Note - I clearly own none of the below. Playing in JK's playground.

Chapter One: The Return of the Chosen

The morning mist rolled over the dense wilderness of northern British Columbia, shrouding the forest in a peaceful quiet. Birds chirped from high above in the towering pines, and the sound of a nearby river cascading over rocks echoed through the stillness. But amidst this calm, deep in the heart of the Black-Potter estate, Harry Potter was anything but serene.

In the training yard, which had once been an old stone courtyard now repurposed for combat practice, Harry moved with swift precision, his body a blur of magic and movement. His muscles, honed from years of intense training, flexed as he parried an invisible foe. With a flick of his wand, he sent a jet of bright red light across the yard. It struck a wooden target, which exploded into splinters upon impact.

"Again!" Sirius's voice cut through the air, harsh and commanding.

Harry wiped sweat from his brow but didn't falter. His emerald eyes gleamed with focus as he whirled around, summoning another target. His godfather watched from the edge of the yard, arms crossed, a hard look of pride and expectation etched on his face. Sirius had been a relentless teacher these past few years, pushing Harry far beyond the limits of a normal wizard. There was no room for weakness here.

Harry's next spell, a series of rapid-fire hexes, shot from his wand in quick succession. The dummies barely had time to materialize before being ripped apart by the powerful bursts of magic.

Sirius nodded approvingly. "Good. But you need to move faster if you're going to keep up with someone like Bellatrix."

At the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry's lip curled in distaste. Bellatrix—the deranged Death Eater who had killed Sirius's younger brother, Regulus, years ago—was a name that haunted both their memories.

"I'll be ready for her," Harry replied, his voice low and determined.

"Ready is not enough," Sirius warned, his blue-grey eyes hard. "She's ruthless. You've got to be unpredictable. Never give your opponent a chance to guess your next move. We know she's out there somewhere. You need to be more than just ready"

Harry gave a brief nod. He had heard this lesson countless times before, but he understood the gravity behind it. Voldemort's followers were growing in strength, even though the Dark Lord himself hadn't yet returned to full power. It was only a matter of time before Harry would have to face them. The prophecy hung over his head like a guillotine, reminding him that his destiny was already set in stone: either he would kill Voldemort, or Voldemort would kill him.

Harry drew a deep breath, lifting his wand again, preparing to resume the exercise. But before he could launch into another spell, the atmosphere around them shifted, a crackling ripple of magic stirring the air. Both Harry and Sirius snapped to attention, their instincts honed by years of vigilance in isolation.

A soft crack announced the arrival of someone—a wizard apparating into their highly warded territory.

Sirius's wand was in his hand instantly, aimed toward the source of the sound. Harry followed suit, his own wand drawn and ready.

But the familiar figure that emerged from the mist was no threat. A tall, thin man with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles stepped forward, his deep blue robes trailing lightly over the forest floor. The twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable, even here in the rugged wilderness.

"Uncle Albus." Harry said, lowering his wand with a mixture of surprise and relief.

Sirius, however, kept his stance firm. "I thought someone had breached my wards, Albus. What are you doing here?"

Dumbledore smiled softly, as though ward-breaking was a trivial task. "I apologize for the intrusion, Sirius, but I bring urgent news."

Sirius eyed him warily but gestured for Dumbledore to come forward. The old headmaster approached, and as he did, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling in. Albus Dumbledore didn't make unannounced visits unless something serious was afoot.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Dumbledore's face, though still kind and warm, took on a more solemn expression. He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment, yellowed with age and sealed with the Hogwarts crest. He handed it to Harry, who hesitated only briefly before taking it.

"It seems," Dumbledore began, his voice grave, "that your name has been chosen by the Goblet of Fire. You are now a Triwizard Champion."

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Sirius stepped forward, his eyes flashing with disbelief. "That's impossible. Harry hasn't been anywhere near Hogwarts in years, let alone the Goblet."

Harry felt his stomach drop as he read the letter, which officially confirmed that he had been selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament—a dangerous, prestigious competition between three wizarding schools. But the problem was, Harry hadn't entered his name. He hadn't even been in the country.

Dumbledore sighed softly, glancing at Harry with a look of sympathy. "I, too, was shocked when your name emerged from the Goblet. It should not have been possible for anyone to submit your name without your knowledge. However, the Goblet's decision is binding. You are, by magical contract, required to participate."

"A contract?" Sirius barked, his face twisting with anger. "Harry wasn't even in England! This must be some kind of trick. Someone's trying to set him up."

Harry felt the weight of his godfather's words. It was too coincidental, too sudden. After years of living in seclusion, training for the inevitable return of Voldemort, to be dragged back into the public eye like this? It felt wrong.

"Do you think this has something to do with Voldemort?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes locking onto Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore's expression grew even graver, and he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a seat on one of the stone benches that lined the training yard, gesturing for Harry and Sirius to do the same. When they had settled, the headmaster spoke in a low, deliberate tone.

"I fear it may be connected, yes," Dumbledore said softly. "For some time now, I've been monitoring dark activities across Europe. Unexplained disappearances, whispers of old alliances reforming. Voldemort may not yet have regained his full strength, but his followers—those who managed to evade capture—are growing bolder."

Sirius clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "And now, somehow, someone's gotten Harry into this tournament? You think it's a trap."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I cannot be certain. But I do not believe it is a coincidence. Someone has gone to great lengths to involve Harry. Whether their intention is to harm him or something more sinister, I cannot say. I am genuinely sorry, Harry. It is under my watch that your name was entered"

Harry nodded and his mind raced. The tournament was dangerous on its own, with lethal tasks designed to push champions to their limits. But if Voldemort's supporters were involved—if they were plotting something—it could mean a trap far deadlier than the tasks themselves.

"We could refuse," Sirius suggested, though there was little hope in his voice. "There must be some way to break this so-called contract."

Dumbledore shook his head. "The magic binding the Triwizard Tournament is ancient. Once a name has been chosen, it cannot be undone." Dumbledore paused. "In truth, there is a chance that the contract is already void as Harry did not enter. But dear boy, It's not a gamble I would take with my own magic if I were in your position."

Harry remained silent, his thoughts churning. He had spent years training for a battle that felt like it was constantly on the horizon, preparing for the day when he would face Voldemort again. But this? This was different. He had been thrust into a game he hadn't chosen to play.

Still, Harry wasn't one to shy away from danger. If this was the hand he had been dealt, he would face it head-on.

"Then I'll compete," Harry said finally, his voice steady.

Sirius turned to him, frowning. "Harry—"

"We can't afford to ignore this," Harry cut in, his green eyes flashing with determination. "If this is a trap, we need to spring it on our own terms. I can handle the tournament. And it gives us a reason to return to England, to start building connections, allies—everything we've been preparing for."

Sirius's frown deepened, but he didn't argue. He knew, as well as Harry did, that they couldn't stay in hiding forever. If Voldemort was truly on the rise again, they would need the support of the wizarding world.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly, though the worry never left his eyes. "You have grown into a remarkable young man, Harry. But you must be cautious. Whoever orchestrated this has plans beyond the tournament."

Harry stood, clenching the letter in his hand. "Let them come."

Sirius rose too, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Then we're going back to England."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, rising from the bench. "I shall make arrangements for your return to Hogwarts. The tournament begins in two weeks, and there is much to prepare for. But remember, Harry—you are not alone in this. I will be watching closely, as will others."

With that, Dumbledore gave them one final nod and, with a gentle pop, disappeared from the courtyard, leaving behind the weight of his words.

That night, as Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room in the estate, he couldn't shake the feeling that the gears of fate had begun to turn once more. His years in seclusion with Sirius had been filled with peace, yes, but also with preparation—preparation for a battle they both knew was coming. Now, it seemed that battle was approaching faster than either of them had anticipated.

The Triwizard Tournament. A competition designed for the strongest and most skilled young witches and wizards. And now, he was a part of it. Like it or not, he would be stepping back into the wizarding world, into the public eye.

The idea of returning to Hogwarts, of seeing the place that been a second home to his parents, stirred a complicated mix of emotions within him. Nostalgia, yes, but also pain. So much had changed since then. So many people had been lost.

But Harry had changed, too. He wasn't a helpless baby, being hidden from the world. He was stronger now—physically, magically, mentally. Years of combat training, both magical and non-magical, had shaped him into someone who could hold his own against even the most dangerous foes. Sirius had made sure of that.

And now, it was time to see if that training would be enough.

Harry's grip tightened around his wand as he thought about what lay ahead. Voldemort was out there, somewhere, waiting for his moment to strike. And Harry would be ready.

The prophecy had dictated his fate long ago. He was the one destined to defeat the Dark Lord. But he wasn't the same scared boy who had first learned of that prophecy. He was Harry Potter—heir to both the Potter and Black legacies, trained in combat magic, and prepared for war.

And if Voldemort thought he could catch Harry unprepared, he was sorely mistaken.