Harry felt like he was in a dream, floating somewhere outside his body, observing the proceedings from afar. People all around him were arguing and shouting at the top of their lungs, pointing accusatory fingers at him and Neville as though they had just murdered somebody. Eventually Dumbledore raised his wand and shot a shower of sparks into the air to get everyone to quiet down.

"Obviously there has been foul play involved," the Headmaster said gravely. "Harry, Neville, did either of you enter your names in, or ask an older student to do it for you?"

"No, sir," both Harry and Neville repeated in unison.

"But surely they cannot compete, Albus!" Karkaroff protested. "Vot kind of deception are you pulling?"

"Zey are only leetle boys!" Fleur protested, turning her nose up at the two of them. Neville flinched away at her disdainful look, but Harry glared forcefully at her until she eventually turned her attention elsewhere.

"We must consult the judges on this matter," said Dumbledore. "What say you, Ludo? You're the Director of this Tournament. What is your judgment?"

Ludo Bagman froze at Dumbledore's question. Harry realized that he must have been promoted to Tournament Director at the last moment, since Barty Crouch Sr. was still on the run from the law. "Erm...well, seeing as how these two boys are underage," Ludo stammered, "I must rule they cannot compete, and a new Champion should be selected for Hogwarts."

"Zat settles it, then," said Madame Maxime, clapping her hands together decisively.

"You can't do that," Harry protested. "The magic of the Goblet of Fire is binding. If our name comes out, we must compete, or else risk losing our magic."

"'E knows an awful lot about this Goblet," Krum said suspicious.

"I fear Mr. Potter may be correct," Dumbledore muttered. "We will need to consult with Mr. Croaker in the Department of Mysteries on this matter. As of right now, I think we must allow things to stand and proceed with our four Champions."

"But this is preposterous!" Karkaroff spluttered. "Your school 'as an unfair advantage, Albus! Two champions instead of one?"

"Technically speaking, Mr. Longbottom was entered under the name of a different school," said Dumbledore, holding out the two slips of parchment bearing Harry's and Neville's names. "The Goblet must have been fooled into believing a fourth school was competing."

"Let me see that," Karkaroff muttered, snatching the two parchments from him. He glared down at them for a moment before huffing indignantly. "But look, they both 'ave the same signature!"

Harry frowned and pressed forward to see for himself, as did several others in the vicinity. Sure enough, it appeared that the same person had written both his and Neville's names down on the two bits of parchment. The looping handwriting looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before.

"You appear to be correct, Igor," Dumbledore remarked, examining the parchments more closely himself. "The same person must have entered both boys into the Tournament against their will."

"Pah!" Madame Maxime scoffed. "Obviously one of zem figured out 'ow to cross the Age Line and entered zem both! Zey are conspiring together!"

"But wait, I saw that one, in the Great Hall!" Karkaroff suddenly shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "'E was hiding in the corner, vaiting for everyone to leave! 'E must 'ave done it vhen everyone went to sleep!"

"I did not!" Harry protested. "Professor Moody was there the whole time; he can tell you – where is he, anyway?"

That question was answered immediately, as a door burst open and two people entered the room: Moody and Filch, the former dragging the latter by the collar. "Ouch, geroff, you barmy git!" Filch was protesting loudly.

"What is the meaning of this, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"This slippery bastard was the only person to touch the Goblet after it arrived at the castle," Moody growled, forcing Filch into a chair and pointing his wand at the man. "I had my eyes on at at all hours after he brought it into the Hall. If the Goblet was tampered with, he's the only possible culprit."

"M-me?" Filch stammered indignantly. "How could I have...but surely you know I can't use...oh, this is absurd!"

Harry too found Moody's theory a bit hard to believe. Filch was a Squib – how could he have tampered with the Goblet of Fire, even if coerced into it? Unless he's under Polyjuice, Harry realized.

"We'll soon learn the truth," Moody growled, rummaging through his robes. He withdrew something that looked like a vial of silvery liquid. "Stand still, everyone."

Moody tossed the vial onto the floor in between everyone and jabbed his wand at it. Immediately the silver liquid exploded outwards, coating everyone in the room and causing them to splutter and cough. "Merde, I 'ave been poisoned!" Fleur wailed.

"Not poison, stupid girl," Moody growled. "It's Thief's Downfall. If anyone here is under Polyjuice or an Imperius Curse, we'll soon know."

Harry wiped the liquid from his eyes and looked around. Everyone looked the same as before, though with a few subtle differences; Fleur had mild acne peppering her brow, while Karkaroff had a nasty red scar across his face, running from his right eye to his left cheek.

"Concealing that with a glamour, are we, Karkaroff?" Moody sneered, seeing the scar for himself. "I believe I gave you that one, didn't I?"

"Surely this is illegal, Albus—" Karkaroff muttered angrily, re-applying his magical concealment and causing the scar to fade from view.

"You're one to give lectures about the law!" Moody barked. "Now for the Veritaserum." He removed another small vial from his robes, turning back towards Filch, who was drenched in the Thief's Downfall but appeared no different. Still dripping wet himself, Moody uncorked the new vial and forced Filch's head back, applying three droplets of the liquid onto the man's tongue. Filch's demeanor instantly switched to one of indifferent compliance, staring blankly ahead.

"What is your full name?" Moody demanded.

"Argus Vincent Filch," Filch said in a dull monotone.

"What is your purpose here at Hogwarts?"

"I am the caretaker, hired last year by Albus Dumbledore."

"Did you in any way tamper with the Goblet of Fire to alter its properties or affect the champion selection process?"

"No."

"Are you aware of any such plot to impact the Tournament?"

"No."

"Did anyone else handle the Goblet of Fire upon arrival to Hogwarts yesterday?"

"No. I received it from Saul Croaker and delivered it straight to Albus Dumbledore, as directed."

Moody looked up at Dumbledore and shrugged. "He's clear," the Auror growled, clearly not happy about this fact.

"But the Cup must 'ave been tampered with!" Maxime protested. "Surely zis cannot be!"

"Indeed," Dumbledore frowned. "It is highly improbable that the Goblet was tampered with after its arrival, as it has been closely monitored since then. There is a small possibility of an impostor at Hogwarts, but we must also strongly consider that it has been compromised in transit or in the Department of Mysteries."

"Saul Croaker wouldn't," Harry said adamantly.

"You may be fond of Croaker, boy, but you don't truly know him," Moody scoffed. "Every man's got his price."

"But vot is this?" Karkaroff gasped, eyes widening. "The boy is familiar with this Croaker fellow?"

"He has become something of a mentor figure for Mr. Potter as of late, yes," Dumbledore conceded.

"But zat is rich, Albus!" Maxime laughed harshly. "'E must be in cahoots with zis Croaker fellow! And you do not theenk to question ze boy?"

"Mr. Potter is a gifted young man, but I assure you he is not capable of tricking a powerful object such as the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said placatingly.

"He vould not haff to be, if he convinced Croaker to do it for him," Karkaroff pointed out.

This is not happening, Harry thought with a growing feeling of dread. Everyone was eyeing him suspiciously, especially the foreign delegation; even Neville seemed to be looking at him differently. Only Moody and Dumbledore seemed convinced otherwise.

"All possibilities will be exhausted, I can assure you," said Dumbledore calmly. "Ludo, would you kindly alert the Ministry to what has happened? And if you get the chance, do notify Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom's guardians as well...they will want to be involved, I am sure."

"Certainly, Albus," Ludo bowed; he looked quite eager to get out of the tense environment. He disappeared through a side door, and Harry desperately wished he could follow him.

Fortunately, it seemed Dumbledore was also of a mind to defuse the situation. "We will reconvene tomorrow once we have more information," he said sternly. "Igor, Olympe, inform your students that the result will stand for now. Alastor, kindly escort Mr. Longbottom back to his common room, then join myself and Harry in my office."

"Me?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes, Harry, you," Dumbledore said simply. Harry saw the look of concern in the Headmaster's expression, and knew he would want to ask him about his visions again. On the one hand he was grateful that the man was showing discretion in front of the other schools and not revealing his 'secret'; on the other hand, his vague response seemed to make them even more suspicious. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons contingents filed out of the room, still glaring daggers at Harry, followed soon after by Moody and Neville, the latter of whom pointedly avoided eye contact with him.

"I apologize for dragging you into all of this, Argus," Dumbledore informed the caretaker, still shivering in his chair. He cast a drying charm on the Squib, removing the Thief's Downfall still dipping from his face and clothes. "I trust you will inform me if you witness anything suspicious in the coming weeks and months."

"Everything I witness is suspicious these days," Filch muttered under his breath, before he shuffled indignantly out of the room. Dumbledore went after him, beckoning for Harry to follow.

Harry felt numb; he could not process why this had happened. What would Voldemort want with me? he wondered. He doesn't need my blood. So why put my name in along with Neville's? And how had he done it in the first place? He could not formulate any cohesive thoughts or theories on the matter, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other as he followed Dumbledore up to his office.

Harry heard a squawk as he sank into his usual chair across from Dumbledore's desk, and Fawkes the phoenix jumped from his perch and alighted on Harry's shoulder. "Hullo, Fawkes," Harry said dully; the bird bent its head to allow Harry to scratch under his beak.

"Fawkes seems to like you, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "And I like to think that he is a good judge of character."

"Sir, I just want to say—" Harry began, but the Headmaster held up his hand to stop him.

"I know that this is not your fault, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "Professor Moody made me aware of your suspicions last month. I myself suspected foul play as soon as Bertha Jorkins went missing over the summer."

"So you believe me?" Harry asked, relieved.

"Unreservedly," Dumbledore nodded. "Though I fear others in the castle may not feel the same. I will do what I can to protect yours and Mr. Longbottom's reputations, but I cannot promise much."

"It is what it is," Harry shrugged. "And just so you know, I'll do everything I can to help Neville survive the Tournament. I don't care about winning, as long as we both make it through alive."

"Glad to hear it," said Dumbledore. "Now, before more guests arrive, do you have any more visions you wish to share with me?"

Harry thought for a moment about how much to share with Dumbledore. Screw it, he thought. Things are already bad enough; best not make them worse by hiding anything. "Yes," he said. "I had a vision about a maze. There was a trophy at the end, and it took me somewhere far away. A graveyard, I think. I saw the name Tom Riddle on a tombstone. I sensed danger there."

Dumbledore pondered this in silence for a long while. Harry hoped it was enough information to lead Dumbledore to the graveyard in Little Hangleton. And surely Dumbledore would know by now that the third task was a maze, validating his 'vision' further.

But before Dumbledore could say anything, the door burst open, and Moody strode in, looking surly. "Figured tonight was gonna go to hell one way or another," he grunted. "I just can't figure it, Albus. If it wasn't Filch, it had to be Croaker, or someone else in the Department of Mysteries."

"I would trust Saul Croaker with my life," said Harry adamantly. "I know for a fact it wasn't him. Please believe me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore scrutinized him for a moment. "I do, Harry," he said. "Though he was not the only Unspeakable with access to the Goblet. I will speak with Cornelius about conducting an investigation, but I don't know how fruitful it will be. The Department of Mysteries is one of the few Ministry branches with special immunity from the Minister's meddling."

Just then, the fireplace flared green, and a tall figure stepped through the grate. Moody immediately drew his wand and pointed it at the new arrival, only to find a wand being pointed right back at him.

"What score did you change on my aptitude test, when I completed my Auror training?" James Potter demanded.

"Stealth and Disguise," Moody growled. "After you showed me your Animagus form. And that form is...?"

"A stag," James confirmed. He then turned his wand on Dumbledore. "How many House points did you take from me in my sixth year?" he demanded. "When I blew up a cauldron in Slughorn's class?"

"Twenty-three," Dumbledore said calmly. "One for each student you inconvenienced with your selfishness."

To Harry's surprise, James then turned his wand on his own son. "Where did I take you for your tenth birthday?" he asked.

Harry's stomach lurched. "Erm…" he stammered. He had no earthly idea, as he hadn't arrived in this timeline until a year later.

"Come now, James, be reasonable—" Moody sighed.

"Answer me!" James demanded his son.

"Harry has been dosed with Thief's Downfall and answered numerous questions only he could have tonight," Dumbledore said calmly. "Kindly lower your wand now, Auror Potter."

James sighed heavily and obliged, massaging his temple; he looked tired. "Did you enter your name into the Goblet, Harry?" he asked hoarsely. "For Merlin's sake, if you never tell me the truth again for the rest of your life, please at least do so now."

"I swear, Dad, I didn't," Harry insisted. "I didn't want to compete."

"Then who did this?" James demanded, rounding on the Headmaster again. "Can't you keep my son out of danger for one godforsaken year, Dumbledore?"

"Watch your tone, James—" Moody growled warningly.

"Alastor, please," Dumbledore said tiredly, holding his hands up for peace. "This is the work of a powerful Dark wizard, acting on behalf of Lord Voldemort. Your son made us aware of a potential plot last month thanks to a vision, but did not realize that he would be caught up in it himself."

"What steps are being taken to find the culprit?" James demanded. "How are you going to solve this?"

"We have writing samples," said Dumbledore, procuring the two slips of parchment bearing Harry's and Neville's names. "Our first step will be to compare it against the handwriting of every student, staff member and guest within this castle."

James walked around Dumbledore's desk and craned his neck at the two names. "I'd like copies of those, if you don't mind," he said. "I can pull some strings in the DMLE to have them analyzed for a match – discreetly, of course."

"By all means," said Dumbledore, tapping his wand to the two bits of parchment; two identical copies sprang into being, which he handed to James. That might actually do the trick, Harry thought to himself. If the culprit was indeed a Death Eater, like Pettigrew or Crouch Jr., their records were already in the Ministry database and would be available to analyze.

"Perhaps the question we should be asking is not how, but why," Moody remarked. "Longbottom I understand, but why would the Dark Lord care about Potter?"

"I suspect the events of the Quidditch World Cup may be related," Dumbledore mused. "As I understand it, young Harry here made a lot of Voldemort sympathizers very angry."

"But they never publicized his name!" James protested. "Surely nobody realizes Harry was involved."

"Lucius Malfoy knows," Harry said glumly. "Draco told me so on the train earlier. Said his father would make me regret what I did."

"If I discover that Lucius is involved in this," James said through gritted teeth, "I'll wring his neck personally."

"Lucius Malfoy is a dangerous man," Dumbledore agreed. "Though the danger lies not in his magical strength, but his influence and reach. If he is involved, it will be difficult to use proper Ministry channels to investigate."

"I'll talk to Amelia about it straight away," said James. "She understands that better than anyone. Malfoy won't be able to bribe her into silence."

"Good, very good," said Dumbledore. "Alastor and I will do what we can here at Hogwarts. And Harry, I must stress the importance of sharing any information you come across, no matter how significant you think it is."

"Yes sir," Harry agreed. His brain felt numb; he wanted nothing more than to go to bed and pretend the day never happened.

"Get some sleep, Harry," said James, patting his son on the shoulder. "If you are forced to compete, you'll need to prepare hard."

"I will," Harry promised. He hoped the three tasks would be the same as his last timeline; if so, he felt confident that he could get through them all easily enough. Ensuring Neville did the same would be another story entirely.

Moody escorted Harry back to Ravenclaw Tower, giving him words of encouragement that washed right over him in his current state. He felt physically and emotionally drained from the stress of the past twenty-four hours, not to mention the unknown challenges of the months to come. He bade Moody good-night and entered the common room.

Immediately he was accosted by his House mates, who were eager to learn what had happened. "How'd you do it, Harry?" Terry Boot demanded. "How'd you get past the Age Line?"

"I didn't," Harry sighed tiredly. "And neither did Neville. Someone else did."

"Who?" asked Sue Li eagerly.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore suspects Voldemort to be behind it."

This was met by mixed gasps and laughs of incredulity. "That's the best you can come up with as an excuse?" Roger Davies scoffed. "Can't you at least own up to it like a man, Potter?"

"Nothing to own up to," Harry said hotly. "I didn't want to enter."

Roger shook his head in disbelief. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "I have to share a House with a liar and a sneak. And you can forget about joining us for Quidditch this year."

"Great; I'm not interested anyway," Harry rolled his eyes. "Now get out of my way; I'm going to bed." And he brushed past the seventh-year, no longer interested in defending himself over and over. He kicked off his shoes as soon as he entered the dorm and closed himself in his three-poster bed, eager to escape reality for a while and embrace the sweet nothingness of sleep.

Harry woke up late the following day, which was thankfully a Sunday. He'd half-hoped that the day before was all a dream, that he had only imagined being selected by the Goblet of Fire. Maybe he would go downstairs for breakfast and learn that it was Halloween all over again, that the selection ceremony had yet to begin. Or better yet, that he'd imagined it all, that Cedric Diggory was the one and only Hogwarts Champion, and he would get to enjoy the Tournament from the sidelines.

But as soon as he entered the Great Hall, he knew this was not the case. Dirty looks followed him from the door all the way to the Ravenclaw table, and as he approached his usual spot, several students got up to move farther down the row from him. Harry ate his breakfast in silence, doing his best to ignore the whispered gossip all around him. He wondered if Neville was receiving similar treatment, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

The mail arrived soon after, with Bandit the owl alighting beside his plate to deliver his morning Prophet. Harry fed the bird a bit of toast and glanced at the headline before resuming his meal, as he often did. But he did a double-take at the front page, unfolding it fully and finding himself staring at a large photograph of his father. The article accompanying it made his stomach lurch horribly:

SON OF FAMED AUROR DISRUPTS TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT AT HOGWARTS!

By Rita Skeeter, The Daily Prophet

"Last night marked the official start of the Triwizard Tournament, a long-standing tradition between the three major European magical schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. However, the event rapidly devolved into chaos when a fourth name was unexpectedly chosen: that of Harry Potter, 14, son of renowned Auror James Potter.

Sources tell the Prophet that Mr. Potter was observed lurking around the Goblet of Fire the night prior to the selection ceremony. "He seemed awfully interested in the process for someone who wasn't allowed to enter himself," says an unnamed Hogwarts student in an exclusive interview. "Almost like he was plotting it all along."

Potter happens to be in the same grade level as Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived, who was also selected as a school Champion for the Tournament. Many at the school believe this was a deliberate move by Potter to prove his superiority over his more famous classmate. "Potter's always showing off and trying to prove how great he is," the anonymous student continued. "Clearly he couldn't stand being overshadowed by Longbottom and decided to take matters into his own hands, so that he could try and embarrass him in the Tournament."

This is the latest of several incidents involving Mr. Potter at Hogwarts. The Prophet can now reveal him as the student who witnessed the murder of Quirinius Quirrell in 1992, as well as one of the students who entered the Chamber of Secrets in 1993. We have also learned from sources within the Ministry that Mr. Potter has had the Trace removed from his wand, an unusual occurrence for an underage student that suggests potential treachery and intent to do harm.

This raises serious concerns about the boy's father, James Potter, and what kind of son he is raising. Potter Sr. was a well-known prankster in his own Hogwarts years, and clearly this has rubbed off onto his eldest child, who appears to have no remorse for his disruptive actions. Is this the kind of role model we want in charge at the Ministry? What kind of menace to society will Potter Jr. be when he comes of-age in the wizarding world? The Prophet shudders to think."

The article continued on the next page, but Harry couldn't bear to read any more, tossing the paper aside in disgust. He heard loud guffawing from behind him, and turned to see Draco Malfoy and his cronies reading the article aloud to one another and laughing uproariously at it. Three guesses who the 'anonymous source' was, Harry thought angrily. Was this was Draco meant when he threatened Harry on the train earlier in the year?

Harry wasn't sure what surprised him more: that he was being blamed for the incident, or that Rita Skeeter was the one lofting accusations at him. Why was she so intent on burning bridges with him? Had she forgotten about their deal, and what he could do to her career if she stepped out of line? He was of half a mind to write a letter to Amelia Bones immediately and have her arrested, but he knew he'd likely see her soon for the Tournament anyway, and planned to confront her then.

Either way, it certainly explained why everyone was treating him with such disdain. Harry continued to see copies of the Prophet at meals and in the halls in the coming days, as everyone eagerly devoured Rita's words like gospel. Another year of being the school pariah, then, Harry thought glumly to himself. He was growing used to getting the cold shoulder from his classmates by now, but it was no less lonely and frustrating the more times it happened for no good reason.

There was certainly more of an edge of malice to things this time, however. This went beyond simple fear as during the Chamber incident or Pettigrew saga – people actively seemed to hate him for what he'd supposedly done. The number of people who 'accidentally' bumped him passing by at the Ravenclaw table, or 'failed' to hear him when he asked someone to pass a dish he couldn't reach...it was too deliberate to be incidental.

Harry desperately wanted to speak to Neville alone about the latest development, but he could not get anywhere near the boy. The Slytherins seemed to have embraced him as their 'true' Champion; even Draco seemed to be on good terms with him, or at least pretended to be. Whenever Harry spotted Neville in the halls and tried to approach him, it was like a wall of students shifted in front of him, as though the student body was working in tandem to keep him away from their precious Boy Who Lived at all costs.

Fortunately (or perhaps not), the opportunity came to him a few days later, rather than the other way around. Harry was the first to depart from the afternoon Care of Magical Creatures lesson, hustling up towards the castle to get some homework done in the library before dinner. But he sensed a large group of people following close behind him, and paused when someone called out his name.

A crowd of fourth-years was stood before him, looking suspicious and angry with him. Ron Weasley stood at the front, beside a nervous Hermione, while Neville lingered at the back of the pack, the others of all Houses acting as pseudo-bodyguards for him.

"Something the matter?" Harry asked tiredly, knowing that whatever this was would likely not be pleasant.

"Yeah, there is," said Ron, narrowing his eyes. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?" asked Harry.

"Don't be thick," spat Seamus Finnigan. "We all read about what you did to the Goblet of Fire. Why are you out to get Longbottom?"

"I didn't enter anybody's name into that Goblet," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Mine or Neville's. I wanted nothing to do with this Tournament—"

"Then why did you stay behind in the Great Hall the night before the ceremony?" Ron demanded. "My brothers saw you watching people entering their names – almost like you were waiting for everyone else to leave so you could do the same."

"How would I have gotten across the Age Line?" Harry pointed out. "I'm underage, if you've forgotten."

"You managed to get rid of the Trace, didn't you?" piped up Ernie Macmillan.

"Erm...yes, but I had nothing to do with that—" Harry stammered.

"Sure," Ernie scoffed. "Just like you didn't enter your name in that Goblet."

The surrounding students oohed as though Ernie had just made an excellent point, causing Harry to roll his eyes.

"And why did Dumbledore want to talk to you privately that night?" Ron pressed. "Neville said he called you up to his office alone after the ceremony."

"That's none of your business," Harry said hotly.

"Isn't it obvious? He suspected Potter but couldn't prove it!" said Seamus, earning nods of vigorous approval from the others.

Harry could tell that he was not going to convince any in their current riled-up state. "Neville, would you like to speak about this privately?" he said loudly, looking past the boldest students at the front to the timid boy lurking behind them.

"You're not getting anywhere near him," Ron growled, drawing his wand as several others around him did the same. "Not until you confess and apologize."

Harry almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, if it wasn't so painful to see unfold. "I've done nothing wrong," he said, holding up his hands for peace. "And I'm tired of explaining that to people. So piss off." And he turned his back on the posse of students to march back up to the castle alone.

Harry sensed the spell coming from behind before Ron even finished his incantation. He whirled around, wand flashing through the air to bat the Tongue-Swelling Hex away and retaliate with a wordless Banishing Charm. It hit Ron with more force than he intended, causing the redhead to launch twenty feet backwards and land in a heap on his back. Harry glared at the others, daring any of them to make another move.

"Stop it!" Hermione wailed, looking extremely distressed by the turn of events. "All of you! This isn't the way to handle things!"

"I agree," Harry said simply, stowing his wand away. "I prefer handling things with words, but if anyone else wants a fight, I'll give you one." And he turned to resume his march up to the castle, still fuming. Once again he found himself at odds with Ron during the Triwizard Tournament, though it stung considerably less since he wasn't as close with the boy in this timeline. And the silver lining was that Neville still had him for emotional support, as he would need it much more than Harry in the months to come.

Still, he couldn't pretend that it was fun being ignored by his entire class. Even the few who seemed sympathetic to his cause, like Hermione, didn't want to be seen commiserating with him, only giving him sorrowful looks from afar. Even some of the teachers seemed to have bought into Rita Skeeter's lies; Professor McGonagall was far harsher with him than usual in Transfiguration, and Snape was downright nasty towards him, as though they were right back to their old timeline relationship.

"Dear, dear, another zero for the day, I'm afraid," Snape tsked softly as he walked past Harry's cauldron and 'accidentally' bumped his ingredients tray, sending them all into the broth and ruining the potion. "Do try not to be so clumsy with your...mistakes, Potter."

Don't engage, Harry thought angrily to himself as he set to work cleaning the overflowing cauldron before the mess reached the floor. He's trying to rile you up...don't let him win…

Fortunately, a reprieve from Snape's torment came in the form of Cedric Diggory, who poked his head into the classroom. "Professor Snape?" he called out. "I need to borrow Harry Potter."

"Mr. Potter has thirty minutes remaining in the lesson," Snape said coolly. "And he will need it to finish rectifying the mess he has made."

"Sir, I'm afraid it's important," Cedric grimaced. "It's for the Tournament."

Snape grumbled mutinously under his breath. "Fine, take the boy and go," he said dismissively, waving his wand to Vanish Harry's ruined potion in an instant. Could have done that earlier, Harry thought grumpily as he followed Cedric out of the classroom.

Neither boy said anything as they left the dungeons and wove through the castle towards their destination. Harry didn't want to say anything, unsure of where exactly Cedric's head was. Did he buy into the rumors about Harry's involvement? Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for Cedric to broach the subject himself.

"Harry, I hate to ask you this," said Cedric nervously. "But did you use me to put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "What? Of course not," he said. "Why would you think that?"

"It's just what people are saying," Cedric grimaced. "They saw you urge me on to enter my name in the Great Hall that night. There's a rumor that you used a Switching Spell or something so that I would enter your name instead of mine—"

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, rubbing his face tiredly. "Cedric, I swear to you on my life that I had nothing to do with this. I would switch places with you in a heartbeat if I could. I'm tired of always being dragged into these ridiculous situations against my will!"

Cedric studied Harry for a moment, then nodded. "I believe you, Harry," he sighed. "I've tried to defend you, say that this isn't something you would do, but no one believes me. They think you're pulling one over on me—"

"I'm not concerned with what other people are saying," Harry shrugged. "Don't bother defending me if it'll hurt your reputation. I can handle being hated – I'm pretty used to it by now."

"You're the Hogwarts Champion, mate," Cedric said reassuringly. "People will come around once the Tournament starts."

"They'll just flock to Neville instead of me," Harry scoffed. "And that's fine. Let him have the limelight for a little while. I'll just keep my head down and do what needs to be done."

"And what needs to be done?" Cedric frowned.

"Figuring out who's behind this," Harry shrugged. "And keeping myself and Neville alive through the three tasks."

They had arrived at their destination: an empty classroom on the fifth floor. Harry bade Cedric goodbye before entering, where he found Krum, Fleur, and Neville already waiting for him. None of them looked too pleased to see him.

"If eet isn't ze cheater," Fleur scoffed.

"Whatever it is you think I did, I'm innocent," Harry said firmly.

Fleur narrowed her eyes at him. Suddenly, Harry felt a powerful wave of magic assault his senses; he was sorely tempted to begin bragging about his every accomplishment and win Fleur's affections back. She's directing her Veela allure at me on purpose, Harry realized. How dare she?

With a mighty snap, Harry slammed his Occlumency barriers into place and forced Fleur from his mind. Fleur physically staggered back half a step, feeling the connection sever abruptly. "Don't ever do that again," he snapped at her angrily.

Fleur looked briefly guilty but said nothing, tossing her hair back and looking elsewhere. Krum and Neville looked somewhat dumbstruck, having been affected by the allure themselves but not realizing what had happened between her and Harry.

Just then, the door opened again, and Ludo Bagman entered the room with a small entourage behind him. "Good afternoon, Champions!" said Ludo Bagman cheerfully, though none of them looked all too pleased to be there. "We've called you here to conduct the customary Weighing of the Wands. Mr. Ollivander here will be checking each of your wands to ensure they are in working order for the Tournament."

Harry watched dully as Ollivander inspected both Krum's and Fleur's wands, remarking on their unusual makes and cores. Eventually he turned to Harry, who handed his over at once. "Ah, yes, this was a delightful challenge!" Ollivander said with glee, turning the wand over in his palm. "Mahogany, twelve and three-quarter inches, with a Kneazle whisker core...the trickster wand!"

Harry cringed internally at this description, feeling the suspicious stares of the other three Champions, but he said nothing. Ollivander gave the wand a small twirl; rather than the gentle stream of wine he'd intended, a jet of liquid exploded from the tip, spraying all over the nearby wall and ceiling. "Highly temperamental magic for a refined palate," Ollivander remarked, somewhat bemused as he handed the wand back, "but undoubtedly working as intended for its owner."

Ollivander then turned to Neville, who procured a very familiar light brown wand. The old wandmaker took it with reverent care, examining it curiously. "Ah, of course," he breathed. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. A most extraordinary pairing." Harry eyed the wand with mild jealousy; he missed the natural bond he'd shared with it in his last timeline. It still felt like he was fighting the Kneazle core wand at times, constantly pushing himself to prove his worth with it.

Ollivander used Neville's wand to produce a flock of birds before handing it back to him. "Very good, very good!" said Bagman eagerly. "Now remember, Champions, your first task will be two Saturdays from now. Prepare for any eventuality! You're all dismissed."

"Not so fast, dearies!" a familiar sing-song voice rang out; everyone turned to see Rita Skeeter lurking in a corner, smiling sweetly at them. "We need photos and interviews with the school Champions!"

"Oh, right; very well," Bagman sighed, slinking off after Ollivander to leave the four Champions alone with her and the photographer.

"So, who wants to go first?" asked Rita, eyes greedily scanning the teens. "Mr. Longbottom, perhaps?"

"Actually, I'll go first," Harry piped up, drawing a look of mild surprise from Rita. He followed her across the hall into a separate empty classroom, where he immediately rounded on her as soon as the door was shut behind them.

"What're you on about?" he demanded. "Writing all that stuff about me and my Dad in the Prophet?"

"I just thought the people deserve to know what's happening around Hogwarts," Rita said, feigning innocence. "I follow the story, wherever it takes me."

"It's rubbish, and you know it!" Harry shouted. "You didn't even come to me to ask my side of it!"

"Oh, honey, reporting doesn't always work that way," Rita said in a patronizing tone that infuriated him even more. "Oftentimes we have to rush to print before we can gather quotes from both sides. Deadlines and all of that; surely you understand."

"I thought we had an agreement," Harry growled, taking a menacing step towards her. "I feed you valuable information, and you reap the benefits."

"I don't recall that being our agreement at all," Rita said, narrowing her eyes. "As I remember it, you tried to blackmail me in order to control the narrative in your favor. I nearly got fired for writing that piece about Dumbledore two years back."

"That's not my problem," Harry said hotly. "Now you're gonna go back and print a retraction about everything you said about me and my father. Or I'm going straight to Amelia Bones with what I know."

Rita did not look fazed by this threat. In fact, to Harry's horror, a sly grin spread across her face. "And what is it you think you know, dearie?" she asked, in a falsely-honeyed voice that reminded him chillingly of Dolores Umbridge.

"That you're an illegal Animagus," Harry said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "A beetle."

"How fascinating that you know my Animagus form already," Rita said with mock surprise. "Considering I only completed my registration four weeks ago."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Registration?" he repeated dumbly.

"Did you really think," Rita said sharply, all pretense of politeness evaporating, "that you could hold that over my head for the rest of my life, you stupid boy? I began the legal process the day after you threatened me. Two painstaking years of going through every step, by the book, under strict Ministry supervision, and I finally completed the process last month. And do you know what that means?"

Harry did know what it meant, and it was nothing good. He was now the one to back away in fear as Rita stalked towards him.

"I'm going to ruin your family," Rita snarled. "No teenage twerp is going to blackmail me and get away with it. I will smear your father's name through the mud until he's forced to flee the country, and while I'm at it, I'll make certain no one in this castle ever trusts you ever again."

"There's no reason we can't continue our cordial agreement," Harry said placatingly, trying desperately to remain calm. "I'll be your personal mole inside the castle—"

"No, my dear, I'm afraid our business here is concluded," Rita said, shaking her head. "I would say it's been a pleasure, but well, it hasn't. I suppose the pleasure will have to be all mine from here on out."

"You can't do this," Harry protested weakly. "Keep my family out of it, or I'll—I'll—"

"You'll do what?" Rita demanded. She watched him open and close his mouth a few times, powerless, then smirked in triumph. "That's what I thought. Now, I'm off to interview Neville...I'm sure he'll be scandalized to hear what vile things you had to say about him in private!" And Rita exited the room, leaving Harry alone with a sickening feeling in his stomach.

As if he didn't have enough on his plate already, now he had to worry about James losing his job because of his actions! He should have realized that his blackmail plan wouldn't be sustainable forever, and that Rita would take steps to protect herself. He could attempt to prove her guilt prior to her official registration, but that would risk her exposing his blackmail efforts, which would undoubtedly have even worse consequences.

Harry didn't bother returning to the other Champions for photographs, heading straight to the Great Hall for an early dinner. Most students were either studying or in class still, giving him a chance to eat quickly before any other students noticed his presence and began gossiping about him. He scarfed down a quick meal and got up to head to the library, intent to begin his preparations for the First Task—

"Oi, Potter!"

Harry turned around with a sigh, mentally preparing himself for yet another fight. Fred and George Weasley were approaching – Harry briefly had a flashback to his second year, when the twins had accosted him under the impression he'd been spying on Ginny in the bathroom. But they appeared docile now, no wands in sight. "Yeah?" he asked cautiously.

The twins stopped and examined him for a moment. "You playing Quidditch this year?" asked Fred.

"Erm," said Harry; that was far from the question he'd been expecting. "No, I guess not. The Ravenclaws don't want to play with me."

"Told ya Davies was a real git, didn't we?" George smirked. "But you know it's not restricted to House, right? Plenty of teams are mixing and matching."

"I dunno if anyone would want to play with me after what's happened," Harry shrugged.

The twins looked at each other. "We will," they said in unison.

Harry frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"Cause you're the best Seeker at the school, besides maybe Diggory," said Fred.

"Who we asked yesterday," George piped in.

"And he said he's already got a team."

"So now we're asking you!"

"You don't believe I put mine or Neville's names in, then?" asked Harry hopefully.

"We saw you take on those Death Eaters at the World Cup," Fred shrugged. "That's not something an attention-seeker does."

"To hell with Rita Skeeter's rubbish," George added with a smirk. "We know you're a good bloke, even if you're a bit crazy."

Harry wracked his brain, looking for some other excuse to prevent the twins from destroying their reputation by associating with him. "What about Ginny?" he asked. "Won't Gryffindor want to stay together?"

"She prefers playing Chaser," said Fred. "She joined a team of younger players for the practice."

"And Oliver graduated, so we'd have to recruit out of House either way," George added.

"What about the girls?" Harry asked, referring to the Chaser trio of Angelina, Alicia and Katie. "Are you sure they'd want to be associated with me?"

"We'll convince them," Fred winked. "Angelina's still a bit miffed about your selection, but she cares about winning more than anything, and I reckon we'd have a chance with you as our Seeker."

"A chance at second place, of course," George corrected. "Krum's playing with his Durmstrang blokes after all."

"He lost the World Cup," Harry pointed out. "We'll just have to repeat what the Irish did."

"I like that attitude, Potter!" Fred grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Yeah, I'm in!" Harry grinned. He had never considered the possibility of playing with his old Gryffindor teammates again in this timeline, and it sounded like a brilliant outlet to de-stress (and keep his Quidditch skills sharp).

"Splendid!" said George, clapping his hands together. "We'll just have to find a Keeper, but we know a couple people we can ask."

"Hopefully we won't have to ask Ron," Fred muttered darkly. "He's a fair flyer, but I'd rather not have him protecting our posts."

"I don't think there's much risk of that once he learns I'm on the team," Harry grinned. He had a brief but vivid memory of the entire school singing 'Weasley is our King' to celebrate Ron's failures and wasn't eager to relive the experience, even if the boy was annoying him now.

"We'll let you know when we start practicing," said George. "We'll probably have less time than usual to prepare, so hopefully we can improvise a game plan on the fly."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," said Harry. He knew the Gryffindors' flying styles very well after five years of riding alongside them, and was excited to re-integrate with their formidable core.

Harry watched the twins depart, an odd feeling of gratitude welling up in him. As much as he didn't like to admit it, being the school pariah was a big drain on his mental health. Knowing that at least a few people in the castle had his back was enough to make him feel like it was worth continuing on.

A/N: Harry may have had some big wins lately, but that doesn't mean the losses are entirely behind him! Two steps forward, one step back, as they say...let's see if he can turn things around and win some hearts back for the First Task!