Raising Finesse to 20 with one of his level-up abilities got Harry the Perfect Aim perk, which suggested, "Your hand-eye-coordination is so complete you cannot miss a stationary target you can see, and double your accuracy if you or your target is moving." He'd tested it out, and it seemed to apply to spells, thrown objects, his sword, and even catching things out of the air. It almost felt outside of his control, his reflexes suddenly so good that if he could get his hand in the right vicinity of something, he'd lock on. With slow-moving spells, people could still dodge, but if they started dodging while he was still casting he could land a hit almost every time.
It was going to make quidditch even more unfair the next year.
While he'd thought about starting to work on maxing out Perception, as his next-highest ability, his leveling was slowing down enough that it might take a while to get to seventh level and complete the attribute. Meanwhile, the downside of min-maxing was the mins. He ultimately decided to put three points into his Charisma, in the hopes that he could be leader of his own party more often and have a little easier time getting along with people who weren't just awestruck by his fame. It did raise his party cap by one, supporting Hermione's theory that the limit was just Charisma divided by three.
Sixth level also opened up the option to finally take a multiclass. It was overwhelming. It had been hard enough to choose his electives for third year, without also having to decide what would basically be his career going forward. Should he go Athlete like Wood to be better at quidditch? Would he want to be a Teacher, eventually? He knew he could just grab the pre-med textbook from the Granger house to pick up Doctor immediately. Between Sirius' fond tales of the time he and James Potter were aurors, plus Dawlish harping on it all year, he thought that it might make sense to go Officer. But he wasn't even quite 13, and it was a huge decision. What if he discovered he liked something a lot that he hadn't even had a chance to try yet?
It probably made sense that most people didn't even have the chance to make the choice until they were at least 16.
Other than delaying his ability to start raising the special skills for whatever secondary class he took, he was probably safe to wait. And he was almost 13, so anticipation about his birthday at the end of the month quickly eclipsed his dithering over choosing a multiclass. They'd planned a lovely day at Diagon Alley where they would have lunch at Fortescue's private restaurant above the ice cream shop for the whole Marauder gang, and then they'd all run interference at Flourish and Blotts while he checked the shelves for skill books.
There ultimately weren't a lot of skill books that didn't have matching copies in the Hogwarts library (Madam Pince was diligent about increasing the collection), but he found a few. More importantly, everyone had a good time: Harry and Hermione looking through books, and the other Marauders managing a carefully-curated mayhem to keep the staff away from where Harry was browsing at any given time. Fred and George in particular were thrilled at getting one-on-one tutelage with Remus and Sirius about the subtle arts of pranking: if you did it right, you could make a nuisance of yourself in public and nobody would ever realize anything had gone wrong other than a hectic series of coincidences.
Of course, the real birthday present was the trip to the Quidditch World Cup. Sirius' outing to the alley was a good test of the polyjuice disguise he was planning to use for the time in Germany. He'd spent several days that summer sitting outside muggle barber shops looking for the right subject, and had ultimately found a man with a similar-enough build he wouldn't feel weird transformed, but with a different enough look that nobody would assume his real identity. Again, that subtle Marauder skillset allowed him to make off with a load of hair for the potion with no one the wiser.
Hermione asked, "What if they didn't sweep completely and someone else's hair gets in the potion?" Sirius thought that was unlikely, but the small risk added to the fun.
A disguised Sirius was, thus, one of several adult chaperones for the Marauders early on a Saturday morning in the middle of August, trying to find a portkey in the wooded fields some distance south of Hermione's house. In addition to Sirius and Remus, the Weasley parents were both there, along with Shacklebolt, Vance, and Dumbledore himself. There were nearly as many Order of the Phoenix guild tags in evidence as Marauders. Arthur Weasley had been read in at some point in the last year. Also, Percy Weasley was functionally another adult chaperone: he was along with the rest of the family since it seemed weird to exclude him. The trip was serving as a graduation present for him before he started his career at the Ministry in earnest. The two older Weasley brothers were meeting them there.
The family had been hoping to win a drawing for their summer vacation money, but hadn't been quite lucky enough, so were secretly thrilled to get to take the whole family on a vacation. They'd been inclined to refuse to use Sirius' money, but once Dumbledore pointed out it was Ekrizdis' money, and the whole trip was an Order of the Phoenix operation, they'd seen their way through the cognitive dissonance of not accepting charity.
The potential damage to the Statute of Secrecy with over a dozen wizards and witches tromping through rural Crawley was much less than it could have been. The twins and Ron had lots of experience dressing muggle from the previous summer, and they'd reigned in some of the rest of their family's excesses. It was really just Dumbledore, who probably knew how to dress but felt like celestial-stitched robes in the bright colors of the English national quidditch team were more important. Vance and Shacklebolt were also dressed more wizardly (especially with Shacklebolt in his red auror's robes), but were at least in darker, solid colors that wouldn't obviously stand out to the farmers watching them ramble from the other side of a field.
"I think this is it," Mr. Weasley announced, as they spotted a rusted old bicycle discarded a little distance into a forest. Harry inspected it to confirm.
This item is enchanted as a portkey. It will
transport any individuals touching it to
Germany at the end of the countdown.
00:08:15
"Looks like we have about eight minutes left until it goes," he told everyone.
"Makes sense," Arthur agreed, checking his pocketwatch. "Glad we timed it right, then"
"Wouldn't it make more sense to just have an international portkey terminal that we floo to?" Hermione checked.
"That's the normal process," the headmaster explained. "But it's not a very large facility, and there would be potential consequences if many portkeys were triggered in a short period of time from one location. With the sheer number of British wizards that attend the Cup, it makes sense to distribute the transportation locations and times. You're taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, yes? The theory should be covered for you next year. But it comes down to the very mechanism by which the items work to–"
"Right!" Mrs. Weasley took command, as the time ticked down and it looked like Dumbledore was switching to lecturing mode. "Everyone go ahead and get ready. It looks like they made this one big enough that everyone can put a whole hand on. Ginny, dear, watch out where your rucksack is. Fred. George. On the other side of the device from Percy. I saw what you were trying. Everyone got a grip?"
She was, if anything, too good at organizing, and they were ready three minutes before the portkey triggered, and then had to kind of stare at one another until suddenly the magic triggered and they and the bike were all yanked through space as if by giant fishhooks in their stomachs. Unlike other forms of transportation, it initially felt like they were rising into the air, sucked up in a giant tornado, and Harry wondered whether they were going to physically fly all the way to Germany. But moments after it began, they were landing on the ground in a different wood, 400 miles away.
"Zehn uhr drei-und-swanzig von Pease Pottage," an organizer announced in German as they picked themselves up from the ground. It was yet another off of Harry's …And Automobiles quest. He just hoped that Knight Bus, flying carpet, and phoenix travel were better than portkeys.
"We're somewhere deep in the Black Forest," Mrs. Weasley explained for the crowd. "Don't go wandering out of the tournament areas or you'll cause an international incident."
"Now, Molly, I don't think it will be as bad as that," her husband corrected. "But they do have out of bounds warded and blocked off and there should be plenty to do in the permitted space."
He wasn't wrong. Winding through a connected series of clearings in the forest were an overwhelming collection of wizards, witches, and even other beings, all winding their way through rows full of tents. For all that the space wasn't nearly as regular as a flat field, the German organizers had imposed what order they could on the campsites, and regular signs on trees explained the grid system for finding one's way around. The stadium itself was in a large clearing from which the rest of the camp branched out. They could even see glimpses of the immense structure through the trees as they rubbernecked their way through the area to try to find their assigned camp.
The next few hours were a blur, but would seem to take days when they thought back on them, given all the fun and novel experiences. They set up space-expanded wizarding tents. They met so many people. They shopped like they had a guild vault full of a dark wizard's money to spend. And then, as the afternoon finally started to move on to evening, immense horns called them into the stadium to watch the match.
They'd procured a box for the entire group. With the warning from Harry's dream a few weeks earlier, Dumbledore had handled snubbing Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, apologizing that Harry was visiting with enough of his school friends that they wouldn't fit in the Ministry's box, but he might be around parties later. That later might be much later, since it was a tense match. England made an amazing showing against Italy, and finally clenched it with the snitch around midnight when they'd already been 80 points up (and the scores in general, after over six hours of play, were far higher than Harry had seen at any Hogwarts match).
"Are there enough Italians here to cause a riot?" Hermione wondered, remembering Harry's quest and staying on task as the rest of her friends were nearly losing their minds at the victory and thought of exiting into the campsite for fun far later than their usual bedtimes.
Brought back to earth, Harry set his quest to track on the edge of his vision.
THE GOBLET OF FIRE (MAIN QUEST)
Who will be the greatest mage in Europe?
* Attend the quidditch World Cup
O Escape the riot
O Confront the Death Eaters
O (Optional) Don't let anyone else die
"No. Death Eaters," he said, suddenly having some memories come back from his dream. "They may be after me." Everyone's heads were on swivels, and, sure enough, by the time they exited the stadium, the general noise of excited event-goers was turning into panicked shouting from the north end of the venue.
The next ten minutes were absolute chaos. Even forewarned, there was only so much the group could do to navigate the surging tides of humanity (and demi-humanity, as Harry was, at one point, almost bowled over by a frustrated trio of dwarves). The entire space had been woven with anti-apparition wards to try to keep order, but it meant that those that could have otherwise just teleported away were unable to without reaching the edges of the encampment. It wasn't even clear how many assailants there were. All the Death Eaters really had to do was cause a panic in a few places and let fear and rumor turn the mass of wizards and witches into a force multiplier for disaster.
Harry got separated from the rest of the group within five minutes. They'd gone back to a party of the younger Marauders, so he could see where his friends were relative to him, but not any of the adults. And getting to his friends was a challenge, especially when Ron pointed out the tactical concern that if he brought out his broom, he'd make himself a target in the air: there was enough campsite lighting, even in the extremely early morning, those that took to the air were visible and were frequently getting knocked out of the air with spellfire. And even though the well-thought-out German camp organizational system let him tell everyone where he was, they couldn't get through the surging crowds to get to him before he'd moved on with the current.
Hermione Granger replies: Harry. I think the game system… it's trying to make you do this on your own.
He couldn't even disagree. After what felt like hours of struggling to not get trampled to death in the dark, he was finally disgorged into the treeline, freed from the flow that had turned and was looking for an unblocked exit from the grounds. Though there was a huge transfigured fence in his way that blocked off the tournament grounds, he at least wasn't being shoved and had a moment in the cool night air to think.
THE GOBLET OF FIRE (MAIN QUEST)
Who will be the greatest mage in Europe?
* Attend the quidditch World Cup
* Escape the riot
O Confront the Death Eaters
O (Optional) Allow yourself to be kidnapped
O (Or) Wait for the Death Eaters to make another move
O (Optional) Don't let anyone else die
"Well, well, well," a cultured voice echoed oddly through a silver mask. "Harry Potter."
LUCIUS MALFOY
Warlock, Level 12
[DEATH EATERS,
WIZENGAMOT,
SLYTHERIN]
Still thinking about the sudden optional branching quest he'd been presented but recognizing the opportunity he'd been waiting for all year, Harry readied his normal wand, squared up to the man whose mask couldn't disguise him from the game system, and taunted, "Hey, Mr. Malfoy. I hear you mistreat your elves."
"How would you… incarcerous!" Malfoy snapped out, his confusion at Harry knowing who he was behind the mask given up in the face of the boy clearly being ready to duel.
Harry dodge-rolled beneath the cloud of conjured binding ropes, only slightly abraded by the tree roots of the Black Forest. Malfoy should have been a barely-perceptible black blur against the darkness, with his silver mask occasionally reflecting the lights of the rioting campground to his left. But with the game interface helpfully putting his name and titles above him in full color, as well as snapping targeting brackets around him, he could have been completely invisible and Harry would have had an excellent idea of where he was. "Tarantallegra," Harry countered, hoping the adult would assume that his repertoire was normal for a rising third-year at Hogwarts.
The fact that the man hadn't tried to curse him, but just tie him up, confirmed the quest's note that this was a kidnapping, not an assassination. Harry was a lot less worried without deadly curses on the table.
[Marauders: Active] Harry Potter: Guys. I'm fighting Lucius Malfoy. I think he's trying to kidnap me.
To give Malfoy credit, the man wasn't going to be done in by a child's jinx. He let the dancing feet spell hit him (since Harry's accuracy was too great to dodge) and just dispelled it wordlessly before he'd even done a two-step. "Impedimentia. Levicorpus!" the Death Eater tried, casting two spells that should have effortlessly immobilized any thirteen-year-old. "Hold still!"
Sirius Black replies: Where are you?! We'll get there and stop him.
[Marauders: Active] Harry Potter: The quest says if I DON'T let myself get kidnapped, we have to wait for them to try something else, though.
Harry's ability to dodge was far beyond any other boy his age, however, and honestly superior to most duelists. Between his maxed-out agility and ranks in the dodging skill, Malfoy would have found it hard to lay a spell on him in broad daylight, let alone in the dark. "No thanks. Expelliarmus!" He'd been practicing the spell all year, and would have had a good chance to hit before he'd gotten the perfect aim from raising Finesse to 20. Perhaps Draco hadn't been writing in sufficient detail or his father hadn't believed it, because he didn't expect such a perfect cast from a child.
The rich man's wand went flying through the air, and Harry easily caught it. "Now, Potter, you may think you've accomplished something here…"
"I think I've beaten you in a duel. And by ancient rites, I want your house elf," Harry fired back, making sure that his intentions were clear to the game system or magic or whatever else handled that kind of thing. "Stupefy," he finished, stunning the man who was turning to run.
1440 Combat XP Earned
NEWT Combat Magic XP Earned
NEWT Charms XP Earned
Loot: Dobby's Geas
[Marauders: Active] Harry Potter: Anyway, I beat Malfoy, so maybe I SHOULD just let myself get captured…
It wasn't totally going to be up to him. Harry had kind of forgotten that instances were often automatic when he got into a fight. As soon as the reward text appeared, the blurring at the edges of the combat area sharpened, and someone else spotted the Boy-Who-Lived standing triumphantly over a fallen Death Eater.
"Stupefy."