Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to J.K Rowling and the companies with a claim to the Harry Potter Trademark. I make no money out of this. Please don't sue me!
A Dangerous Deal
Harry and Dumbledore stepped into the room where the Weighting of the Wands would take place. The unused classroom seemed to be a haven for odd artefacts and broken desks, now all piled up in a corner. The walls were adorned by portraits, the subjects inside of which were moving anxiously, clearly not used to having company.
The champions and their headmasters were already assembled, standing alongside Ludo Bagman, Crouch, Olivander, and a small group of reporters.
Cedric, seemed uneasy as he rested on one of the walls of the room. Fleur Delacour was lost in thought, next to Viktor Krum, who was scanning the room, clearly comfortable in big groups of people.
"Ah, Harry," Ludo Bagman exclaimed jovially, his voice booming through the room, "Glad you could join us!" Barty Crouch acknowledged Harry with a curt nod and a forced smile, while Garrick Ollivander peered at him curiously. And then there was Rita Skeeter, the annoying reporter, who looked at Harry as if he were a particularly juicy story just waiting to be devoured.
As soon as Dumbledore and Harry entered the room, she flashed a predatory smile, her eyes fixed on the young wizard. Harry exchanged quick looks with the other champions, sharing a knowing smile with Cedric before Rita approached them, her gaze never leaving him.
"Mr. Potter," she purred, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness, "Might I steal you away for a quick interview? You know, just to give our readers a taste of the Boy Who Lived's thoughts on this fantastic event."
Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, as if asking whether he needed any support. But Harry smirked and, with surprising confidence, replied, "Of course, Ms. Skeeter. A quick interview it is."
"Very well, Mr. Potter," Rita Skeeter said, her voice a saccharine mix of delight and anticipation as she grabbed Harry by the arm. "This way, please."
With a firm grip, she guided him towards an empty broom closet in the corner of the room. Harry glanced back at the other champions, who looked at him with empathy. He smirked back at them, his eyes filled with mischief.
"Here we are," Rita announced, pushing open the door to reveal a cramped space filled with dusty shelves and old cleaning supplies. She ushered him inside and conjured up two rickety, old-looking chairs for them to sit on. As they settled down, Rita leaned in, her bug-like glasses perched precariously on her nose.
"May I use a Quick-Quotes Quill for our little chat?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling an acid-green quill and a notepad from her pocket. With a flick of her wrist, the quill and notepad soared into the air, hovering next to her like a pair of obedient pets.
Harry eyed the quill with a subtle smirk, remembering all too well the trouble it had caused in the past. As Rita prepared herself to begin the interview, Harry took advantage of her momentary distraction. With a barely noticeable flick of his fingers, he cast a nonverbal charm on the quill, ensuring that it would write exactly what he wanted it to.
"Alright, Mr. Potter," Rita began, her eyes gleaming. "Let's get started, shall we?"
"Let's talk about why you felt the need to enter yourself in the Triwizard Tournament," Rita began, her voice dripping with insincerity. "Some might say it's a desperate cry for attention."
Harry maintained his calm demeanour, choosing his words carefully. "Actually, I was entered into the tournament against my will. The headmaster and Alastor Moody are currently investigating who submitted my name."
Rita glanced at the quill as it scribbled away on the notepad, her confusion evident. Nevertheless, she pressed on, trying a different angle. "Do you think your parents would be disappointed to see their son cheating his way into such a prestigious competition?"
Harry clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his exasperation in check. "I didn't enter my name into the Goblet, Rita. As I've already said, someone else did it without my consent. So, no, I don't believe my parents would be disappointed by something I didn't do."
Rita's eyes flitted to the quill again, her face betraying her confusion. Harry decided to press his advantage. "In fact, I can't help but feel that your line of questioning is quite... beetle-like in its persistence. I don't appreciate it."
The blood drained from Rita's face, leaving her unnaturally pale. Her eyes darted between Harry and the enchanted quill, uncertainty flickering within them. She fumbled for words, clearly rattled by his not-at-all-subtle comment.
"I-I'm not sure what you're implying, Mr. Potter," she stammered, attempting to regain control of the situation.
"Rita, if the media starts telling lies about me," Harry said with a calculated smile, "I may need to find another ally to share information with. Any information I may or may not have about certain reporters included."
She blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by his words. "What are you saying, Mr. Potter?"
"Simply that I see no reason why we can't work together," Harry explained, keeping his tone level. "All I want is for you to tell the truth. In return, you might find it beneficial to be the only one getting quotes from The Boy Who Lived."
Rita's eyes narrowed as she considered his proposition. Harry could practically see the gears turning in her head as she weighed the potential benefits against the risks. He felt a twinge of guilt at playing this game of politics, but he knew all too well how instrumental the press had been in Voldemort's rise to power in his previous timeline.
If the worst should happen, and he failed to defeat Voldemort in the cemetery, the Order would desperately need someone in the press on their side. With a deep breath, he steeled himself for whatever response Rita might have.
Rita's smile widened, taking on a feral edge. "I think we can work something out, Mr. Potter," she said, her quill poised for the next scoop. "So, what exactly did you have in mind?"
"Quote me as saying I'm disappointed that the Ministry would force underage wizards into such a dangerous tournament," Harry replied. He could tell Rita was calculating how she could spin the story to cast blame on the Ministry and create drama.
"Interesting angle, Mr. Potter," Rita mused, tapping her finger against her chin. "Very well, may this be the start of a profitable relationship."
Before they could say anything else, the door creaked open and Dumbledore stepped inside. His eyes took in the scene quickly before landing on Harry with a questioning glance. "My apologies, Miss Skeeter, but I must borrow Mr. Potter for the Weighting of the Wands," he said.
"Of course, Headmaster," Rita replied smoothly, tucking her acid-green quill back into her pocket. "I have everything I need from our little chat." Her eyes lingered on Harry for a moment longer, still hungry for more information, before she sauntered out of the room.
As Dumbledore closed the door behind him, Harry felt relieved. He knew he'd made a necessary decision, albeit a difficult one. Politics had never been his strong suit, but if this alliance with Rita Skeeter could help protect those he cared about, then he was willing to play the game.
"Is everything alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly, searching the young wizard's face for any sign of distress.
"Fine, Albus," Harry replied, managing a small smile. "Just discussing a few things with Rita."
"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving Harry. "I hope you know what you are doing Harry, this is a dangerous game."
"And a disgusting one," Harry reassured Albus "But if we are not able to kill Voldemort before his rise, we will need all the help we can get."
"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Albus sentenced "We should join the others." he finished leading Harry out of the small room.
The Weighting of the Wands ceremony unfolded like a well-rehearsed play, each participant taking their cue as Harry had anticipated. Viktor was pocketing his wand after Ollivander's inspection when the ancient wizards's gaze fell on Harry.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," he said, his silver eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Let's see how your wand is faring, shall we?" He held out his hand expectantly.
Harry rose to the improvised stage. "Here you go, sir," he replied, handing over his wand with a confident smile. Unlike the last time, he had taken care to meticulously clean and polish it. The wand seemed almost brand new, its handle smooth and unblemished.
"Very well-maintained, Mr. Potter," Ollivander praised. "Ten inches, holly, phoenix feather core, if memory serves me right."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said "You are correct.".
"Excellent, excellent," Ollivander murmured, returning the wand to Harry and moving along with the ceremony.
After the Weighting of Wands was concluded, Rita Skeeter insisted on photographing the champions together. Harry, mindful of the potential headlines, made sure to position himself at the back, somewhat obscured by Viktor Krum's broad shoulders. As the camera flashes flickered like fireflies in the dim room, Harry noticed the uncomfortable expressions of his fellow champions.
"Alright, I think that's enough, don't you?" Harry interjected, giving the reporters a pointed look.
There was a moment of hesitation before the reporters begrudgingly began to pack up their equipment. The other champions cast Harry grateful glances.
"Thanks for that," Cedric muttered as he sidled up to Harry. "I don't think I could've survived another minute of those flashes."
"Tell me about it," Harry agreed, rolling his eyes.
As the room began to empty, Harry saw his chance. "Cedric, Fleur, Viktor, could I have a quick word?" he asked, raising his voice just enough to catch their attention.
Viktor and Fleur exchanged wary glances before reluctantly moving towards Harry and Cedric.
Harry led them to a quiet corner, away from the remaining crowd. He noticed Madame Maxime and Karkaroff lingering not too far away, their eyes subtly following the young champions.
"Listen," Harry began, trying to sound casual. "I was thinking it might be useful for all of us if we trained together once a week."
Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow, her lips curving into a slight smirk. "And you think we will agree to this why, Harry? It seems like you would be the one benefiting most, no? We have more experience than you."
Harry met her gaze steadily. "True, I might not have as much technical knowledge as you lot, but when it comes to fighting, I'd wager I've got more experience than any of you."
"Is that so?" Viktor rumbled, his thick accent making his scepticism sound even more pronounced. "I don't know about this plan of yours, Potter."
"Look," Harry sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. "It's just an idea. We're all in this together, right? So why not help each other out? At least give it a try."
The other champions exchanged uncertain glances, weighing Harry's words. They knew he had a point, but trust was a fragile thing, especially when a dangerous competition hung between them.
"Fine," Cedric interjected, stepping forward with a determined nod. "I'm in."
Fleur and Viktor stared at him, their expressions revealing their surprise. Cedric, unfazed, continued.
"Look, I've seen Harry in action. Trust me, he's not exaggerating. He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts student in his year, and maybe even in the whole school."
Harry blinked, taken aback by Cedric's sudden defence of him. The fact that Cedric had heard about his proficiency in DADA - and felt strongly enough about it to speak up - both flattered and baffled him. But before he could dwell on it any further, Harry decided to seize the moment and strike while the iron was hot.
"Alright, let's try it once," he suggested, hoping to win over the remaining sceptics. "If you're not convinced after that, we can stop. No hard feelings."
Cedric repeated his agreement, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. Fleur and Viktor exchanged another glance, gauging each other's reactions.
After a tense moment, Viktor shrugged. "Fine," he grumbled. "I will try this... training session."
Fleur rolled her eyes but conceded as well. "Very well, I'll join too. If for nothing else, then to keep an eye on the competition."
It wasn't the most enthusiastic agreement, but Harry knew he couldn't expect much more from them. Their alliance was delicate, born out of necessity rather than trust, but it was a start.
"Great," Harry said, trying to mask his relief with a casual smile.
"Tomorrow after breakfast, on the seventh floor by the tapestry of the dancing trolls," Harry instructed with a smile. The other champions stared at him curiously. Nevertheless, they all nodded in agreement.
The champions prepared to leave the room with their respective headmasters, Cedric waved goodbye to Harry before departing alone. Harry watched them go, feeling a strange sense of both excitement and trepidation about what he had just set in motion.
As the last of the group filtered out, Dumbledore approached Harry. "An intriguing conversation you had there, Harry," he remarked, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe. "Care to share?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before looking the headmaster in the eye. "I feel bad for the other champions," he admitted. "I have more experience than them, and I know everything that's going to happen in the tasks."
Dumbledore's eyebrows arched slightly as he listened, but he remained silent, allowing Harry to continue.
"I need to win this tournament to defeat Tom, so I can't let any of the others win," Harry explained. "But I can at least collaborate with them, help them become better wizards... That's the whole point of the tournament, isn't it? To bring us together?"
A warm smile spread across Dumbledore's face, and his eyes seemed to shimmer with approval. "Indeed, Harry," he said softly. "The Triwizard Tournament was designed to foster unity and camaraderie among the magical schools. Your instincts are true to the spirit of the competition."
Harry left Dumbledore's side with a nod and returned to the Gryffindor common room. The moment he stepped through the portrait hole, Hermione hurried over, her bushy hair bouncing with each step.
"Harry," she said breathlessly, thrusting a worn parchment into his hands. "This came for you. It's from Sirius."
The note was scrawled in Sirius' familiar messy handwriting. He suggested that they arrange a meeting to talk. The note ended with a specific date and time: November 22nd, midnight.
Harry pocketed the note with a smile. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement at the prospect of seeing his godfather again. In the meantime, Harry had alliances to forge, schemes to concoct, and a Triwizard Tournament to win – all while keeping one eye on the shadows for any sign of trouble.
It was a dance, as Dumbledore said, and Harry was determined not to miss a single step.