Yo! Just because Harry makes comments on certain people, or those people react in a certain way, doesn't mean something will happen between them! If something did, Harry would have himself a harem! ...Not that there's anything wrong with that. And hell, I might even write something like that one day. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!

"'Support Cedric Diggory-Potter Stinks'?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Wow, real original, Malfoy. How long did it take you to figure that one out? Hmm, judging by the look on your face, longer than it probably should have. Used up all your brain cells doing it, did you? Even Dudley's more creative than this. Seriously, this is almost embarrassingly pathetic."

Unlike all the other times this had happened, Malfoy finally managed to gather enough courage to speak and glared, grey eyes narrowed. It wasn't particularly effective though, seeing as he somehow looked utterly terrified at the same time. "You'll have to stop this eventually, Potter! My father will hear about this!"

"Oooh, I'm so scared. Look, I'm positively shivering in my...well, I'm not wearing boots, so...robes? You'll tell dear old daddy about all this, will you? Mmm, please do. I'd love to see your daddy again." Grinning in satisfaction, Harry turned and walked away.

After that one-way confrontation, Harry decided to spend the rest of his day skipping class and using that time in an empty classroom, studying up on, and practising more spells. He still had a task he knew nothing about to prepare for, after all. And that task was drawing frighteningly closer.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to practice for long. Halfway through what should have been his Potions class, the door to the room he was in burst open and Snape stalked in dramatically, expression one of fury. ...Wait, how had he found him?

"Potter!"

Harry sighed explosively. "Of course, it had to be you. Can't cut me some slack, can you? I mean, I'm only going to have to compete in an extremely deadly task in what?-two weeks? A task I know nothing about, in a competition I know nothing about, where I'm being forced to compete by who the fuck even knows!?-it's Voldemort. It's obviously Voldemort.

"No, you don't give a shit. You aren't going to be satisfied until I'm dead, will you? Yeah, that'll teach that fucker, James Potter, won't it?"

"I have had enough of your nonsense, Potter. On your feet! Now!" He didn't wait. Instead, Snape reached down, hauled Harry up to his feet, and proceeded to drag him out of the empty classroom and up to, Harry assumed, Dumbledore's office.

...Ah, shit. Sighing inwardly, Harry yanked himself free and walked on his own. He wasn't a toddler! There was no need for him to be so fucking rough! It wasn't like they were in bed or anything. "...Did I really just think that about Snape? ...I think I just scared myself."

Coming to a stop outside the stone gargoyle, Snape all but spat out the password, and then glared Harry up the spiral stairs, following behind him closely. He knocked on the door with the-

"Hey! That knocker is shaped like a griffin! And it's on a door! It's a griffin door knocker! ...That's not subtle at all. No wonder he's accused of favouritism all the time."

They entered the large, circular room when they were called in, and found the Headmaster seated behind his desk. He seemed to have been waiting for them because it didn't look like he'd been in the middle of anything. He was just sitting there, his hands folded on the desk, looking towards the door, blue eyes twinkling cheerfully from behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Because that's not creepy or anything," Harry muttered. Well, as much as a person could mutter while hissing.

"Severus! Harry! Come, have a seat, my boys!"

Snape and Harry both stepped further into the room, but neither of them sat down.

"Potter appears to have decided that he has better things to do than attend his Potions class," Snape accused immediately and heatedly.

Dumbledore merely inclined his head. "I see. Is this true, Harry? Have you skipped your lessons today?"

Harry drummed his fingers on the chair he was standing behind, debating with himself. Should he answer in English or Parseltongue? There were pros and cons to both choices, but Harry supposed it depended on how rude he wanted to be to the Headmaster, and that, in turn, would depend on how angry he was with the man. And he had to admit, he was pretty angry right now.

After a long moment of silence, Harry came to a decision. "I was preparing for the tournament."

Surprise flashed in Snape's eyes, no doubt because Harry had chosen to speak in English, but fortunately and surprisingly, he didn't say anything.

"That may be so, but you are still required to attend your lessons. Your fellow competitors are all attending their own, and still finding time to prepare," said Dumbledore sternly.

Harry just blinked. "They don't have as much to prepare for."

"And why do you say that?"

"They're all three years older than me, have more education than me, and entered this tournament willingly."

Snape scoffed, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Even so, Harry, that does not give you the right to neglect your studies. If your opponents have the time to study and prepare, you do as well."

Yeah, no. The more the old man said, the more frustrated Harry became, until he suddenly exploded into Parseltongue again.

"That's just bullshit!" he exclaimed angrily. "Why don't any of you idiots understand that they're older than me!? They entered themselves into this fucking tournament because they wanted to! Because they think they're ready to risk their lives! Why is everyone praising them for entering this willingly, but insulting me for being forced into it!?

"Do you seriously think I want to do this!? I might die! Again! Those idiots have no idea what it's like to risk their lives like that! And all for a bit of gold!? One thousand galleons and a few months of fame are worth dying for!? Why is that okay!? And why am I the crazy one for not being okay with it!?"

Snape had stiffened during this explosion of angered and frustrated hisses, but Dumbledore continued to peer at him closely, though the twinkle had left his eyes. For a moment, no one spoke, not even the painting people, who were watching the scene before them closely.

Finally, Harry realized he had lost. Not only was he being forced to compete in an extremely deadly tournament he had never signed up for with three people three entire years older than him, but he also wasn't going to be given the chance to study and prepare enough to close the shockingly wide gap between him and his fellow competitors.

The first task was only two weeks away…

That's it for now. I think I've read somewhere that at one point, Dumbledore understood but couldn't speak Parseltongue. Yeah, let's pretend that's not the case, and that he doesn't understand shit, alright? Unless that little factoid was wrong to begin with, which it easily could've been. I saw this at least a decade ago at this point. Anyway, looking forward to reviews! Laterz!