The Champions

A/N

Hello all,

Another chapter dump for you to enjoy!

As ever, the support you guys give is appreciated more than I can put into words.

In other news, this story is available in full on my website, so do see my profile for links to the discord where you can gain access to the password for the rest of this, and other stories yet to be published here.

Come December, there will be quizzes, competitions and other festive delights on the discord server, so do pop along.

Anyway, enjoy!

TBR

Once more, Harry found himself looking up at the ceiling of the room on the seventh floor, breathless, and wincing as another bruise formed from where he had been sent skidding across the floor.

Nonetheless, he was getting better.

For the past few months, he had been here almost daily, pushing himself, but ultimately being shown how far he had to go before he could consider himself competent.

Whatever magic was at play here was ruthless, and relentlessly pushed him to and beyond his very limits.

It was trying, to say the least, but whenever the notion of taking things easier even crossed his mind, Harry remembered the night of the World Cup and he would find his resolve.

Arduous.

That was how he would describe the hours spent within the room being sent sprawling and dragging himself to his feet to repeat the process until he no longer could.

It was draining, and yet, Harry knew he was benefitting from it.

He was becoming faster, more inventive with his spells, and improving in leaps and bounds in his defensive capabilities. Although he certainly would not consider himself competent enough by any stretch, he was becoming more so with each passing day.

It helped that he was mostly left alone to pursue this.

Ron barely questioned what Harry did with his time after lessons had finished for the day, and Hermione was too distracted with her sudden devotion to House-elf rights to pay too much attention to much else.

Having decided to drop Muggle Studies, it left her with her own free time this year, though she had quickly found something else to fill it.

Without Quidditch practice, Harry was able to dedicate that time to his studies, a relief, but he was still missing being atop his broom as much.

Often, he would take some time away from the room to simply fly for a while. It wasn't the same, however.

Perhaps it would prove to be a blessing?

That remained to be seen, though Harry was content with the routine he had cultivated for himself since returning to Hogwarts, even if the year seemed to be flying by.

This evening, the long-awaited arrival of the other schools would be upon them, and the tournament was just about all the students had been discussing since it was announced.

Harry was intrigued to watch the event unfold and what the tasks would entail, but he had not been caught up in the furore of it like the rest.

He had his own things to focus on, after all.

Still, he had little to complain about.

Between attending classes, his own efforts in the room, and his advanced studies, there was more than enough to fill his days.

Professor Moody had quickly filled the void of Professor Lupin and had insisted on providing Harry with extra assignments.

The man was odd in his ways, but Harry could not deny he knew his stuff, even if he was much blunter than Lupin, demanded a high standard of work from all, and was paranoid to boot.

His gaze and eerie magical eye never rested in one place for too long and his scars were rather disconcerting.

No more so than watching Moody perform the Unforgivable Curses in front of the entire class, and then placing each of them under the Imperius.

It had been almost amusing to watch the feats his fellow students performed though sobering to all when Moody pointed out that under his control, he could make them do anything he wished.

None managed to fight the effects of the spell other than Harry, who threw it off quickly.

He had not spent the best part of three years diligently studying and developing his skill in the Mind Arts to have it invaded so easily.

Moody had been impressed, surprised, but impressed by Harry's ability.

It was from then that the man took much more of an interest in him and pushed him even harder than he did the others.

Harry didn't know whether to be flattered or burdened, but either way, it was serving to benefit his efforts further.

"Again," he instructed, having caught his breath.

The dummy immediately began sending spell after spell towards him. Those he could not avoid, he shielded, a charm that had taken a significant amount of practice to achieve.

He had yet to master it, but Harry could use it effectively enough to absorb a short flurry of spells whilst he found his feet.

Returning fire, he cast an offering of his own and was unsurprised when the dummy simply vanish to avoid them.

Having grown used to this tactic, Harry spun and intercepted a spell and attempted to divert another, only to be sent spinning through the air before crashing painfully to the ground.

This was a skill he was far from being proficient in.

Occasionally, he was able to manage using his wand to flick an incoming spell out of his path, but it was an exceedingly advanced and risky technique to employ.

It had been Moody who had shown him how to do it, though the former auror made it look effortlessly. Thus far, Harry was fortunate if it worked for him one time in five attempts.

Despite this, he was determined to improve.

It would be a much more convenient way of defending himself than using a Shield Charm, for the most part.

There were certainly many types of magic that it would prove useless against where a shield would be necessary.

"Enough," Harry murmured, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet.

Pointing his wand to his throbbing leg, he breathed a sigh of relief as most of the pain vanished.

Basic healing charms was something he had been working on.

He had quickly grown tired of the injuries he was often sustaining, and he could not visit Madam Pomfrey several times a week, after all.

"Shower," he instructed, relaxing as the dummy vanished and the room shifted into a large bathroom.

Checking his watch, Harry was aware that the other schools would be arriving shortly, and the tournament would officially commence. With that in mind, he divested himself of his torn and dirty robes before stepping into the downpour of almost-scorching water.

The room had learned how he liked his showers, and as ever, provided what he needed, even if using the space could be a point of frustration.

It was indeed a wonderful discovery, one that Harry was grateful for and was getting much use from, but there were flaws.

He could not summon food, nor could it take him where he wished to go away from the castle.

Nonetheless, it was an incredible feat of magic.

Harry had wondered who had created it, but the room would not yield that secret.

Perhaps it had been one of the Founders during the construction of the castle?

It was a good an assumption as any.

Choosing not to frustrate himself with the mystery, Harry repaired the damage to his robes before using a cleaning charm on them and dressing. Checking his appearance in the nearby mirror to ensure there was no visible injuries he had not noticed.

There wasn't, and bracing himself to be among the undoubtedly excited students, he consulted the map before taking his leave of the room.

It had proven to be as much a boon to his activities as the room itself.

There was not a moment that Harry didn't know where everyone in the castle was, an advantage that no other had.

It was useful in avoiding Prefect patrols and even Mr Filch and Mrs Norris.

Coupled with his cloak, Harry was nigh-on undetectable within the castle, just as his father had had been.

He was yet to see any visions with his father in them.

Harry had watched the life of Henry Potter unfold with keen interest. He had grown from a rambunctious boy into a highly respected man in wizarding society.

Much to Harry's surprise, Henry had gone on to have a successful career as an auror before settling down with his wife, Sarah, who had been born to the Macmillan family.

They had three children; two girls and then a boy who had inherited the cloak from his father.

Percival Potter had been much like his father throughout his formative years and had become a Potioneer upon graduating from Hogwarts.

Harry had certainly not inherited the man's skill in the art of brewing, though he was learning a few useful tips from watching his ancestor work.

What did puzzle him, however, was that the Potter's lives he was viewing now were very different to those of the Peverells. For the most part, they experienced rather uneventful and pedestrian existences; a far cry from the often-tumultuous times of their forefathers.

Maybe it was simply because times had changed considerably during the period.

The wizarding world at least seemed to be at peace, so there was no attempts made to raid the Peverell lands. As such, the ways of the family were somewhat lost in time, and the name that had been left behind with Iolanthe was now something of a whispered legend amongst the locals.

It was quite disheartening to see, but Harry remained as proud of where he had come from as ever.

"Potter, straighten you tie," Professor McGonagall sighed as he emerged from the Entrance Hall having removed his cloak at the bottom of the staircase.

Every student within the school was already assembled and awaiting the arrival of the other schools, and Harry joined his fellow Gryffindors.

"Been anywhere good?" one of the twins asked with a wink.

"Just watching Angelina in the shower," Harry returned with a smirk.

The twin narrowed his eyes at Harry whilst the other laughed.

"Oh, he got you there, Fred."

"You know, I'm beginning to regret giving you it."

"Lighten up," Harry chuckled. "I have no intention of spying on anyone in the shower. Could you imagine the scandal if I was caught?"

"Peeping Potter!" Fred exclaimed joyously.

"Peeping Potter?" Alicia asked as the Chasers joined them.

"Ignore him," Harry grumbled. "He's just being perverted."

"Nothing new there then," Katie quipped. "Where have you been, Harry?"

"Here and there."

The girl shot him a pointed look.

Harry had not been around much.

Without Quidditch practice, he'd seen very little of the girls, nor anyone else for that matter. He always made sure to spend enough time with Ron so the boy could get a kick out of beating him at chess but had time for little else.

"He's been peeping at Angelina in the shower," George added.

"Has he now?" Angelina asked interestedly, grinning. "Seen anything you fancy?"

"Oi!" Fred protested.

"I haven't," Harry denied irritably. "But even if I was, I'm sure you have nothing to be ashamed of. You'll be the first to know if I look in on you."

With that, he offered the girl a wave and looked to see where Ron was.

"Oh, he's getting brave again," Alicia commented.

Angelina hummed in response and Harry chuckled to himself.

Having watched how Henry Potter had interacted with the opposite sex, Harry was a little ashamed that a part of the boys' charm, or lack thereof, had rubbed off on him.

"Is Hermione not here?"

Ron shrugged.

"She's still knitting, mate. Honestly, she looks like Aunt Muriel sitting in front of the fire with her thread and needles."

Harry snorted amusedly.

"It wouldn't be so bad if her hats didn't look like tea-cosies. No wonder the elves are refusing to clean the Common Room with those things lying around. She's mental, Harry. Always has been."

"You know what she's like," Harry murmured. "She gets and idea in her head and she won't let it go."

"Tell me about it. She tried to get me to find other members to join SPEW."

"How did that go?"

Ron shook his head.

"One of the Hufflepuff Prefects threaned to cave my skull in."

Harry laughed.

"It's not funny, mate. She's going to get me killed."

"Maybe you should go into hiding?"

"I think I might have to."

"Have to what?" Hermione asked as she joined them, breathless from having evidently sprinting to make it on time. "Sorry, I was…"

"Knitting?" Harry asked amusedly. "Careful, Hermione, you'll be claiming your pension next."

"Very funny," Hermione muttered. "It is for a good cause."

Harry said nothing else.

He did not wish to argue with his friend, but he did not believe in what she was doing.

Still she would have to discover for herself why house-elves and magical folk shared the relationship they did. Not that she would listen to anything that she didn't read in a book for herself.

It was best to just leave her to it.

"Bloody hell, what is that?" Lee Jordan asked, pointing towards the sky.

Harry looked and squinted to see better as he listened to the other students speculating on what it could be.

It was a carriage, pulled by some enormous horses.

He watched in fascination as it touched down, and after only a moment, the door opened.

"That's a big woman," Ron commented.

She was. Perhaps not as large as Hagrid, but she wasn't far off.

When the students followed her out of the carriage, she led them to where Dumbledore and the other members of staff were waiting. There they exchanged a few words before the contingent from Beauxbatons entered the castle.

The Hogwarts students whispered amongst themselves excitedly, anticipating how those from Durmstrang would make their appearance.

Several moments went by before another student made an excited declaration.

"The lake! Look at the lake!"

A disturbance could be seen rippling across the surface before the mast of a ship broke it.

When the entire vessel had emerged, it looked like a pirate ship Harry had seen in a book once.

Dozens of oars rowed it to the moorings, and a plank was slammed down, bridging the gap between the ship and dry land.

"They look like a happy bunch," one of the twins chuckled.

The uniform of the Durmstrang students is what stood out most. It was militaristic, a deep red, and thick with fur. Evidently, wherever they received their education was cold.

"Bloody hell, it's Viktor Krum!" Ron gasped.

His outburst had the entire cohort of Hogwarts talking amongst themselves, with many craning their necks to get a better view of the surly Quidditch star who walked beside a taller man, dressed similarly.

He too exchanged a few words with Dumbledore before entering the castle with his students.

"So it begins," Harry murmured as Dumbledore gestured for them to follow suit.

"You're really not looking forward to it, are you?"

"Not as much as everyone else seems to be," Harry replied to Ron.

He would much prefer to have the Quidditch season back over the tournament.

Still, it would be interesting to learn a little more about the other schools and how they operated whilst the other students were here, and it wasn't as though he wasn't anticipating watching the tasks themselves.

Harry just preferred things the way they were.

"It smells funny in here," Ron pointed out, wrinkling his nose as they entered the Great Hall.

The Durmstrang students had quickly taken seats with the Slytherins and the Beauxbatons with the Ravenclaws.

"Smells like fish," Seamus added distastefully.

"It's fish soup," Harry confirmed. "They eat it in France a lot."

"What do you know about it?" Ron questioned curiously.

Hermione too seemed interested in his answer, but Harry merely shrugged in response. He'd come close to giving away too much information, and he chastised himself for the slip.

Much to his relief, Dumbledore became a well-timed distraction as he stood to address those within the hall, allowing Harry to avoid further questions.

"Welcome, all of you, to Hogwarts," he began, smiling brightly at the gathered students. "Before we officially get the tournament underway, let us indulge in our magnificent feast."

With a wave of his hands, the plates and pitchers atop the tables filled with food and drink, and the students began to dig in.

"What is this?" Ron asked, pointing towards a dish that was unfamiliar to him.

"It's like a beef casserole," Hermione explained. "It's good, you should try it."

Ron eyed the food suspiciously before doing so, savouring his mouthful before swallowing it.

"How much garlic do they put in it?" he grumbled.

Hermione shot him a look of irritation, and Harry helped himself to a few of the foods he did not recognise. Even when eating them, it was difficult to identify much of what was in the foreign fare on offer.

Nonetheless, it was enjoyable, and he offered no complaints the way Ron did with everything he sampled, though he quickly fell silent as a somewhat familiar presence became known at the table.

Harry immediately pushed it out of his mind, but the boys around him were not so savvy.

"Excuse me, are you finished with bouillabaisse?" a voice asked politely.

Harry shook his head as Ron and the others gaped at the blonde beauty that had approached them.

"Bloody hell," Harry cursed. "Put your tongue back in your head and pass the soup."

Ron glared at him but slid the bowl over before returning to staring at the Veela.

"How is it?" she asked Harry as he offered it to her.

"Not as good as it is in Marseille, but it's not bad."

"Merci," she replied as she accepted the bowl.

Harry offered her a nod and shifted his attention back to those at his table.

"S-she's a veela!" Ron said loudly as the enticing magic evaporated.

"You're a bloody genius, Ron," Harry huffed. "You know, it's creepy to stare like that, you too, Neville."

The boy flushed a brilliant red.

"I wasn't staring," he denied.

"All of you were staring," Hermione interjected. "It's pathetic."

Harry nodded his agreement.

"Wait, why doesn't it affect you?" Dean asked.

"Because I have self-control," Harry replied. "It takes more than a pretty face to make me lose my shit."

"I meant the veela magic."

"Self-control," Harry reiterated firmly. "You should all try it. Maybe you won't look like a fish out of the water."

The other boys grumbled and Hermione looked at Harry approvingly.

"Why doesn't it effect you?" she pressed.

"The same reason I can resist the Imperius Curse," Harry answered cryptically. "Are you finished with that?"

Without waiting for a reply, Harry speared one of her potatoes onto his fork and ignored Hermione's protests as he devoured it.

He was rather hungry, after all.

(Break)

Barty had waited until the small hours before he returned to the Great Hall.

The Goblet of Fire had garnered much attention after the feast had concluded, and many stuck around to submit their names without hesitation, hoping for the opportunity to obtain some glory.

Little did they know there was only one person who would win the tournament.

The Dark Lord had predetermined that Potter must be the one to retrieve the cup, and that Barty would be the one to ensure that happened. Thus, he found himself living as the famous auror, Alastor Moody and acting as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for the year.

Barty found he enjoyed the role, though he knew it could not last.

He could not keep Moody imprisoned in perpetuity, and it was all but unavoidable that he would eventually be caught.

Until then, however, Barty would play his part, as would the unwitting Potter.

The cup had not been easy to confound. It was an ancient artefact and the magic it contained old and exceedingly powerful.

Thankfully, Barty had the foresight to instruct his father to make the needed adaptations. Although there was no love lost between the pair, Barty could not deny that the man that sired him was a very talented wizard.

It had taken the Dark Lord the best part of three days to break his mind down enough so that he would be susceptible to the Imperius Curse, and even now, there were moments where his father almost broke free.

Still, even if he did manage it, his mind was little more than an incoherent mess that few would be able to make sense of.

The thought brought a smirk to Barty's lips as he retrieved the piece of parchment from within his robes.

Potter would be submitted under an unnamed school, ensuring he would be selected along with the other champions with the caveat that the youngest competitor would unknowingly receive any help he needed to achieve victory.

If such a thing was necessary.

Over the past few months he had gotten to know him, Barty doubted there was any student in Hogwarts or even the other two visiting schools that Potter could not best.

He was talented, exceedingly so, and Barty found himself deeply impressed with the boy.

Despite him being something of an enemy, Barty could respect and appreciate talent when he saw it, and Potter possessed it in spades.

Informing the Dark Lord had been a consideration, but he had been explicitly instructed to not contact him. Being the ever-loyal follower, Barty would of course comply.

That did not mean, however, that he couldn't gain something other than the return of his lord when all was said and done.

Once more, one of his thoughts brought a smirk to his lips.

Potter would indeed be useful, but more so than the Dark Lord intended, should the opportunity present itself.

Barty was ardently loyal to the man that had shown him what true freedom was, that was never in doubt. There were others who pledged themselves to the Dark Lord who had denied him without hesitation the night he fell.

Lucius… Nott… Selwyn… Crabbe… Goyle… and many others.

Barty knew his master well enough to know that he would forgive them for their transgressions, but Barty could not. He had rotted away in Azkaban for years because of his loyalty whilst the likes of Lucius benefitted through blackmail, bribery, and kissing up to the right people.

It sickened Barty to his very core.

If he had his way, he would kill them all himself. None of them were to be trusted, but the Dark Lord had made him promise that he would not.

Of course, Barty would obey, but that didn't mean justice could not be sought via an appropriate agent.

Potter had first caught his eye with what he had witnessed happen during the aftermath of the World Cup Final.

The boy had been foolish and fallen into a trap laid out for him. As a result, he had been killed. Barty witnessed the light leave his eyes, and yet, a moment later, he was back as though nothing had happened.

Once more, Potter had defied the odds, this time, five times over.

It had left Barty taken aback but had instilled an idea within him.

Potter, he'd learned, was not the kind to simply let it lie. No, Barty had no doubt he harboured a deep grudge against those that had carried out the ambush.

As such, he was easy to exploit for Barty's gain.

Since the beginning of term, Barty had been covertly educating Potter in how to kill the likes of Lucius. A lesson here and some advice there was all that was required.

Potter already possessed the talent and tenacity to do what was best for the Dark Lord to those that were wholly loyal to only themselves.

Should all go to plan, his master would rise once more without the disloyalty tarnishing his ranks, and Barty would take no small amount of joy in it.

For now, however, Potter needed to win the tournament and Barty had little doubt he would.

The boy was indeed quite the marvel for one so young, though still little more than an insect to be trodden upon by the Dark Lord.

For Barty, his plan would benefit him greatly.

Without Lucius and the others who had forsaken their master to save their own hides, there would be no more disloyalty to be concerned with.

Barty nodded as he placed the slip of parchment inside the Goblet of Fire.

Potter would be seen as an underdog, but he was far from being so.

Should he need additional guidance, Barty would be there to provide. Such a thing would likely be unnecessary.

Potter would likely win on his own merit and be strong enough that his blood would be at its peak maturity for when his master required it.

If all went well, in only a matter of months, it would be as though the Dark Lord had never been absent and Britain would be placed under his heel.

It was what was best, after all.

(Break)

From what Harry had seen throughout the day, just about every eligible student from Hogwarts had submitted their name for consideration by the goblet. Even Angelina had done so in the hope of the one thousand galleon prize and the coveted accolade of being a Triwizard Champion.

Although Harry wished the girl well, he could not help but think that it would be Cedric that was chosen.

The boy was an excellent wizard for his age, well-rounded, and deeply competitive.

He was taking advanced classes with both McGonagall and Flitwick for a reason.

Others had scoffed at the prospect of the Hufflepuff being chosen whereas Harry had remained silent on the matter. Cedric may be a Hufflepuff, the house considered by many to be the meekest, but such thoughts were shallow to be had.

Cedric Diggory would be a strong contender for Hogwarts.

When it came to the choices from the other schools, Harry was clueless.

He knew very little of Beauxbatons nor Durmstrang, but he had witnessed Viktor Krum, escorted by his Headmaster and every other student from the institution, submit his name during breakfast.

Why?

Harry could not fathom the boy wanted for gold and he certainly did not need any further fame. Krum was known across the wizarding world for his performances whilst playing for the Bulgarian national team, so neither things on offer would evidently appeal to him.

No, his reasons had to be personal in nature.

Perhaps he merely wished to prove that he was not merely a Quidditch player, that he was also a talented wizard?

Regardless of the reasons, he had added his name to the mix with the utmost support of his peers.

As with those from Durmstrang, every student who had come here from Beauxbatons had submitted their names.

Harry knew nothing about any of them except that one was a veela.

It would be interesting to see how veela magic differed from wizarding magic, but that was for the goblet to decide.

"It appears that the goblet is nearing its time to select the champions," Dumbledore announced quietly, though his voice carried throughout the entirety of the Great Hall.

The whispering of those gathered ceased immediately and all eyes were on the wooden cup.

Only a moment later, it flared into life with a blue flame and expelled a single piece of singed parchment which Dumbledore nimbly snatched from the air.

"The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

The hall erupted in cheers for the Quidditch star who showed little sign of any joy of being chosen. He slouched towards the staff table where he was ushered into an adjoining room.

Silence fell once more before the goblet sputtered again, spewing out another slip of parchment.

"The champion representing Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour."

The applause this time was more muted, but polite nonetheless for the veela who had been chosen. She followed in Krum's footsteps and exited the hall through the same door.

With the two champions from the other competing schools having been selected, the Hogwarts students leaned in with anticipation.

One of them would be selected next.

Again, the goblet flared into life and sent another slip of parchment forth.

"The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory."

The Hufflepuff table cheered uproariously for the boy, and many others groaned in disappointment.

Harry was not surprised by the selection and clapped politely. Cedric was the best choice, despite some believing otherwise.

"Now, with our champions selected…"

Dumbledore paused, a deep frown marring his features as the goblet came to life once more and he accepted the piece of parchment it shot out.

Immediately, Harry was filled with a sense of trepidation. Something that proved to only confirm his discomfort only a few seconds later.

Dumbledore's gaze came to rest on his own as he read the name.

"Harry Potter."

Harry's nostrils flared as every set of eyes within the hall searched for him, and he clenched his fists to prevent himself from losing his cool.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore repeated.

Harry shook his head as Hermione tried to encourage out of his seat.

"Harry, your name has been selected by the goblet," Dumbledore sighed.

Seeing he had little choice in the matter, he stood and made his way to the front of the Great Hall, taking calming breaths as he ignored the whispered that followed him.

On the surface, he perhaps appeared to be calm, but within, he was biblically furious and struggling to maintain what little composure he had.

"What's wrong, Harry, do they need us back in there?" Cedric asked as he entered.

Harry said nothing, not trusting himself to speak and the Hufflepuff looked at him with concern, evidently something was amiss.

Before any other could press the issue, the door burst open and admitted a plethora of people, most of whom Harry was familiar with is some way, but several others he was not.

Wasting no time, Dumbledore approached him.

"Did you submit your name, Harry?" he asked urgently.

"No."

"Of course, he is lying," Madame Maxime declared.

"I will not have it!" Karkaroff spat. "We came here in good faith that the tournament would be fair. There was nothing in the agreement to suggest that Hogwarts would be granted two champions!"

"Oh, shut up, Karkaroff," Moody interjected. "If anyone has a right to complain, it is Potter. Do you hear him whining?"

"Ha, he has nothing to complain about. He has been chosen as a champion."

Harry watched the back and forth between the professors and ministry workers.

"Your name came out?" Cedric whispered.

Harry nodded and the older boy shook his head.

"Do you think it has something to do with, well, you know?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Bloody hell," Cedric muttered.

Any further conversation between them was stopped as an apoplectic Karkaroff stood in front of Harry.

"You," the man growled.

It was then that Harry felt what modicum of self-control he had managed to maintain slip away and was replaced with a coldness that thrummed throughout his veins.

"I suggest you take a step away from me," Harry murmured dangerously.

He was not quite as tall as Karkaroff, but the man was taken aback enough by his boldness that he hesitated.

"Harry," Dumbledore warned.

Harry shook his head.

"I will say this once and once only. I did not put my name in the goblet, so I suggest you find out who did."

"Stop lying, boy!" Karkaroff growled.

"I will volunteer myself to be dosed with Veritaserum," Harry offered. "I'm sure Snape has some somewhere in the castle, but I will only answer questions pertaining to how my name got int the goblet."

His offer was met with an uncertain silence.

"No, that will not be necessary," Dumbledore insisted.

"Then whoever thinks that I submitted my own name had better think again. I have better things to do than waste my time with this tournament."

"I'm afraid that you must take part," Dumbledore sighed apologetically. "This is your handwriting, is it not?"

Harry frowned at the offered piece of parchment.

It was his handwriting, but he had written his name on dozens of pieces of parchment since arriving at Hogwarts.

"Your signature contains traces of your magic and it was accepted as a viable entry into the tournament by the goblet," Dumbledore explained. "I'm sorry, but you are beholden to the goblet until the all three of the tasks are completed."

"Of course I am," Harry muttered.

Already, he could feel a foreign magic begin to settle in with his own, only a trace mind, but enough to instil a feeling of caution within him.

"So, Hogwarts will have two chances to win," the French veela stated irritably.

"Do not worry, Fleur. You will still win," Madame Maxime assured her.

The girl nodded resolutely.

"It will take more than a little boy to beat me," she replied with a smirk.

"At least have the balls to insult me so that everyone can understand," Harry bit back. "Not all of them can speak French but do go on. I'd like to hear what else you have to say."

Delacour's face reddened. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Harry didn't know, nor did he care.

All within the room were surprised that he could speak the language, though Harry took no small amount of pleasure in irking the French.

They had been quite rude, and he did not appreciate being insulted in such a gutless fashion.

"I said that you were a little boy and I will still win."

Harry snorted before shaking his head.

"I couldn't give a shit who wins," he replied. "I'd rather be left out of it."

"Ha, like you do not want the money or fame," Delacour returned haughtily.

Harry quirked a brow at the girl and Cedric shook his head.

"I don't need either," Harry said simply. "I'm already bloody famous and I don't need a thousand galleons, you daft cow. I knew the French could be rude, but you are something else entirely."

"Harry," Dumbledore said warningly.

"I'm just defending myself, Harry pointed out. "Since I can't get out of this, as far as I am aware for the time being, what do we need to know?"

"The first task will be designed to test you in the face of the unknown. More details will be given shortly before it begins," Barty Crouch explained.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Crouch confirmed.

Harry could only sigh irritably as he took his leave of the room without prompt.

He was still furious by what had taken place, and he knew that this evening would only be the beginning of his problems.

There would be those who believed he had entered his own name, and some would be quite intolerable to be around.

Still, there was nothing for it now, yet as he made his way through the empty Great Hall, he found himself wondering what any of his Peverell ancestors would do in his situation.

It took little thought on Harry's part to reach a conclusion.

They would do all they could to win, and then they would punish those responsible for forcing them into it in the first place.

Harry nodded thoughtfully to himself as he headed towards Gryffindor Tower where he would have to face his housemates.

Delacour, at least, did not see him as a threat to her perceived impending victory.

Harry would show her.

He would prove the girl and any other that doubted him wrong.

For the most part, he kept to himself and rarely showcased what he could do. The tournament, however, would change that.

He would not be able to hold everything back and would need to use every ounce of the skill he did possess.

Harry would be believed to be at a disadvantage compared to the other champions, but he would be the one to emerge victorious.

Gawain and Arthur Peverell would certainly have it no other way for themselves, and Harry would not settle for less either.

"Come Death, come," he murmured as he flicked his wand into his hand and secured himself within his robes.

(Break)

Cedric felt terrible for Harry.

Having endured what he had during the final of the Quidditch World Cup, he was due a reprieve from having his life put in danger, but evidently, it was not to be.

He watched as the French champion conversed with her headmistress and how Viktor was seemingly unmoved by the entire exchange that had taken place.

Arguments amongst the organisers ensued, and even the usually unshakeable Dumbledore seemed to be concerned.

"Can we not resubmit the names and draw them again?" he asked.

"We cannot," Crouch confirmed. "The goblet will not be lit again until the commencement of the next tournament. The names it supplied must compete."

Dumbledore nodded his understanding.

"You cannot believe the boy is telling the truth?" Karkaroff demanded angrily. "He is a liar!"

Cedric shook his head.

The Harry he had gotten to know, admittedly not as well as he would like, was far too honest if anything. He was certainly no liar, and Cedric did not believe for a passing second he'd submitted his own name.

Still, despite the unpleasant circumstances surrounding it, the tournament had certainly now become even more interesting.

Delacour was far too dismissive of Harry, and Krum had said nothing.

The former would be proven wrong. Of that, Cedric was certain.

"Why would they let a little boy compete?" Delacour questioned.

"I would stop seeing him like that if I were you," Cedric warned the girl.

"Excuse me?"

Krum to was listening with interest, as were most of the others.

"You thinking of Harry as a little boy is a mistake. I've competed against him in Quidditch, and I will say that I am more concerned about facing him in something like this than I am either of you. I'm not saying that neither of you deserve this or that you are unskilled, but you don't know Harry. He might not want to be a part of it, but he is as competitive as anyone else in this castle and he will want to win. Ask anyone in this school what they think of him," Cedric urged. "If you think you should not be worried about him, he will prove you wrong very quickly. Don't underestimate him; or do. You'll find out for yourselves during whatever the tasks are. If there is nothing else, I'll be leaving now."

Offering a polite nod to the other champions, Cedric did take his leave of the of the room.

His fellow Hufflepuffs would be waiting to celebrate his selection, though the mood within the house could well be rather toxic.

Cedric would do what he could to ensure his housemates knew that Harry had not entered himself, for what good it would do.

Regardless, he would have Harry's back through whatever came, even if it did fill him with a deep concern.

Not that he doubted Harry.

There was more to him than any would believe, shown by what he had done to Walden Macnair and even to the snake during the ill-fated Duelling Club

Nonetheless, Harry had powerful enemies, as proven during the World Cup, and it was likely that it was them that had seen fit to enter him into the tournament.

How that had come to be, Cedric didn't know, but Harry needed to tread very carefully.

There were people that still wanted him dead, after all, and dangerous people to say the least.