Harry blinked awake an unknown amount of time later, half-expecting to see the sterile lights of St. Mungo's hanging overhead. It had become something of a common occurrence for him as of late, after all. Instead, he was staring up at white canvas, sunlight soaking through the tent onto his cot. He looked around, grasping for his glasses and locating them on a bedside table.
There was a startled noise from his left; Lily was seated at his bedside, and judging by the bags under her eyes, she had been there for some hours. "James, he's awake!" she gasped, clasping her son's hand and burying her head in his chest, sighing with relief. "Merlin, Harry, what's gotten into you?"
"I'm alright, Mum," Harry muttered, gently patting her head with his free hand. "It was only two toes...not like it was my whole lower half this time, right?"
"I prefer to see my son all in one piece, thank you very much," Lily huffed.
"You lost quite a bit of blood as well," remarked James, who had rushed into the tent and knelt by Harry's other side. "Why do you insist on trying to Apparate so young?"
"I told you, I wasn't letting Crouch Jr. escape," Harry said resolutely. "He's too dangerous."
"So dangerous that you thought you could take him alone?" asked James, eyebrows raised. "You should have at least let me Side-Along with you. You can't keep taking on dangerous dark wizards all by yourself!"
"And what on earth were you thinking, attacking those Death Eaters?" Lily demanded. "Cedric told us what happened...do you even realize how reckless that was?"
"I stopped them, didn't I?" Harry said defiantly. Then, remembering the full events of the encounter, he asked, "Were any of them captured?"
"Four of them," James nodded. "Including Lucius Malfoy, which is causing quite a commotion at the Ministry. Lucky for you, because they'll be more focused on him than on who actually caught him."
"Good," thought Harry bitterly. It hadn't been his primary aim, but if last night's events resulted in Lucius Malfoy going to Azkaban, it would be an even more successful evening than he dreamed possible. Two of Voldemort's most dangerous followers taken out in one fell swoop. "Can we go home now?"
"Our Portkey leaves this evening," said Lily. "You should be healed up by then."
"Everyone else has left already, then?" Harry surmised.
"They were supposed to this morning," James grimaced. "But once they heard what happened to you, they insisted on staying, to make sure you were all right."
"Can I go see them?" asked Harry, making to sit up, but Lily stopped him.
"You had to regrow two toes overnight," she admonished him. "You will stay in this bed until the Healers say you can leave."
"But—"
"Listen to your mother, Harry," James said sternly. Harry felt the heat of his father's gaze and held his tongue. He'd done plenty of disobeying his parents over the past twenty-four hours; it was best for him to keep his head down and follow orders for a while.
He remained in the tent for much of the day, which he learned was part of a makeshift field hospital erected on the campgrounds to assist anyone who was injured in last night's riot. "Honestly, Death Eaters, back in Britain?" muttered a young Healer as she attended to Harry's foot. "We expected much worse when we were called in to help – only a dozen or so injured."
"Thank the mystery man who held them off," said another Healer, attending to a heavily-bandaged man in the same tent as Harry. "Witnesses say one bloke held his ground and drove the Death Eaters away by himself. Can you believe it?"
"I bet it was James Potter," said the younger Healer admiringly. "That man never backs down from a fight."
At least I know where I get it from, thought Harry, electing not to draw attention to himself as the 'mystery man' they were speculating about. Best not to put an even bigger target on his back, from either the Death Eaters or the Ministry.
Harry was finally cleared in the late afternoon, after dutifully swallowing potion after potion and watching Healers wave their wands over his foot dozens of times. He slipped on his shoes and exited the tent, finding himself in a nearly-empty field. Most of the visiting witches and wizards must have left the grounds early after last night's chaos. It made it easier for Harry to navigate his way back to his own tent site, where the Potters, Weasleys and Diggorys sat in conjured chairs talking to one another.
They all fell silent at the sight of Harry, who immediately felt uncomfortable with the looks of awe and amazement in their faces. "Back in one piece," he quipped with an awkward grin, waving his newly-healed foot around as proof.
There was a blur of brown in his peripherals, and Hermione launched herself at Harry with a hug. "Thank god you're alright," she muttered. "We were so worried."
"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry, gingerly patting her on the back, glad at least that things were no longer awkward between them.
"Good on you, mate," said Ron, shaking Harry's hand fervently. "Fred and George told us what you did to Malfoy and those Death Eaters...serves them right."
"Are you crazy or something, cousin?" demanded Damian. "I thought you was just unlucky last year, but you really can't stop picking fights with blokes three times your age!"
"You get used to it after a while," sighed Dahlia. "He's an idiot, but he's our idiot." And she too gave Harry a hug – a rare display of sibling affection in front of others. He gratefully returned it, glad she was safe.
Harry received polite nods of encouragement from the older contingent, who had no doubt heard from James about his accomplishments the night before. Harry didn't like the way Cedric and the twins were looking at him – with a kind of reverence and respect they'd never given him before. To them, it must have appeared that he grew powerful overnight, when in reality it was the sum of the last three years of training, of devouring every book on combat magic in the Hogwarts library, of dueling with James and with Remus. Harry felt no different than he had the day before, and lamented that he may never be treated the same by his peers again.
It was a tricky tightrope he was walking: he wanted a normal childhood, the one he'd been deprived before, but he also wanted to prevent a catastrophic war. That inevitably meant drawing attention to himself at times, of showcasing strengths that no normal fourteen-year-old boy ought to have. Hopefully he could settle back into the background at Hogwarts, enjoying the Triwizard Tournament as a spectator (or helping Neville through if it came to that). He was sick of the spotlight and hoped to avoid it whenever possible.
Harry joined the group for a bit, listening to the scattered conversations about the match and last night's events. The adults looked stressed, no doubt anticipating a hectic few days at the Ministry to come. Eventually it came time to leave; the group packed up their tents and belongings and hiked up the hill to head home.
The Potters would be taking a different Portkey to Godric's Hollow this time, which was situated farther up the ridge from the rest. Harry bade goodbye to the Weasleys and Diggorys, following his family up the trail, eager to get home for some proper rest.
"Harry!" a voice called after him. "A quick word?"
Harry turned to see Bill Weasley hustling after him. "Erm...sure," he said, wondering what the eldest Weasley sibling wanted to speak about. He followed the man to a secluded spot, where Bill turned and folded his arms, regarding Harry with an odd expression.
"Who are you?" Bill eventually asked.
"Sorry?" asked Harry. "I'm...Harry."
"Yes, I know that," said Bill. "But who are you, really?"
"I don't follow," said Harry.
"Something about you isn't right," said Bill shrewdly. "You're hiding something. Don't deny it – I work with goblins, and they've trained me to be more perceptive than most of deceptive human behavior."
"I'm a Seer," said Harry cautiously. "But I don't want everyone to know that."
"So said your father when I asked him last night," Bill nodded. "But that doesn't explain everything. You fight like a grown adult, you know about things someone your age shouldn't, like Horcruxes, and you always wind up in the middle of trouble. Pettigrew, Quirrell, the Chamber of Secrets – not to mention whatever happened last night."
"I have visions of bad things that are going to happen," said Harry defensively. "And I try to stop them. Yesterday, I succeeded."
Bill shook his head adamantly. "There's more to your story," he insisted. "I've met Seers before, and even they tend not to understand their own visions."
"What does it matter to you, anyway?" Harry demanded, feeling on the back foot. "It has nothing to do with you."
"Doesn't it?" said Bill. "Ronald was Petrified by a basilisk last spring. And yesterday, you led Fred and George into battle against forty armed Death Eaters. And I know my brothers; they don't take orders from just anybody – they followed you like a leader. So I ask again: who are you, and what do you want with my family?"
Bill glared at Harry with an intensity he hadn't expected. Clearly he wasn't buying Harry's story in the slightest. So he decided to throw caution to the wind once more.
"You're right, I am hiding things," Harry admitted, meeting Bill's challenging gaze with one of his own. "I've been fighting the Dark Lord for three years, and I will continue to oppose his return for as long as it takes. I have no quarrel with your family, Bill, but they will be drawn into this conflict one way or another. Would you rather they charge blindly into the fray, or follow somebody who knows Voldemort's next moves?"
Bill looked surprised by Harry's words. "You believe You-Know-Who will return?" he asked.
"I know he will," Harry nodded. "He's biding his time right now, trying to rebuild his body. But he's close now, Bill, and if he does come back, it will take all we've got to stop him from rising to power once more."
"How do you know all of this?" Bill demanded.
"I can't tell you that," said Harry. "Not yet, anyway. Just know that I value your siblings' lives higher than my own, and I would never intentionally do them harm."
Bill scrutinized Harry for a few long moments. Eventually, he nodded. "My brothers trust you, even if I'm not fully convinced yet," Bill muttered. "Whoever or whatever you are, Harry Potter, just be careful, will you? Foresight is no excuse for recklessness."
"I've learned that lesson the hard way these past few years," Harry chuckled humorlessly. "I'll keep it in mind, thanks."
"Good," Bill nodded, turning to go. After a moment, he turned and looked back at Harry. "Stay in touch, will you, Potter? News travels slowly out of Britain, but it seems like things are happening quickly on the Isles nowadays."
"They are," Harry agreed. "Pay close attention to the news around Halloween – the Prophet isn't always reliable, but I'll write if I get the chance."
"Alright, then," said Bill, extending a handshake to Harry. "Stay safe." And he made to rejoin his family, as Harry did the same.
"What did William want?" asked James curiously.
"Wanted to stay in touch," Harry shrugged. "He's interested in my visions and wants to keep tabs on what's happening in Britain."
"You really oughtn't tell everyone your secret," said Lily worriedly. "I fear what could happen if the wrong person learned the truth—"
"I trust Bill," said Harry. And he meant it – despite the man's suspicion, Harry knew he was only looking out for his family. He'd always struck Harry as the silent, observant type, and that was confirmed by Bill's private confrontation. He didn't want to expose Harry's secrets; he merely wanted to understand them, to plan around them. That could be a useful ally to have down the road, if the necessity arose.
The Portkey deposited the Potter's straight back in their home back at Godric's Hollow, where Harry and Dahlia would spend the final three weeks of summer before school term resumed. Harry obsessively followed The Daily Prophet in the coming days, which was full of coverage on the 'incident' at the Quidditch World Cup. To Harry's relief, no witnesses had been able to identify the mysterious man who stepped forward and stopped the attack, though the papers praised the Auror Department, led by Rufus Scrimgeour, for their quick action in saving lives.
The revelation that Barty Crouch Jr. was alive and well was also a big talking point. Although he and Winky remained in custody, Crouch Sr. had gone into hiding and could not be located. The editorials section was full of writers into the paper suggesting that Crouch Jr. be given the Dementor's Kiss, as he was clearly too dangerous to be left alive. Harry secretly agreed, though he wondered if Fudge would be pressured into letting him live and simply return to Azkaban.
There was passing mention of a few other arrests made at the Cup. Harry recognized a couple of the names mentioned, including Yaxley and Avery, who were being charged with 'misdemeanor mischief and disturbing the peace'. Is that really how they choose to describe a terrorist attack?! Harry thought frustratedly. Though that was one downside of his timely action at the Cup: the Death Eaters hadn't had enough time to cause any lasting damage before being stopped in their tracks.
What was even more frustrating was the lack of coverage on Lucius Malfoy. The Prophet mentioned his arrest for 'fringe involvement' in the night's events, though they remained vague on his true role in the riots. He was the damn ringleader! Harry wanted to scream in their faces. He had a sneaking suspicion that the man would wriggle his way out of trouble once again, paying off the right officials to ensure his freedom. Harry's faith in the justice system at the Ministry was virtually non-existent at that point…
A much-needed distraction arrived via owl one morning in the form of Harry and Dahlia's school letters, instructing them on the books and supplies they would need to purchase for the upcoming year. Harry attempted to open his discreetly, but his mother snatched it out of his hands and read it for herself.
"You've dropped Arithmancy?" she said irritably, putting her hands on her hips. "Harry, that is an important subject for many career paths!"
"I'm rubbish at it!" Harry protested. "And I can't afford to take it without a Time-Turner anyway!"
"You can't just quit something the minute you start to struggle with it!" said Lily. "Why not drop Care of Magical Creatures instead?"
"It's an important subject too," Harry argued. "Dad didn't take Arithmancy either, and he turned out okay!"
"He's got you there, Lil," said James cheekily. "So what if he doesn't want to take the subject? Just because you got an 'Outstanding' on your Arithmancy O.W.L.—"
"It's not about me; it's about his future," Lily grumbled. But she eventually relented and moved on to her daughter's letter. Dahlia would be entering her third year, which meant selecting her first electives. "What are you planning to take, dear?"
"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Dahlia shrugged.
"That's it?" Lily demanded. "Surely you can fit in another subject or two on top of that!"
"But I'll be taking an apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey this year!" Dahlia protested.
"A what, now?" asked James, suddenly intrigued.
"She thought I might make a good Healer some day," Dahlia shrugged. "What with all the time I spent in the Hospital Wing with Calvin last term, asking her questions."
"Will it count for a grade?" asked Lily skeptically. "There's no O.W.L. for Healing…"
"But there is a N.E.W.T. for Magical Medicine," said Dahlia. "It's only taught at Beauxbatons, but I can sit the exam if I want in my seventh year. Madam Pomfrey said she will help me learn and study for it, so I can go on to a Healer institute after graduation."
Both James and Lily looked stunned by this revelation. "How long have you been considering this, dear?" asked James softly.
"Since I wound up in St. Mungo's my first year," Dahlia shrugged. "I'm good with Potions and Charms, and Pomfrey reckons I'll be good with Runes, which are what you need for Healing."
"That's brilliant, Dahlia," said Harry honestly. "I had no idea you were interested in that."
"It is a respectable profession," Lily acknowledged. "But I expect regular reports from Madam Pomfrey on your progress – this is not an excuse to skip out on classes!"
"I won't," Dahlia grinned. "Besides, I can keep an eye on Harry this way, considering he winds up in the Hospital Wing at least three times a year."
"I'll have to make an effort to avoid it this year, then," Harry said, sticking out his tongue at her.
"Fine; I'll just ask Luna Lovegood what you're up to, then," Dahlia said with a devious smirk. "She can't tell a lie, so I can get all the dirty details of what you two were really up to at her house this summer." Harry aimed a kick at his cackling sister under the table, but only succeeded in stubbing his newly-regrown toes on the table leg, earning him an afternoon of numbness for his efforts.
With a week to go before term resumed, Harry accompanied James to the Ministry for a final meeting with Saul Croaker. He'd sent the Unspeakable a coded letter the week before, once again requesting access to the blood ritual the man had mentioned, but got nothing in return. Was Saul too busy, or simply ignoring the request? He wasn't sure which was worse.
"Close the door," Saul said as Harry entered his office on Level Nine. Harry complied; as soon as he did so, Saul stood and opened the way to his hidden sub-office, leading the way inside. Harry was excited to see a pentagonal star drawn on the floor, with different magical ingredients scattered at each of its tips and a smattering of runes drawn around it.
"You're letting me do the ritual?" he asked eagerly.
"I said no such thing," Saul snapped. "Your father barged into my office last week, you know. Demanded to know if I've been counseling you to act recklessly upon your visions. Two Splinches in a single summer, Potter? Quite impressive."
"He was angry?" Harry deflated.
"At first," Saul shrugged. "Calmed down the more he shouted, though. I reckon he's mighty proud of you – just concerned about your well-being, is all."
Harry's heart leapt at this. James was proud of him...it was all he'd ever wanted in his previous lifetime, and now he had concrete proof of it. "What else did he say?" he asked, trying not to sound too needy.
"He made me promise not to encourage you to take any more stupid risks," said Saul. "And I gave him my word."
"So what's all this, then?" Harry asked, indicating the diagrams on the floor.
"Oh, this? It's for conducting the Ritual of Ontogenesis," said Saul dismissively. "It's meant for augmenting magical power in young witches and wizards to accelerate core development."
"And why is it here?" Harry asked suspiciously. "If you promised not to let me do it?"
"Thought you might find it academically interesting," Saul shrugged. "Like the fact that the first step is to remove one's outer layers and sit in the center of the star – not that I can encourage you to do so, of course."
Saul looked expectantly at Harry, who slowly got the hint, a grin spreading across his face. Harry quickly pulled off his shirt, shoes and trousers, sitting cross-legged within the star.
"The next step would be for the theoretical participant to produce a blood sample," said Saul indifferently. "A small cut to the palm would suffice."
Saul tilted his head to the side, and Harry saw a small silver knife sitting innocuously outside the star. He reached for it and made a small incision across his palm, a trickle of blood rising to the surface of the wound.
"The blood would then be applied to each of the five intersection points," said Saul. Harry dutifully did so, smearing his palm in the required areas and watching as the outline of the star and the runes around it began to glow white, activated by his offering.
"A second party would then be required to perform the rites," said Saul, drawing his wand. "The incantation, for educational purposes of course, is 'Oblatio sanguinis, corpus crescere, puer homo factus'."
The glow from the outline of the star intensified at Saul's words, burning Harry's eyes with brilliant white light. He shut his eyes, resisting the urge to get out of the diagram, sitting quite still in his cross-legged pose.
"The ritual theoretically takes about fifteen minutes," he heard Saul say. "Then about five minutes is suggested for cool-down after it's done. Or so I'm told." Harry heard Saul's footsteps retreat towards the main office, clicking shut behind him.
Harry kept his eyes closed, trying to work through his Occlumency exercises to stay calm. His body felt like it was vibrating, as the white light flared all around him. Saul wouldn't let me do this if it was dangerous, Harry told himself. He said it was only illegal because of the blood offering.
But what if Saul had ulterior motives? What if he believed Harry to be too dangerous to be kept alive, with everything he knew? What if he was a Death Eater in disguise? Stop that, Harry chastised himself. If Saul was a Death Eater, he would've had plenty of opportunity to kill Harry, plenty of chances to run off to serve his master once more. Harry trusted the man with his life, and it was time to put his Galleons where his mouth was.
The vibrating of his body intensified, and now Harry felt like tiny needles were pricking at his skin from every direction. He fought to keep perfectly still, ignoring the dull pain as best he could. This will make me stronger, he reminded himself. This will bring my body up to speed with my mind. He was acutely aware of his heartbeat now, racing ahead as though to make up for lost time. He fought the urge to panic, controlling his breathing, keeping his limbs steady—
And then it was over. The brilliant white lights of the star began to fade, and Harry felt himself coming down from the intense experience of the ritual. He cracked an eye open; the star and runes had extinguished themselves, and the ingredients at the tips were nowhere to be seen, having been expended in the process. That wasn't so bad, Harry thought – a mild amount of discomfort was acceptable for the supposed gains he would soon see.
Harry glanced at a clock on the wall, remaining still for five minutes as Saul had suggested. When the time had passed, he gingerly stood, feeling a bit sore but no worse for wear. He got dressed and returned to the main office, where Saul was writing quietly at his desk, and sat opposite him.
"Thanks for the help," he said. "Why did you decide to let me do it?"
"Don't know what you're talking about," said Saul, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "But if I did such a thing, it would be because I'm tired of fighting a shadow war with only a child as my ally."
"Does this make me a man, then?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.
"Not exactly," said Saul. "Magically speaking, you will reach maturity much quicker now – most wizards don't fully develop their core until age sixteen or seventeen, but yours should reach that point within the next few months. Physically you may progress more quickly as well, though that is only a side-effect of the acceleratory magic at play."
"I see," Harry nodded. He flexed his fingers and stretched his limbs; he still felt a bit tingly, but not too bad otherwise. "Hopefully this will let me Apparate without losing any more digits."
"Not that I would encourage such activity either," said Saul. "Though in theory, yes, that would be a benefit."
"Are there any downsides?" Harry asked, realizing he probably should have asked this sooner.
"You may find yourself more...aware of your magical surroundings than before," said Saul. "Though as a Seeker, I imagine you will see this as a positive."
"This won't give me an unfair Quidditch advantage, will it?" asked Harry, suddenly alarmed. Could he have accidentally closed the door on a professional sports career due to the illegal ritual?
"Perhaps against other underage students," said Saul. "Though that advantage will dry up as you reach age seventeen. It does not grow your core artificially; it merely accelerates the time it takes to reach its full potential. Now, let's talk about the World Cup."
"Do you think I did the right thing?" Harry asked at once, still feeling unsure about it himself. "Changing the timeline so radically?"
"It definitely introduces new elements of uncertainty to our plans," Saul acknowledged. "Though I think it is for the best, given how dangerous we know Crouch Jr. to be."
"Agreed," Harry nodded gratefully. "As long as he remains in custody through August, he won't be able to get to Moody...which makes it less likely that he is impersonated at Hogwarts."
"Very true," Saul nodded. "Though I would still keep my eyes open for abnormalities if I were you. We no longer know what the Dark Lord is planning, and his back-up plan could be twice as dangerous."
"I will," said Harry. "What about the Horcruxes? Have you come up with any plans to find them?"
"I am still researching the four Founders' objects to determine if any are viable candidates," said Saul. "We know at least one still exists in the Sword of Gryffindor, though its current whereabouts are unknown. The other two will be trickier to find, but I will do some digging to see if they've surfaced at any point in recent history."
"What should I do in the meantime?" asked Harry.
"Keep digging into Riddle's past," said Saul. "Figure out who he was close to at Hogwarts – professors, classmates, anyone else who may have information about what he was like as a child. As Mrs. Cole demonstrated earlier this summer, any tidbit of information could be vital to our success."
"I'll see what I can find," Harry nodded. He knew the school library had a compendium of student rosters dating back centuries, listing every witch and wizard who had attended Hogwarts. It could give him more insight into who Riddle may have surrounded himself with in Slytherin House (if anybody). He also wanted to see if he could learn anything about Riddle's mother's family – all he had was a first name (Marvolo), but it was a start at least.
"Keep me updated in the lead-up to Halloween as well," said Saul. "The theoretical object that the Ministry may have asked me to prepare is under strict supervision, so we can be sure it will not be tampered with until it leaves for Hogwarts."
"Will do," said Harry. His first step would be ensuring that Moody was not an impostor, and if he wasn't, enlisting the man to help him find anyone else who didn't belong in the castle. Paranoid and skittish as the man may be, Harry could use someone overly-cautious and trigger-happy to help him accomplish this task.
Saul dismissed Harry soon after, with strict instructions not to perform any magic for the next five days to let his core settle. That was no problem, as Lily confiscated his wand the second he returned from the Ministry anyway. Harry spent the last few days at home relaxing and skimming through his new textbooks, particularly Ancient Runes, now the only subject he hadn't taken before. He was grateful it was not an exam year, and the material didn't look too challenging, so he hoped the year would be far less stressful than the last.
Harry awoke on the morning of September the first to loud shouts echoing through the house from downstairs. He rushed from his room to find his father pacing about the kitchen, shouting and ranting to nobody in particular as Lily attempted to calm him down. "What's happened?" Harry demanded.
"That slippery sonuvabitch got away with it!" James fumed, kicking over a chair in frustration.
"Not Crouch Jr.?" Harry asked in alarm.
"No, Malfoy!" James seethed. "Got off with a slap on the wrist and nothing more...the slimy git!"
Harry spied an open copy of the Daily Prophet on the table and picked it up, scanning for the relevant article. He found it buried at the bottom of page six: 'LUCIUS MALFOY CLEARED; EXONERATED OF WORLD CUP CHARGES'.
"How did he get out of it?" Harry demanded. "He was caught red-handed!"
"He must have paid off the right people to look the other way," James grumbled. "And because his wand was broken, they couldn't perform Priori Incantatem to prove he'd actually done anything illegal."
Harry's stomach dropped at this. He knew it had been rash to snap the man's wand as he did, a decision made in the heat of the moment. In many ways, Malfoy walking free was even more dangerous than Crouch, because he wielded considerable political power to make the Potters' lives difficult. And he was one of the few people who actually knew Harry was the one who had fought back…
"I'd better go into work," James sighed, grabbing his cloak and heading for the door. "This is gonna be a nightmare to deal with…"
"Be careful, dear," Lily urged her husband, grabbing his arm and pulling him in for a kiss. "Don't do anything rash."
"I won't," James grumbled. "Have a good term, Harry – stay safe and look out for your sister." And he ruffled his son's hair before rushing to the fireplace and disappearing to the Ministry in a plume of green smoke.
Lily accompanied Harry and Dahlia to Platform 9 3/4 alone, seeing them off and wishing them well. Harry parted ways with Dahlia soon after and made his way through the train alone, searching for an empty seat. He located Luna Lovegood sitting alone and joined her compartment. He was pleased to see that she was reading a copy of Unfogging the Future.
"Taking Divination this year, Luna?" he asked hopefully.
"I am," Luna nodded, setting down the book. "Father disapproves, but he allowed it once I insisted."
"What changed your mind?" Harry asked.
"I found a dream journal in my mother's box, the one you opened," said Luna. "It made me reconsider a lot of what my father said about her visions, and I wanted to explore the subject for myself."
"Sorry again for snooping through your mother's things," Harry said apologetically, but Luna shook her head emphatically.
"Father and I are eternally grateful for you opening it," she said, smiling softly at Harry. "He thought those photographs and his grandmother's ring were lost forever."
"Happy to help," said Harry.
The compartment door slid open again, and Ron, Neville and Hermione stuck their heads in. "Alright if we join you two?" asked Neville.
"By all means," said Harry. The trio gratefully stowed their trunks in the overhead bins and took their seats. Harry noticed Hermione giving him an odd look as she did so, as though scrutinizing him. "Something on my face, 'Mione?" he quipped, flashing her a smirk.
"No, sorry," Hermione muttered, quickly looking away. "You just look...different, is all."
"Different?" Harry repeated, surprised. "I just saw you less than a month ago…"
"I know," Hermione frowned. "But you just look older, somehow. I can't explain it."
"Huh," Harry hummed, trying to sound indifferent. Was this a side-effect of the Ritual of Ontogenesis? Was his body already developing more quickly into adulthood? The past summer had also seen the beginnings of Harry's long-awaited growth spurt...perhaps the combination of the ritual, his better nutrition in this timeline, and the added weeks from the Time-Turner were making such changes more readily apparent.
"Well, of course he looks older," Luna said nonchalantly. "Harry is older than all of us."
"Actually, Luna," Hermione giggled, "I'm the oldest one here. I turn fifteen in just three weeks."
"Me and Neville are both older than Harry, too," Ron pointed out.
"Only by a day, but yeah," Neville shrugged.
"Luna just knows that I'm the wisest of us all," Harry joked, wrapping a playful arm around the girl's shoulders. "I'm an old soul, isn't that right?"
Luna quickly shrugged out of his grasp, still engrossed in her book, though a tiny smile played across her face at the gesture. Hermione beamed at this interaction, but quickly averted her gaze again when Harry arched an eyebrow at her.
Not her too, he grumbled internally. He did not need more rumors spreading about his supposed love life this term – Luna was too pure and fragile a soul to be sucked into the tornado of drama that seemed to follow him around year after year.
The train rumbled to life soon after, ferrying the students north towards their home for the next nine months. The group discussed the World Cup for a bit, especially the infuriating news about Lucius Malfoy, before discussion turned to the coming school year.
"Who do you think will be teaching us Defense this term?" Hermione wondered aloud.
"Whoever it is, I doubt they'll be better than Lupin and Potter were," Neville said glumly. "No chance you could convince them back, Harry?"
"Lupin's still traveling abroad somewhere, and my dad's busy back at the Ministry," said Harry. "But I think this year we'll get Alastor Moody – he's good."
"Moody? As in, Mad-Eye Moody?" Ron frowned. "My dad was just at his house last night. Got called in about a disturbance."
Harry's blood ran cold at that statement. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Guess he made a racket attacking some would-be intruder in his yard. My dad reckons it was no one, though; Mad-Eye always was rather paranoid, he says."
It couldn't have been Crouch Jr. this time, Harry thought. The Prophet had made it clear that he was back in Azkaban, under heavier surveillance this time. Had Voldemort instructed Pettigrew to attempt to impersonate the man instead? But then, who would be caring for the Dark Lord in his stead? Something didn't add up…
"Had any more dreams lately, Neville?" Harry asked thoughtfully.
"No, not really," Neville muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Scar's been prickling more lately, though, ever since the Cup. It feels like...well, I dunno how to describe it."
"Like Voldemort's angry?" Harry deduced.
Neville's eyes widened. "Yeah, kinda," he said. "How did you know…?"
"I would be angry if I were him, too," Harry shrugged. "Considering two of his biggest followers were exposed in a single night." That was a good sign at least: Harry's actions at the World Cup had slowed Voldemort's progress down. But he would not rest easy: he still had plans to sabotage the Dark Lord's resurrection plot, thanks to his newfound magical maturity via the ritual.
The trip into Hogsmeade was relatively quick and painless, and students began to excitedly disembark to head up to the castle. Harry grabbed his trunk and led the way out of the compartment towards the station platform—
"I know what you did, Potter."
Harry turned; Draco Malfoy was stalking down the corridor towards him, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle. "Sorry?" Harry asked.
"I know what happened at the World Cup," Draco sneered. "And so does my father. You'll regret ever crossing my family, and you and your toerag of a father will pay for it."
Without hesitation, Harry drew his wand and calmly pointed it in Draco's face. "Name the time and place, Malfoy," he said coolly. "We can settle it between ourselves."
Draco paled, gulping as he stared down the length of Harry's wand. Everyone else around them froze, fearfully witnessing the tense stand-off.
"Let's go," Draco eventually spat to his two cronies, and they turned to exit the compartment. Harry calmly stowed his wand away and turned back to the group, who shook their heads in amazement.
"You're right scary when you want to be, did you know, Potter?" Ron whistled.
"Are you sure it's wise to provoke Malfoy like that?" Hermione worried aloud. "His father is a very dangerous man…"
"Perhaps," Harry mused. "But Draco isn't his father. I'm not afraid of him." He almost welcomed the antagonism from the blonde boy, itching for an excuse to humble him like he'd done to his father three weeks prior. Though Hermione had a point: it could cause more problems for James down the road, given his already-tenuous relationship with Lucius at the Ministry.
As usual, Harry was starving by the time the carriages delivered them to the castle and the students had taken their seats in the Great Hall. The Sorting Ceremony took forever to complete, due in large part to the storm raging outside delaying the arrival of the first-year boats. At least there are no surprise relatives in this year's class, Harry thought as he watched the young newcomers, including Dennis Creevey, get sent one by one to their new Houses.
Once the last name had been called, Dumbledore took to the podium. "Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" he beamed at them all. "We will begin the feast momentarily, but first a few announcements." A few students groaned impatiently at this, but Dumbledore pressed on.
"First, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Alastor Moody," said Dumbledore, gesturing to the grizzled man at the end of the Head Table. Moody scowled as the student body greeted him with polite applause, taking a surreptitious swig from his hip flask. Harry scrutinized the man as all eyes turned back to Dumbledore – it certainly looked like the real Moody, but then again, so had the impostor posing as him in his last timeline, so he would be taking no chances.
"Second, I regret to inform you all that this year's Quidditch season has been canceled," the Headmaster said solemnly, drawing a massive roar of disapproval. To Harry's right, Roger Davies stood from his seat in dismay – understandable, since it would have been his final season as a seventh-year before graduating.
"However," Dumbledore said loudly, holding up his hands for quiet, "the games will be replaced with something equally, if not more exciting. This year, Hogwarts will play host to the vaunted Triwizard Tournament."
Students began to mutter excitedly around Harry, as those who knew what that meant began to explain it to everyone else who was confused.
"In a few short weeks," Dumbledore pressed on, "we will be joined by delegates from two esteemed schools of the continent: Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute. Each school will determine one representative to compete on their school's behalf, and after three dangerous tasks, the winner will walk away with the Triwizard Cup for their school."
That got the student body buzzing again. Suddenly Roger Davies looked far more intrigued, as though wondering whether he could compete on Hogwarts' behalf. Technically he is old enough to compete, Harry reasoned. Though I doubt the Cup picks him over Cedric in this timeline…
"More details to come when our delegates arrive in late October," said Dumbledore. "For now, we eat!" And with a clap of his hands, food appeared at the House tables, and the ravenous students began to load up their plates with food.
But discussion about the Tournament did not wane in the slightest. "I'm entering for sure," Anthony Goldstein said loudly. "Father says being chosen as a Champion is a prestigious honorthat will be remembered all your life."
"Me too," Michael Corner agreed eagerly. "How about you, Potter?"
"Not a chance," Harry shook his head. "Besides, you have to be of-age to enter."
"What? That's rubbish!" scoffed Anthony. "Says who?"
"His dad's an Auror; surely he would know," Sue Li shot back.
"But you would be a great Hogwarts Champion!" Terry Boot said encouragingly to Harry. "I reckon you're the strongest student in the school anyway."
"I doubt that," Harry chuckled. "And it sounds like a death trap anyway. I'll be happy to root for whoever our representative is."
Discussion turned elsewhere as the Ravenclaws began to gossip about who might be chosen. Harry allowed his eyes to wander around the Hall as he ate, gauging everyone's reaction to the news. The Hufflepuffs looked excited, with Cedric's friends clearly encouraging him to enter, though he seemed reticent to do so. The Gryffindors seemed especially keen, with many flocking around Angelina Johnson as their potential representative, while the Slytherins talked quietly to themselves, hiding their interest but no doubt scheming to earn their own glory.
Harry scanned the Head Table, his eyes landing once more on Mad-Eye Moody. His good eye was looking down at his plate as he ate, but his magical eye was trained firmly on the Slytherin table, where Neville was chatting with Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis. Was Moody's thought process the same as Harry's: wondering how Neville would be drawn into some nefarious plot via the Tournament? Or was he not the real Moody after all, scheming to put Neville's name in the Goblet of Fire himself once more?
Harry wouldn't be playing it passively this time. He intended to make sure Moody was who he claimed to be at the earliest opportunity, and make sure Dumbledore was aware of the potential plot. With any luck, the Tournament would simply be a passing interest in an otherwise-normal year, and Neville would not be caught up in this mess at all. Maybe this can finally be the year where nothing terrible happens at Hogwarts, Harry thought to himself.
Then, he had to laugh at his own foolish notion. Fat chance of that happening…