Disclaimer: I would not recommend doing any of what Harry does in the fic. Suppose I could say that about most of the fics I've written.
Harry Potter: Terror of the Twiwizard
Less than a day since the announcement about Hogwarts hosting the Triwizard and Hermione had already read most of the easily found books regarding the ancient tradition.
"I've been reading up on the Tournament and you wouldn't believe all the interesting things I've found," Hermione babbled happily. "For example, there's the fact that the competitors are granted immunity from the laws of all competing nations for the duration of the Tournament. This was put in to prevent the governments from influencing the results by arresting or otherwise interfering with champions. Similarly, the three schools are bound the same way. Anyone in violation forfeits their magic to the cup."
"That's really interesting, Hermione," Ron said mechanically, having long ago tuned the girl out.
"What does the cup do with the magic?" Harry asked, not having nearly the level of skill at ignoring her that Ron did.
The girl got a look of shock on her face. "I never even considered that. Oh, I have so much research to do to figure it out. Thank you, Harry!"
"Always happy to help, Hermione," he replied, noticing that she seemed to be a little more bouncy in the chest region this year.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry went from nervous to annoyed to angry to thoughtful and finally to satisfied when a thought presented itself. Bugger the lot of them, had any of them bested the shade of a dark lord? Had any of them defeated a basilisk the size of a bus? Had any of them driven off a horde of dementors? Had any of them done the research to know that they could legally bugger everyone involved in the bloody Tournament? Well, he amended, had any of them a friend that had done the research.
"You can't expect this leetle boy to compete!" Fleur stated loudly. "His very presence is making a mockery of the Tournament!"
"Hey, Fleur!" he interrupted the girl's tirade.
"What is it?" the part veela demanded, flames dancing in her eyes as another target for her ire presented itself.
Harry parted his robes. "The reason the guys at the dorm give me the showers to myself. Still want to call me a 'leetle boy,' sugar tits?"
"This is an outrage!" Maxime bellowed. "Is this the sort of behavior that's permitted in this school, Dumbydore?"
Harry grinned, the look of shock on Fleur's face, the one of discomfort on Cedric's, and the one of barely concealed amusement on Victor's, sang to him. Finally, finally he understood the twin's fascination with pranks. He was going to win this tournament. He was going to crush the competition, he was going to make them regret the day they found the stupid cup and curse the day his name came out of it. This was the year the scales would be balanced, the year he'd get his own back, the year that would be spoken of in whispers in dark corners.
The boy nodded to himself, he had some planning to do, right after he sent a letter to Sirius asking for his aid in finding a place to hide over the summer and a new school to continue his education the next year. He had a feeling it wouldn't be too healthy to stay in the UK, not if his plans bore fruit anyway.
IIIIIIIIII
It had taken Colin some time to find Harry, as the boy was in the kitchen trying to teach the house elves to speak in Cockney rhyming slang, rather than in potions pretending to pay attention to the 'reformed' felon teaching the class. In the end, it had taken all of the boy's considerable skill as a stalker to pull it off.
Five minutes later and the youngest champion found himself accosted on the way to the ceremony by a sleazy looking camera man accompanied by a reporter wearing too much perfume.
"This way, Mr. Potter!" the photographer said, lining up his shot. "Perhaps you could smil-" The man doubled over in pain as Harry's boot buried itself in his groin.
"Rita," Harry said with a smile, sidling up the reporter and giving her rear a firm squeeze in passing. "I can call you Rita, can't I? Wonderful," he continued, not waiting for a response. "Are you ready to take my statement?"
"Of course, Mr. Potter, one moment while I find my quill." Her hands frantically searched through her pockets.
"Use mine," he offered. "I'm sure it won't be as fancy as the ones you're used to-"
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," she said, automatically taking the item.
"But Gringotts assures me that you'll die a horrible death thanks to the curse on it if your paper publishes anything negative about me so I'm sure it'll turn out better for me than if you'd used your original quill."
"What?" She stared at the offending item with undisguised horror.
"Feel free to use it without worry, Rita," Harry said with a grin. "The curse has already been transferred to you so it's just a normal quill in your hands. Where was I, yes of course, are you ready to copy, Rita?"
"Ready, Mr. Potter," she said weakly.
"As you are no doubt aware, I'm famous because I survived an attack by the dark lord who attempted to kill me. You may not be aware of the fact that the dark lord attacked my house because even as an infant, I was better built than he was. Something he no doubt learned from one of his spies at St. Mungos."
"If I may be permitted to interject, Mr. Potter, what do you mean by that?"
"I mean this, Rita." Harry parted his robes and showed the startled witch. "The dark lord could not abide by the fact that a mere infant was three times the man he was and set about orchestrating my destruction which he failed to accomplish. A shame my parents and dozens of chickens had to pay the price for one man's inadequacy."
"What do you mean by dozens of chickens, Mr. Potter?"
"I mean that not even Lucius Malfoy was able to fake a performance for his former master so the man satisfied his lusts and worked out his frustration on mindless farm animals." Harry shook his head sadly.
"Every statement you make only brings up more questions, Mr. Potter. Do you mind explaining what you meant about not even Lucius Malfoy being able to fake it?"
"If the man was able to fool Cornelius Fudge into thinking he was a great lover, he must be one of the greatest male prostitutes of our time," Harry explained. "Now I don't have any first hand experience with him, you understand, but anyone who'll agree to a threesome with our dear minister and his equally dear undersecretary and pretend to enjoy himself is a greater actor than I've ever seen. You have to admire the ability even as you're disgusted by the act."
"I see." The reporter took a moment to force down the bile.
"Now if you'll excuse me, Rita, it's time for the weighing of the wands and since I've already gotten mine out, I may as well go first."
"The wand I sold you, Mr. Potter, not the one nature gifted you with," Olivander stated calmly. Years of dealing with purebloods like the Crabes and Goyles who, when asked which had was their dominate one, had to do a quick check by opening their robes and giving a stroke, had long since inured him to such displays.
To the joy of some, the embarrassment of others, and the discomfort of a few, Harry insisted that both of his wands be weighed and measured publicly. It was only Olivander's wry suggestion that they bring in a professional, with the followup comment that there was no one more professional at handling a wizard's wand than Lucious Malfoy, that was able to convince Harry to give things up.
No one heard Rita's whispered order and no one thought much of the camera's flash until the front page of the Prophet the next day.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry was relaxing in bed, trying to ignore the sounds and smells of his roommates when one of them approached, no doubt attracted by his most recent acquisition, one given a prominent place on his bedside table.
"What's this?"
"It's a quill that writes lies," Harry replied. "Found it in someone's pocket, figured we could use it to do divination homework."
"Bloody brilliant, Harry!" Ron said happily.
"Wait, I thought you were angry about me being in the tournament?"
"Was till one of the puffs told me what you did to that French bird," Ron replied. "How could I stay angry after hearing about you doing something so awesome?"
"That's why I like you, Ron, you focus on the important things."
Neither boy knew that they were making history, neither suspecting that their idea would take root or that generations of future prophets would praise their names, but that's a story for another day.
IIIIIIIIII
Sweat poured down Sirius' face as he read the article. His godson was in a tournament of death and was using it as an excuse to show the world his genitalia. Genitalia of apparently mammoth proportions. Looked like it had worked.
The man absently reached out of his hammock to get another sip of his drink. As the boy's godfather, it was his duty to contact the boy and to explain things. As the only one left alive with any involvement, it was likely that he would be the target of the boy's ire if the boy chose to be irked by the information.
He wasn't sure why the boy would be, but he did remember Lily saying something along those lines while attempting to hex him to death. Why the woman was incensed by the fact that they'd dedicated so much time and effort into making her son the greatest wizard ever to live was something he could never understand, and neither did the team of Death Eaters who had made their appearance during that conversation, at least that's what he assumed considering the startled and confused expressions they'd had while Lily had vented her frustrations.
He'd never been so happy to see a group of death eaters. Never felt sympathy for the bastards either before or since. The poor bastards never had a chance. He raised his drink in salute, nothing more noble than a group of men involuntarily sacrificing their lives so that he and James may live.
With a sigh, the man summoned his portable floo, a massive free standing stone fireplace weighting several tons and perpetually floating several inches above the sand. Needs must.
A flick of his wand engaged the privacy filter, another activated the device and connected it to the Gryffindor common room.
"Tell Harry Potter he has a call!" Sirius called out, not bothering to look into the flames.
"Whom should I say is calling?" a proper sounding female voice asked.
"Who do I look like?"
"A cheap floozy with too much gold to spend on enhancing her bosom," the proper sounding voice replied, sounding a touch annoyed.
"Herman?" No that wasn't right, what was the name of Harry's friend again? "Uh, I mean, Hermany?"
"Hermione!" the voice corrected, sounding even more annoyed.
"Uh, sorry, the security feature on this thing must be acting up," Sirius explained. "We met last year when Harry saved me from getting kissed by a pushy bloke and I wanted to thank him again."
"Kissed? Oh! It's you!" The voice said in excitement. "I didn't know it was possible to spoof a floo."
"It is, but it doesn't work out very well sometimes as you saw when it garbled your name." Sirius hoped she bought it. "Is Harry available?"
"Just a moment."
"It's Harry," his godson's voice emanated from the floo a few seconds later.
"Harry, I read in the prophet that you've been showing off a truly legendary wand and I thought I'd explain how you came to get it," Sirius began. "It all started when your father and I were drinking." He took a long sip of his highly alcoholic drink. "On our way back we happened to walk by a field of horses. One thing led to another and we ended up sacrificing the herd stallion in a dark ritual to make sure you would have a spare leg in case you lost one of the normal two. Now, I know you're angry, but I promise to make it up to you."
"Why would I be – what do you mean by make it up to me?"
"Tell me, Harry, do you like porn?"
IIIIIIIIII
It didn't take long to think of a plan to deal with the first task. Not after hearing what it consisted of and siccing Hermione on the problem anyway.
"Did you know that the word 'dragon' comes from the Greek word 'drákōn'?" the girl chirped.
All that was left was turning Moody's idiotic plan, that would have gotten anyone stupid enough to follow it killed, into something useful and he was set. Harry paused to make a mental note to investigate the Defense Professor. The past three had all tried to kill him or wipe his memories. No reason the current one would be any different, especially when you considered the fact that the man had already put him under one of the unforgivables and suggested a way of getting through the task with a low likelihood of survival.
The first thing he did was to discard everything the senile, potential threat had told him. The second thing he did was consider everything Hermione had told him about dragons. A solution appeared almost immediately.
IIIIIIIIII
A couple weeks later and Harry was sitting in a tent and happily flipping through the latest issue of 'Gigantic Jugs' when they called for him to participate in the first task. They had to call several more times before he heard them.
With a smile on his face, a song in his heart, and a note in his brain to thank his godfather for the subscription, Harry walked out of the tent to meet his fate.
The dragon was a monster, the size of a pair of full grown African elephants, with the speed of a striking viper, and the temperament of a badger that had gotten its nadgers caught in a storm drain. There were few things in the world more dangerous than a nesting mother drake, most men would have quailed at the thought of facing one. Harry Potter, victor of more than one battle to the death, just smiled. He knew what he had to do, he knew what he was going to do, he knew that events on that day would resolve themselves in his favor.
"Accio Judges!" the youngest champion incanted. To the boy's satisfaction and the shock of the crowd, the heads of the schools and the Ministry rep were dragged out of their seats and onto the field.
"What are you doing, my boy?" Dumbledore asked as he untangled himself from the pile of mages and straighten his wizard's cap.
"Read a book that said dragons got sleepy after eating a magic user," Harry explained. "Apparently, absorbing foreign magic takes a lot of energy." The boy conjured a lawn chair and took a seat. "The way I see it, you've got two choices, be lunch, or defeat the dragon for me; the shield around the field won't dispel until you do."
The heads of three of the greatest schools in Europe and a Ministry flunky faced off against one of the deadliest creatures in the world. It was a fight for the ages, one of the most amazing things any of the watchers had ever seen or ever would see. Hundreds of books would be written on it, thousands of conversations would be sparked by it, at least a dozen children would be inspired by it. Harry secured his egg because of it.
"And that, as they say, is that," the boy said happily.
"I hope you're ready for your score to reflect the amount of effort you put into this one, boy!" Igor snarled.
"Afraid the rules state that any judge that ends up being affected by an event may not vote on a score for the competitor whose event affected the judge. Competitor gets an automatic perfect, the rule was put in to prevent judges from effecting the competitor score in retaliation for some accident. According to the rules, I get a perfect score. See you suckers in the next task."
With that, Harry strolled off the field. Leaving behind a group of annoyed judges and an awestruck crowd.
IIIIIIIIII
The Gryffindor common room was dead silent when he got in that night. A remarkable thing considering the fact that it was filled to the brim with every student in the house.
"Want to explain yourself, Harry?" Ron asked in a low voice.
"Explain what, Ron?"
"Why you forced the judges to fight for you?" the redhead demanded. "Why you didn't fight it yourself like a Gryffindor?!"
"Oh, that."
"Yeah," Ron growled. "That!"
"Well, I asked myself a simple question. If I were a member of the audience, would I rather see another school kid give a lackluster performance or would I like to see something amazing. Put it that way, which would you rather I arrange for you lot?"
Ron blinked a couple times as the thought went through his head. "Good point, Harry. Sorry we all doubted you, Tournament would have been right boring in comparison." The tension melted out of the room.
"That bit where Madame Maxine suplexed the dragon was pretty brill," one of the younger muggleborns admitted.
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We look forward to seeing what you make them do in the next task."
"Told you Harry had a good reason," Neville said shyly. "Um, I have some trimmings from the greenhouse in my trunk if anyone wants to celebrate."
"We've got whiskey!" Fred volunteered.
It was a night to remember, pity very few of the participants would.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry's head hurt, his body hurt, his stomach was doing backflips, and his mouth tasted like a heard of elephants had taken turns defecating into it, each one having stomped on his head at least a dozen times before relieving themselves. In short, he was hung over and as a consequence very much not in the mood to deal with the Ministry's usual stupidity.
A pity the universe hated him.
Like the majority of his housemates, Harry's forehead was resting on the table. The boy ignored the spread of food around him in favor of wishing for death and cursing the name Hieronymus Braunschweig.
The first person to notice the appearance of the three Aurors was Draco Malfoy. Not surprising since his father had told the boy to expect them. To his mind, it was like christmas, his birthday, and the thirteenth of November rolled into one. He was finally going to see his nemesis get his comeuppance and the world was going to see what happened to those foolish enough to go against the great Malfoy family!
The Aurors marched as one in a triangle formation, coming to a stop a dozen paces from the fourth champion.
"Harry Potter?" the lead Auror demanded loudly.
"Not so loud," the boy whispered, accompanied by the groans of his housemates.
"Add resisting arrest to the list of charges," the lead Auror said over his shoulder. "Harry Potter!" The man inwardly grinned at the reaction he'd gotten. The groans and expressions of pain were the only reason he had to get up in the morning anymore. "You are under arrest for endangering a Ministry employee, attempted murder, making a mockery of a Ministry sponsored event, fraudulent entry into a Ministry sponsored event, falsifying your age to enter a Ministry sponsored event, annoying the Minister, resisting arrest, uh . . ."
"Underage drinking," his subordinate suggested.
"And several counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor," the lead Auror finished with a grin.
"You do know that arresting me now would interfere with the Tournament, don't you?" Harry asked calmly.
"Like we care," the lead Auror snorted. "Minister says you need to pay for endangering Ministry personnel and making a mockery of the Tournament, so pay you will. Don't worry about forfeiting your magic, you won't need it in Azkaban."
"I'm not worried about losing my magic. I think you'll see why in three . . . two . . . one."
No one noticed the grin on Harry's face when the three Aurors fell to the ground screaming, every eye including his was fixed on the sight. It looked a lot like watching someone get kissed by a dementor, one of the witnesses would say years later, their essence raising from their bodies and going into the cup leaving nothing behind but three magicless husks.
"Didn't you know?" Harry asked cheerfully, his voice piercing the quiet of the room. "It isn't just the competitors that risk losing their magic, it's anyone involved in the Tournament and anyone that tries to do anything to anyone involved in the Tournament. That's the whole reason they stopped doing it. What kind of idiots are you to decide to restart this circus without taking the basic precaution of knowing what you were getting into?"
He chose not to mention the fact that the original prize was the magic the cup harvested during and in the years leading up to the Tournament. All one had to do was drop in another paper announcing one's win and claiming the prize. He wondered how the cup kept random people from dropping in announcements? Likely nothing if his experience with the magic world held true.
"Now." The boy turned on his heel. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go tell Snape exactly what I think of him before word of what happened here gets to him. If I'm lucky, the bastard will attempt to give me detention or something and if he does." The boy's grin widened. "I'll have one less problem to deal with."
It wasn't till the next day that the true toll became known. Seven wizards and witches had lost their magic as a result of what had happened the day before, the three Aurors, their desk sergeant, the Minister's Undersecretary, Lucius Malfoy, and the Minister of Magic himself, all gone. The Prophet railed against the use of a magical artifact with unknown powers and a mysterious past, but was strangely silent about Harry's part in the disaster. As for Snape? He lived to insult another day thanks to his bull headed refusal to give Potter a detention when it seemed like that was what the boy wanted.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry was on his way to potions, to tell the dick at the head of the class that he wasn't going to be attending, possibly urinate on the chalk board, and then dare the man to do something about it, when he was accosted by a blonde whirlwind of insanity.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter, ace reporter Luna Lovegood here requesting an interview to appear in the paper of record," the little blonde stated.
"What?" Harry asked, confused and clearly uninterested.
"Oh?" She blinked. "Excuse me, I quite forgot." She carefully undid the top two buttons on her blouse. "As I was saying, Mr. Potter, what do you say regarding the allegation that Lucius Malfoy was given a place in the government by Dumbledore to serve as an extreme counter point so as to lesson the power of the factions opposing our dear Headmaster?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, suddenly interested in her questions. "It makes sense."
"Ah ha!" Luna said triumphantly. "So you deny that it was because Dumbledore wanted his favorite wang washer near by when he visited the Ministry!"
"Uh. Couldn't it have been both?" he asked with a shrug, his interest waning at the mental image of anything involving the Headmaster's wang.
"Hmmm." The girl's nose scrunched up adorably, as a finger slipped down to toy with a third button, causing Harry's attention to snap back to her. "Suppose it could have been. Well, what do you think about the ph-"
IIIIIIIIII
Seeing as he was cutting class again, it was one of the house elves that found him to inform Harry that his head of house wanted to meet with him. The fact that sounded like an east end victorian hoodlum when he did so caused the boy to flush with pride at his accomplishment.
Two secret passages and a short nap later and he was walking through the old woman's door.
"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" Harry asked politely as he entered McGonagall's office. "Is this about how I've been skipping classes and showing blatant disrespect to the asshole that teaches potions, Professor?"
"It is not, Mr. Potter." She sighed.
"Is it to tell me that my actions have revealed what a pathetically biased dick he is and to tell me what you're doing to address the situation?" he asked, interjecting a bit of hope and cheer into his tone.
"Not that either, Mr. Potter. It is to tell you that, as one of the champions, you are required to attend the ball and to open the ball with a dance."
"Professor, despite the fact that you're useless as a Head of House, because you've got the notion that Dumbledore shits gold, I still like you. So, I'm going to give you an opportunity to think about things for a moment, think really hard about how the tournament's gone so far, before you decide if you really want me to show up to the ball representing Hogwarts in general and Gryffindor in particular."
The look on her face was a mixture of both despair and resignation. "I'm afraid neither one of us has a choice in this matter, Mr. Potter."
"We always have choices, and you have, as usual, picked the wrong one." The boy rose to his feet. "The difference is, that I have the power to make you regret it this year. Good day, Professor."
"Good day, Mr. Potter," she said automatically. "Harry?"
Her call stopped him before he left the room.
"Yes, Professor?" he asked politely.
"Do you really think that I am useless as your Head of House?"
"I would not have said it if I didn't, Professor. You are the worst of the four in this school and that is saying something when one considers that you have Flitwick as a peer."
"Thank you, Harry," she said with a heavy sigh before mentally retracing what he'd said and wondering why he'd mentioned Flitwick and not Snape.
IIIIIIIIII
It was with a sense of purpose that Harry enacted the first stage of his plan to make the year more eventful.
"Fred, George. There's something I need you to get me," Harry began.
"What is it, Harry?"
"You boys ever heard of a posing pouch?"
The less said about what went on at the ball, the better. A pity so many articles ended up being written about it.
IIIIIIIIII
Harry's gaze swept over the crowd, the smirk on his face shooting spikes of fear into the hearts of some, but anticipation into the hearts of most.
"Before we begin the second task, I have a couple things I'd like to say!" Harry stated loudly. "The first, is that I poisoned the judges and that they won't be getting the antidote unless my friends are out of the water and safe in the next five minutes. The second, is that I used two kinds of poison, they won't get both antidotes until all the people they kidnapped are out of the water and safe within the next five minutes. That is all."
The crowd went wild. This was it, this was his plan to bring the entertainment they'd been promised. The boy's performance in the first task was the talk of the wizarding world after a Gryffindor student had leaked the reason for his actions. Everyone there, save the judges, was eager to experience what would happen next.
"Harry, what sort of poison did you use?" Dumbledore asked kindly, knowing that his alchemical knowledge would be able to defeat anything the boy would be able to find.
"Don't recall. Had the memories wiped." Harry checked his watch. "Three minutes until I have to resort to my backup plan." He leaned in close. "The first symptom for one of the poisons is that you'll start shitting blood. It'll feel like burning acid. Hope that helps."
"I-" a look of profound pain and discomfort adorned the old man's face as he flatulated loudly, interrupting what he'd been about to say. "It appears that your poison was faster acting than you thought it would be, my boy. If I could have that antidote?"
"Sure," Harry agreed. "The second everyone is on the shore and safe. Incidentally, I'm sure you wouldn't dream of it, but trying to take it from me would interfere with my chances of completing this task and you would lose your magic."
The old man hit himself with a cleaning charm as he waddled painfully towards the lake. A flick of the wand, a statement in murmish, and the hostages were safely delivered to the shore by the giant squid.
"As agreed." Harry handed over two bottles to each of the judges. "The antidote."
The notables wasted no time in downing the potions, expressions of relief on their faces.
"You'll need to drink at least one of those a day for the next eight to twelve months," Harry said cheerfully as the judges recovered. "I'll do my best to see that each of you gets one, so long as nothing happens to me to interrupt your supply."
"Why eight to twelve months?" Karkoff asked suspiciously.
"Because after eight months, you might be able to survive not having daily doses with top flight medical care." Harry perked up. "And since you were all affected by this event, we all get perfect scores for the task. Had Hermione look it up and this means I'm the top scoring champion in history. The other three aren't far behind either." He turned to his competitors. "Congratulations, there's never been a collective score as high as ours and you can count on one hand the number of people who've gotten higher scores than any of you three without being killed in some horrible way."
"What about the show, Harry?!" Ron's voice called out.
"Sorry, Ron, was getting to that!" Harry called back. He turned to the judges. "I will give two doses of the antidote to whichever one of you can get to and from the mer-village first. This will increase your odds of figuring out one of the poisons dramatically, which in turn would decrease the odds of me being able to successfully extort you into doing things on my behalf for the next year. I will offer another bottle to each of you, if you are able to do something so that the audience can see your performances. A giant floating screen thingy would be nice. You have ten minutes until the laxatives and diuretics kick in. I'll also give you the antidote to those if the screen's up in time. Chop, chop."
It was a feat of magic to rival the enchantment of the Great Hall's ceiling as the three magical titans forced the very air above to take on the form of frosted glass, reflecting the scene below the water as if it was a window into the depths of the lake itself.
The audience watched in spellbound wonder as the Judges set about their individual tasks. Dumbledore transfigured a flock of confused geese into an 1800's diving bell and air pump, complete with two trained chimps to pump the bellows. Maxime created a mining tunnel through the water as if it were stone, tracks made of silver and a Gringotts' style mine cart glittering like precious metals just inside the entrance. Igor showed the world why he was rightly counted an equal of the other two, as the water came alive in front of him, becoming a chariot drawn by two giant seahorses with manes of dancing blue flames.
The Ministry flunky however gave a very poor showing, miscasting a spell and dropping a buffalo on his chest.
And that was just in the first thirty seconds. The audience was again enthralled by the experience, all glad they'd shelled out their hard earned currency for a chance to see another miracle of the age and the greatest race in a century.
IIIIIIIIII
The last task was fairly anticlimactic. Harry simply mounted a broom and flew over the maze to hover above the cup, he then flicked a note into it announcing his victory. The power he got from the artifact was impossible to describe, he felt as if he had the strength of ten gorillas and at least two and a half orders of magnitude more magic than he had previously had access to. It was intoxicating, he felt as if he could do anything so the first thing he did, to the horror of some and the shock of most, was destroy the goblet with a burst of fiendfire, the red and gold flames forming into a pair of matching tigers that mauled and melted the golden cup before leaping towards him, gold coated fangs and claws falling back to earth as he dismissed the spell.
"You're all welcome, by the way. Especially you, Fleur!" Harry's voice echoed over the school grounds.
"What do you mean by that, Harry?" Cedric asked, breaking the shocked silence.
"Winner gets the lives and magic of the losers if they want it," Harry said solemnly. "I guess I should assume from the looks on your faces that your schools didn't share that bit of information? Original tournament was a bit like the Olympics, each area sent a representative. Only one of them returned, the losers either died and lost their magic, lost their magic and were killed, or were enslaved by the winner. Money was never the goal, not when the prize could be power instead."
"Why especially me?" Fleur asked.
"Because you're sex on two legs and I'm a teenaged boy. Not twisting you to satisfy every sick fantasy that crossed my mind was one of the hardest things I've ever done." He parted his robes. "As you can see, I do mean that literally."
"So you do," the girl agreed dumbly, as she absently licked her lips. She'd thought he was impressive when he was relaxed, but this was on a whole new level!
"To continue my previous thought, I'm now likely the most powerful mage in the world, making it harder for anyone wishing to retaliate for my actions during this tournament to do so without having me turn them inside out. I like to call it 'The Power He Knows Not'."
"Uh, where did you hear that particular phrase, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, trying and failing to sound casual.
"It was in a prophecy about me and Voldemort," Harry explained.
"How do you know about that, Harry?" Dumbledore asked nervously, wondering if he could memory charm everyone present before word had chance to spread.
"Unspeakables publish a list of them and their contents every year as is required by the 'Just tell us you idiots' act of 1809. Granted, the title of the book they publish them in is 'Anecdotes of the Great Accountants' and the book is written using invisible ink in Klingon Pig Latin using Nordic runes and the only way to get a copy is to go to the Ministry, to the third sub-basement, past a door that says 'beware of tiger' and then to jimmy the lock on a filing cabinet filled with a swarm of angry bees, so most people don't bother." He chose not to mention the fact that Lovegood publishing had the contract to translate and print the book; a good source never burned their reporter.
"As for the show, I'd like to start out by pointing out the fact that the judges still need to take two potions a day, that only I can supply, in order not to die horrible deaths. As a prize, I'll offer a further two doses to the winner of a Last Man Standing duel. Anyone is able to enter, I'll even give a sample of each antidote to anyone that does. The last one mobile gets a prize of two doses. Any judge that refuses to enter had better hope that the winner is willing to share half the prize with them. I'll also give the audience twenty minutes to decide if they think they can sell a sample of the antidote for enough gold to make it worth their while."
What followed was widely considered to be one of the greatest examples of magical combat in the history of the world.
AN: And that's the end of that chapter. Huh, it seems I forgot to post this. My work life balance has been tilting in the wrong direction and this is just one of many things I didn't do. Oops.
Polish by dogbertcarroll
Typos by porphyrian_delight, cubsking99, Linda Hoover, Ordieth, Jonas
Additional Aid provided by: Andrew Chapman, Mark Schmidt
Omake: 反対
"Hey, Fleur!" he interrupted the girl's tirade.
"What is it?" the part veela demanded, flames dancing in her eyes as another target of her ire presented itself.
Harry parted his robes. "The reason the guys at the dorm give me the showers to myself. Still want to call me a 'leetle boy,' sugar tits?"
The girl smirked. "As I was saying, you can not expect this tiny boy to participate in such a dangerous tournament."
Omake by: Shalon Wood
"Professor, despite the fact that you're useless as a Head of House, because you've got the notion that Dumbledore shits gold, I still like you. So, I'm going to give you an opportunity to think about things for a moment, think really hard about how the tournament's gone so far, before you decide if you really want me to show up to the ball representing Hogwarts in general and Gryffindor in particular."
The look on her face was a mixture of both despair and resignation. "I'm afraid neither one of us has a choice in this matter, Mr. Potter."
"We always have choices, you have, as usual, picked the wrong one." The boy rose to his feet. "The difference is, that I have the power to make you regret it this year. Good day, Professor."
McGonagall pursed her lips. "Allow me to rephrase myself, Mr. Potter. I do, indeed, have a choice. The other alternative would, if I understood the implications correctly, have me locked in a small room with Lucius Malfoy without my wand. As I was once threatened with... reprehensible acts by a Death Eater with a suspiciously familiar voice, I hope you understand my choice."
"But... Malfoy doesn't have his magic anymore, so-"
"Yes, Mr. Potter, that is true. But as I am not capable of wandless magic, I would have to _touch_ him. While I know perfectly well you made up the claims about Lucius Malfoy and Umbridge, _I do not know that they are actually wrong_."
"Point taken, Professor. I wouldn't want to take that risk either."
Unrelated Omake by Me: Stand Over
Note: Omake for "The Meaning of Fear" Odd Ideas 87, 91, 92
Borgin grinned when the floo spit out an unexpected windfall. Blonde, carrying a school bag, maybe sixteen, wide eyed, and pretty enough that it'd be more profitable to sell her to the local brothel than to render her into potions ingredients. A flick of his wand locked the door, nothing left to do but to put her on ice long enough to see how the Aurors would react to her disappearance. He didn't think it'd be an issue, he didn't recognize the bint which meant there was a better than average chance her family wasn't important enough for the Aurors to do more than fill out the paperwork and have a pint.
"Is this Borgin and Burkes?" his profit asked, glancing around with wide eyed wonder.
The man made a mental note to make sure she was untouched. Be a shame to miss out on a bit of sport if she had been, no sense holding himself back for the dream of an extra twenty five percent that would never be.
"It is," he agreed, fingering his wand. Let it sink in, he decided, let her have an inkling of how bad her situation was before stunning her.
"Wonderful!" a wide grin blossomed on her face. "I was worried that I might have the wrong shop."
Dared to come in by a group of friends, damn it! Meaning that several someones knew where she was going and expected her to come back. The man gave a mental sigh at the loss of profit, a shame, a great bloody shame.
"What can I do for you?" Maybe he could talk the silly chit into buying something cursed? Something to ruin that pretty face of her's maybe.
"I want you to pay me five hundred galleons a week or I will burn your shop to the ground with you in it," she stated happily. "Oh, and put your hands on the counter where I can see them. If I have to ask again, I'm going to break every bone in both of them."
He laughed, he couldn't help himself. The thought of such an insignificant little thing trying to lean on him, on HIM, of all people.
"Get out," he said, wiping the tears from his face.
"I almost forgot." The girl pulled a large glass jar out of her school bag and any sense of amusement he'd had a moment before disappeared. In the jar, staring back at him, was the head of Jock Wilks, Knockturn's unofficial owner. "Five hundred galleons a week or I get unpleasant. Do you understand?"
"I understand," he whispered through suddenly dry lips.
"Hands on the counter when I come in or I break every bone in them, do you understand?"
"I understand," he agreed quickly, making sure both palms were flat on the counter.
"An extra thousand this week for the naughty thoughts you had about me when I got here," the girl finished. "Or I do something to you that will make those naughty thoughts pointless in the future since you'll never be able to do anything about them with anyone else and you'll give any future unfortunates to me without laying a finger on them. Understand?"
"I understand," he said quickly.
"Wonderful!" she cheered. "I knew the two of us would be able to understand each other." The thing carefully placed the jar back in her school bag and turned towards the shelves. "You have such a lovely inventory, I can't help but do a bit of shopping before I go."
"Anything you take is on the house," he said immediately. "With my compliments."
"I couldn't possibly do that," she giggled. "You may take ten galleons off of this month's payment."
"Thank you for your generosity," he replied quickly. "Nine hundred and ninety to you at the end of the week with my compliments."
The thing gathered up what he estimated to be about five thousand galleons worth of merchandise on her way to the door.
AN: Watched 'Though Nuts' on Amazon while working nights.