you're a participant, you're sworn in, you know. I'll teach you everything I know, and judging by your level of strength, sixteen verbal Expelliarmus at fourteen is no joke - you'll defeat Voldemort with ease."

"Non-verbal."

"What?"

"I cast all my spells when no one's looking, non-verbally."

"Uh... Well, I guess WHEN you win the Tournament, we'll go straight into extra lessons. I think combat transfiguration is just what you need with all that energy... So you'll take me up on my offer?"

"Hell, yeah, of course I do. I like magic. I could give it up, but not after an offer like that. But I demand an oath - my privacy and permission not to wear a school uniform. As a participant in the tournament for now, and then as your personal apprentice."

"Oh, your terms are more than acceptable, because I would have offered it anyway. The oath? I'm in."

After swearing the oath, a completely devastated Harry walked out of the study. He had a lot to think about.

I think I need to smoke.

Hi everyone, if you want more chapters... links are in the profile