They Shook Hands: Year Four (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Four

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Twelve - What Other People Think

Harry rose early the next morning and took a hasty shower. He dressed rapidly and hurried out to the common room. The tapestry room was the closest room off the beaten track where he could be reasonably assured of a modicum of privacy while he practised his Animagus exercises. As he entered the common room, though, he stopped in his tracks.

"Good morning, Harry," Laine Slater said, smiling sweetly.

"Hi, Laine. What brings you to the common room so early?"

"You're an early riser, I've noticed."

"Quidditch practices," he answered succinctly. "Even though there's no Quidditch this year, I'm just used to it by now."

"Of course. But I also notice that the others don't."

"Not unless they have to."

"So it makes the perfect opportunity to speak with you," Laine concluded.

"Oh," Harry said, getting her point. "Well, how may I help you?"

"I wanted to express my strong belief that you have been set up by nefarious parties unknown." Laine declared in a firm tone. "The girls agree with me, and I'll make sure the boys do too. There's going to be a lot of vicious gossip going on. You know how the Hogwarts grapevine works."

Wasn't that the truth?

"We're going to keep anyone below fourth year quiet if we have to hex all their mouths shut," Laine promised. "We can't do much above that. Pansy ought to be able to master your form. I hope you've got a plan for dealing with the uppers."

He had no plan. By Merlin's glasses, what was he thinking to go leaving the dorm without a plan? He shuddered with real dread about how ugly it could be to walk into the Great Hall without knowing what he would say.

Diggory was handsome and quite popular to judge from the applause that had thundered in the Great Hall last night. What would they have to say about the fourth year Slytherin who had stolen Hufflepuff's moment in the spotlight? Diggory was the real Hogwarts champion. There was no way Harry could, at this moment in time, beat the Hufflepuff sixth year. On a broom, Harry owned Diggory's skies, but with a wand, Harry was certain it would be a different story. But he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and now the Boy-Who-Cheated to get past the Age Line. They were going to eat him alive!

"Er-" Harry fumbled.

"Right," Laine said knowingly. "You need a really good public relations agent. No Slytherin should be without one. Until then, you've got me."

"Thanks."

"Now then, what made you put your name in the Goblet?"

Harry choked. "Hey, aren't you on my side?"

"Oh dear," Laine clucked, shaking her head. "That will never do. How did you cross the Age Line?"

"I didn't!"

"How does it feel to foil one of Dumbledore's tricks?"

"I didn't foil anything!"

"Harry, Harry," Laine rued. "Sputtered denials will not suffice. You need a prepared response to any line of questioning. 'The person who placed my name in the Goblet of Fire did not do so on my wishes. I am being set up by Dark forces who wish me harm. I ask for your kind thoughts during this arduous trial I am now magically compelled to endure.'"

Harry was amazed. "You came up with all that right now?"

"No, I worked on it last night."

"Wow." Harry was impressed. "Thanks." He repeated the three sentences several times. They sounded very good, very polished.

"We'll work on other things later. For now, don't you dare go anywhere by yourself. We have similar schedules this year, so you'll have lots of supporters nearby if anyone tries to start anything."

She knew his schedule?

"Like Gryffindors," Harry muttered, picturing Ron Weasley's sneering face. The git had been his usual unbearable self in Potions just yesterday. He was bound to be doubly worse tomorrow for double Potions.

"Ah, Gryffindors," Laine said with a patient sigh. "I sometimes wonder if there is any hope for them. I've been working on Ginny for just about a year now, and she's definitely got a lot of Slytherin in her, but I don't wonder at all why the Sorting Hat said Gryffindor. I never knew one of the Slytherin traits was patience, but I'm finding it within myself."

"You're a good person," Harry told her. "I know that."

Laine's smile made her eyes seem to sparkle. "Thank you, Harry. You are too. I don't know a lot of people who would have taken in a stray Gryffindor like that."

"I just didn't think it was right how her housemates shunned her. Everyone ought to have good friends they can count on."

"You sound like a Hufflepuff."

"Loyalty is not just for Hufflepuffs," he quoted from the house rules. He'd taken it to heart during the orientation meeting on his first day in Slytherin. Slytherins were a tightly-knit gang, even if their totem didn't travel in packs.

"Up Slytherin."

"Up Slytherin."

Some of the other third and fourth years came out of the dormitories at that point, and everyone headed up to breakfast. Harry kept his friends close around him throughout. Everyone in the Great Hall seemed to have a staring problem. Harry had sat with his back to the wall, not wanting anyone to be able to sneak up on him. All of the accusing eyes made him realize he should have risked that and faced the wall.

Still, nobody was brave enough to enter Slytherin territory and make a scene in front of the foreign visitors. Harry kept his face low and forked his food down as quickly as possible while still chewing slightly.

As the time for class drew near, Harry shouldered his bag, feeling as though he carried the weight of the world along with it. He tried to be resolute about it. One way or another, he had to face the school, so he might as well dive right in. Put the best face on it he could. Laine was right; he needed a public relations agent.

His walk to Arithmancy was interesting. In addition to Draco, Pansy, and Jenna, who were headed to the class as well, Laine, Ginny, and Michelle were off to Ancient Runes, which was nearby. It occurred to Harry as they walked that he and Draco looked rather dapper going about with a cluster of girls. He'd seen the same with Flint and the other lads on the team. It was quite nice, in its own way. Girls liked Quidditch stars, and Draco was the up-and-comer. His tales about playing Quodpot at the World Cup and "nearly thrashing" the American lads at their own game had garnered him large audiences in the common room.

The third year girls left them at the entrance to Arithmancy. Professor Vector hadn't arrived yet, and the classroom was empty. The Slytherins took their seats.

Harry had just finished arranging his quill, ink, and parchment when the door opened to admit Tim and Blaise. They didn't even look in Harry's direction before claiming the seats nearest the door. They bent their heads over a shared book and held a conversation in whispers.

"Well, well, well," said a voice. Harry looked up and saw Susan Bones standing a few feet away. Hannah Abbott was with her, and they both looked unhappy. Harry groaned inwardly.

"Nice trick, Potter," Susan said. "Right clever, aren't you?"

"I'm not clever at all. The person who placed my name in the Goblet of Fire did not do so on my wishes," he said, silently thanking Laine with all his heart. "I am being set up by Dark forces who wish me harm."

"That's a fancy speech," Hannah sneered. "I wonder how long he worked on it."

Harry bristled. "I didn't 'work on it' at all. Someone put my name in hoping I'd die. I am now magically compelled to compete in this tournament. I'm bleeding nixed!"

"Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch has dominated Hogwarts for the last seventy years," Susan said. "Now, something new comes long, a Hufflepuff gets a little recognition and some accolades, and a Slytherin is basking in the limelight."

"Do you think I wanted this?" Harry demanded. "Don't I have enough problems being who I am already? Why would I want to add to that?"

"Ambition," Hannah spat, treating the word like it was dirty.

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. She had named one of the core values of Slytherin House. The drive to succeed, to be the best, was strong and had led many wizards down a Dark path. Ambition for recognition had indeed driven many Slytherins to submit their names to the Goblet of Fire, but Harry didn't think any of them were headed for a Dark destiny. And Harry didn't want to conquer anything. He had no wish to rule the world.

"Watch your mouth, Abbott," Pansy said sharply. "Ambition is just another name for work ethic."

"We do honest work. Cedric is evidence of that. You do sneaky tricks to win."

"Diggory is evidence of Merlin's Blessing as effective and relevant magic in a modern age."

"Now that's just insulting!" Susan snapped.

"Both of you can shoo. I can't be disturbed right now. I'm about to write a letter to the gossip pages about how the niece of the Em-El-Eey Head was found in a compromising situation with the school caretaker and his cat."

"That's disgusting!"

"Isn't it?" Pansy asked casually. "I happen to know the editor personally, and he owes Daddy a favour, so he'll do anything I ask him to hoping that Daddy will call it even."

Harry knew Pansy was only protecting him, but did she really have to make such vile threats? To Susan? He'd expected it for Gryffindors and Weasleys, but Susan had caught him off-guard.

"You've made your point," Draco said coldly, glaring ominously at the two Hufflepuffs. "You're upset, and Harry told you he didn't do it. Unless you'd care to say something other than, "We hate Slytherins", I suggest you sit down."

Susan and Hannah took seats as far away from the Slytherins as they could. When Ernie MacMillan arrived a few minutes later with most of the Ravenclaws, they waved them all to the far side of the room. When the two quiet Gryffindor girls joined them as well, Harry recognized what was happening:

Slytherin was being shunned.

He could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, even if he didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. He expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Gryffindors; he was highly unpopular there and always had been, because he had helped Slytherin beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But he had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support him as much as Cedric. He was supposed to be friends with Terry, Padma, and Mandy at the least, but even their reactions to him were frosty. If he had to go through History, Herbology, Potions, and every elective class for the whole year with this awful attitude, he was likely to go spare. Thankfully he could make it through the rest of the day without having to see any non-Slytherins, but to top it all, his last class today was double Transfiguration. Lovely.

* * *

Higgs and Rosier called a meeting of the house that evening. All Slytherins were required to report to the common room after dinner. The prefects sat together at the top of the room, drawing all eyes to them. When the door had finally slid shut and all noses had been counted, Higgs got to his feet.

"I don't know how everyone else's day went today, but the other houses are treating us like something you'd scrape off your shoe. They're all convinced that Harry Potter got himself into the tournament through evil, Dark magic and want to know which of us taught it to him. Harry, what do you have to say for yourself? We're all friends here. Did you do it?"

Harry rose as well. He was a touch nervous with his whole house watching him. "The person who put my name in the Goblet of Fire did not do so on my wishes. I am being set up by Dark forces who wish me harm. I compete only because I am magically compelled to do so, and I can use all the kind thoughts I can get." He saw Laine nodding her head, a brilliant smile on her face.

"Fair enough," Higgs said. "We've defended your good name before, Potter. We know the routine. You just beat Diggory, and I'll call it even."

"The Hogwarts gossip mill is presently going berserk over this," Rosier said, her new gold badge shining on her chest. "We need to stand up for our own. Even if you think Harry did put his name in-"

"If you think that, you'd better keep quiet about it unless you want your name and Filch's linked in the scandal section!" Pansy interjected.

"-it's no call for the way the other houses are acting. It is your duty to support Harry and his official position."

Draco stood up. "I know we were all celebrating last night, but my friend says he didn't do it. I believe him. There's absolutely no motive. He doesn't need money, and he doesn't need fame. If you know him at all, you know Harry hates being famous like he is. I believe Dark forces are at work here. Let's give Harry all the help we can."

"Agreed," Higgs concluded. "Now then, since I have you all here, there has been a motion filed to make a change in the unofficial rules. As it presently stands, the third rule reads 'If you do get caught, deny everything and blame someone else.' The proposal is to add the sentence 'Never blame another Slytherin.' I now call for discussion. Ellen?"

"Well, if we're going to talk about blame, let's look at the first two rules as well. Those could go together too."

"Yeah," Lila Murdock agreed. "I've always thought the first three went really well together. I say we combine all four sentences in to one rule."

"Hang on, hang on," Higgs cautioned the two girls. "You can't go proposing new motions before we've voted on the current one."

"Aww, take your parliamentary procedure and stuff it," Montague opined. "It's getting in the way."

"Two points from Slytherin for disrespecting a prefect," Higgs shot back. "But very well. So if I understand your intention properly, Lila, you want to revise rule one to read 'Never take the blame for anything. To avoid taking blame, never get caught. If you do get caught, deny everything and blame a non-Slytherin.'"

"Yes."

"All in favour?"

There was a resounding chorus of yays.

"All opposed?"

There were no voices of opposition.

"Abstentions?"

None.

"Very well," said Higgs. "The first rule is so amended. And since there is apparently no respect for civilized conduct, I declare rules two and three voided by fiat."

"Now you're talking!" Montague sassed him.

"Do we wish to move the other rules up in the list?"

"Are we eliminating rule six as well? There is no rule six." Warrington the Third asked the question.

"That would cut the list down to five," said Heather Chandler, sixth year prefect.

"I've always liked it," Samantha Warrington, fifth year prefect, declared. "It's funny, and it's silly."

"We can still keep it," her older brother assured with widespread hands. "I think it would make a great tag to the list, myself."

"The motion is to consolidate the numbering of the list to five, with rule six being non-existent and recognized as such."

"Higgs, you ought to go in to the Ministry," Montague said with a smirk. It was obviously not a compliment.

Higgs ignored him. "All in favour?"

"Aye," they voted.

"Against?"

There were no nays.

"Abstentions?"

"What were we talking about?" Bole piped up.

"One abstention. Motion passes. Please make note of the new order for next year's firsties, Bletchley."

"On it."

"Other business?" Higgs asked. There was nothing. "Then back to your books."

* * *

Two weeks passed in relative quiet. Harry still had accusing eyes following him everywhere, but Pansy's threats to spread vile slander about anyone who dared press Harry too harshly kept the glares from becoming diatribes. Harry wished it wasn't necessary to resort to such brutal tactics, but it was worse than when he'd been thought the Heir of Slytherin. Now he was called a thief, stealing Hufflepuff's time in the spotlight.

Harry could help but feel that part of the reason people were so rabid about Diggory was that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than Harry did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and grey eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days: Diggory or Viktor Krum. Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime.

The biggest annoyance was Ron Weasley, who'd taken to treating Harry like a famous Quidditch star himself. He was constantly calling Harry "the champion" and asking for autographs and flying tips. It was even worse than his usual viciousness, because he could get away with it in front of teachers. But at least Weasley couldn't run his mouth in Potions class. If he did, Professor Snape would take points (more points) and Harry or Draco or both of them would sabotage Weasley's potions, earning him detention (more detention).

The Wednesday before the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, they were paying close attention as Professor Snape lectured.

"One of the most important potions one can brew is the antidote. There are thousands of poisons, and every one of them has an antidote if you understand the magical properties of the components of the poison. There are ways to determine the identity of a poison, and those of you who survive to take N.E.W.T. Potions will do so, but for today, you will all be preparing the antidote to a very basic poison known as Nealer's Winterbark. At the end of the lesson, we will be testing your antidotes. Now then-"

There came a knock at the door to the classroom. Snape flicked his wand, and it opened to reveal a small Gryffindor.

"Yes?"

"Please, sir, I was sent to fetch Harry Potter for the Weighing of the Wands."

Harry groaned. Why did they have to pull him out of his favourite class?

"Mister Potter, you are called to defend the great name of Slytherin," Professor Snape said dryly, sounding very amused. "Do us proud."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to despair.

He was led to a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; however, three of them had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, talking to a witch Harry had met once before. He waved casually to her, and she perked up with a great smile. Bagman turned to see who his conversation companion was grinning at, spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come. Nothing to worry about. It's just the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional. No problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore, and then there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.

"Hello, Rita," Harry said warmly.

"Harry, so good to see you again. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he joked, gesturing around himself with a depreciating grin on his face.

Rita tittered. "Oh, Harry, what will we do with you?"

"Make me look as good as possible? I'll need all the help I can get. I've been getting loads of hatemail ever since my name came out of that Goblet. Someone tried to send me a pretty nasty hex this morning." Harry needed to improve his public relations. Rita had told him to call on her if he ever needed a friend in journalism. Those two things did not seem incompatible to Harry.

Rita stood up a bit straighter. "I'll tell your side of this story, but I've got to know everything. You must sit down with me after this little ceremony is over."

"I will."

"Ah, Rita, you've found Mister Potter, I see."

"Dumbledore!" cried Rita, with every appearance of delight. "How are you?" she said, holding out one hand to the headmaster. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.

"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street-"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start."

The other champions were now sitting, and Harry quickly joined them. At the velvet-covered table, four of the five judges were now sitting: Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Percy Weasley (filling in again for Mr. Crouch), and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of her quill, and place it on the parchment.

"May I introduce Mister Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Harry looked around and, with a jolt of surprise, saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander before. He was the wand-maker from whom Harry had bought his own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley and whom Sirius had gone to when he needed a new wand following the announcement of his innocence.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm," he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton, and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches. Inflexible. Rosewood and containing, dear me-"

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

So Fleur was part veela, thought Harry, making a mental note to tell Tim. Then he remembered that Tim was presently being an insufferable, hateful jackanapes.

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps.

"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands; however, to each his own, and if this suits you, so much the better."

Harry suddenly got very nervous. Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had tried what felt like every wand in Mr. Ollivander's shop, until at last he had found the one that suited him. It was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand. The phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's.

The only people who knew that were Harry, Draco, and Mrs. Malfoy, who had all been in the shop. Harry had told Sirius, and he could presume that Mr. Malfoy knew as well. It was the sort of private information that he knew they knew better than to gossip about. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help - rather as he couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. It would be just like the Ministry to try and confiscate his wand on happenstance evidence.

"Very good," said Mr. Ollivander. "Which leaves Mister Potter."

Lost in his thoughts, Harry started back to reality as everyone looked expectantly at him. He got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.

"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."

Mr. Ollivander spent a very long time examining Harry's wand. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end-"

The man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er - yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front. Rita insisted on getting separate shots of all the champions.

At last, they were free to go. Harry lingered as Rita Skeeter had a private word with the photographer, and then she beamed brilliantly at him. "Shall we, Harry?"

They went two doors down to an empty classroom and sat down at a pair of desks. Rita pulled out a bright blue quill and set it up on a piece of parchment. She folded her hands and looked deeply at Harry.

"How does it feel to make history, Harry?"

Harry chuckled. "I just can't seem to stop, can I?" he asked sarcastically. "I do have a bit of a statement prepared. 'The person who placed my name in the Goblet of Fire did not do so on my wishes. I am being set up by Dark forces who wish me harm. I ask for the public's kind thoughts during this arduous trial I am now magically compelled to endure.'"

Rita was smiling as she finished the dictation with a flourish. "A wonderful statement, Harry. I'll have the public on your side by breakfast, or I'll snap my quill."

"Anything else?"

"I can take your three sentences and spin a whole article. Now then, what can you tell me about what's actually going on?"

"Not much. They don't exactly invite me to their meetings. But Professor Moody thinks it might have been a powerful Confundus Charm and my name put in under a fourth school. As I'd be the only one from this phoney school, I'd be the champion."

"That makes sense. Mad-Eye Moody, you say?"

"Yes."

"Good. He's got a bit of a reputation, but he was one of the best, so that'll go a long way. How does your godfather feel about this? He's only just got you back, and now you're in mortal peril."

"Sirius? He's worried, of course. He's taken a room in Hogsmeade to be near the castle. I very much appreciate his support."

"Such a display of emotion will leave Britain's witches all aflutter," Rita noted with a slight smirk. "I don't suppose you could persuade him to talk to me. Witch Weekly would love to get their hands on it."

"What's in it for him?" Harry replied.

Rita laughed merrily. "I'll come up with something."

"I'll see what he thinks. No promises."

"Very good. Are you dating anyone?"

Harry choked. The question had caught him completely off-guard. He felt certain his skin was as red as an apple. Rita politely waited for him to get his composure back.

"Not at the moment," Harry said, wishing she hadn't asked.

"Any prospects?"

"Some." He refused to say any more.

Rita laughed again. "Okay, Harry, I'll stop teasing you. Do you have anything to say about your fellow champions?"

"Like what?"

"It's traditional for the champions to strut a little and boast about how well they will do and how poorly their competition will fare."

"I don't really know Diggory all that well, but I'm better than him at Quidditch. He managed to trick me a couple of years ago, but I've learned a lot since then. Fleur Delacour is no doubt a very talented witch. I'm not sure how her veela heritage is going to affect things. Krum is an amazing Quidditch player, as we all know, and he's the best Durmstrang has to offer. I know that school's reputation is well-earned."

"What about the visitors in general?"

"The French don't seem to like it here too much. I think they're being unaccountably rude. Of course, we welcome our friends from Durmstrang, who joined Slytherin -- my house, you know -- at the welcoming feast."

As if on cue, Harry's stomach rumbled. He blushed slightly; such behaviour was more the trademark of Goyle or Crabbe.

"Oh, you boys," Rita sighed knowingly. "I've got what I needed, Harry, and I can make up the rest. Enjoy your dinner."

"Bye, Rita."

* * *

* * *

The two days between the Weighing of the Wands and the Hogsmeade Weekend were nearly unbearable for Harry. Having his wand inspected by Mr. Ollivander and talking to Rita Skeeter had convinced him that he wasn't really living some nightmare. He really was a Triwizard champion, and he was scared to death. He had horrible nightmares, even in the daytime, of what sorts of nasty things were going to happen to him. Perhaps it would be giants, or maybe they'd have to duel with mocked-up Death Eaters. Harry even heard a rumour that there would be a rousing round of "Who can get closest to the Dementor?"

More than anything he wanted to talk to Sirius in person. His godfather had a way of looking at things that made even the grim seem laughable. It helped that they could communicate every night via the enchanted mirror, but there was something reassuring about his godfather's presence. Harry definitely needed reassuring that he wasn't in imminent mortal peril.

His imagination was providing plenty of material on its own, so Harry was rubbed particularly raw when Ron Weasley would offer his own input. Harry, Draco, and the ever-present cluster of girls were waiting for the stairs to shift so they could ascend to the Owlery when the hated voice intruded upon Harry's reality.

"Hey, it's the champion! Hey champ, sport, pal, have you heard any word on what the first task is? I heard they're bringing in the whole Auror division, and the champions have to escape being captured. But that should be no problem for you, champ. Right? You know how to get away clean, don't you, Slytherin?"

"Yeah, because we're smart enough to not get caught like a thick-headed Gryffindor," Harry sneered, turning around. Weasley, Thomas, and Finnigan looked to be coming from class. They were near Gryffindor tower, Harry realized.

"Gryffindors are clumsy at crime because we don't do it very often. We're not practiced like you slippery snakes."

"A Gryffindor betrayed my parents, Weasley," Harry snarled. "A Gryffindor named Scabbers, wasn't it?"

Weasley looked like he didn't appreciate the reminder.

"Clear off, Ron," Ginny said, stepping up next to Harry. "You're only going to embarrass yourself."

"You're the embarrassment, Ginny! Turning on your house, on your family, supporting a cheater and a liar!

"Harry didn't cheat! He's been set up!"

"Yeah, I know what the paper said."

"You can read, Weasley? Interesting."

"Shut up, Potter. I know you've got Rita Skeeter in your dark little pocket. My father told me all about her and what she believes in. It must be nice to be able to put your propaganda directly out there masking as news."

"Some of us have friends who are sympathetic when things go badly," Draco snapped. "Not that you'd know about having friends. What do you have to do to keep that pair around, or is it too vulgar for the ladies' delicate ears?"

"Ron's been right about you all along," Finnigan said. "I thought he were just exaggerating cause of his dad and your dad, but not a year goes by that there ain't some shenanigans with Potter at the centre of it all."

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "And I'm tired of being called a Mudblood."

"Congratulations, you're idiots," Jenna said flippantly.

Ginny looked ready to burst. She was practically chest to chest with her brother now, and Harry had never seen her so angry. "Harry saved my life, Ron. Great bloody basilisk that he defeated, remember? You should thank him, but you hate him for it. You can't forgive him for doing such an unselfish thing, can you? Because it doesn't fit with your mental framework of what a Slytherin is. Is that why you hate me too? Because Slytherin isn't where I 'belong'?"

At the reminder of Harry's heroism, Weasley looked even more uncomfortable.

"Just apologize, Ron," Ginny implored. "Admit you were wrong about him and move on."

"If there's anyone who should admit they're wrong and apologize, it's you and Percy! I'm not wrong about them, Ginny! They dragged me and Seamus off in first year and hexed us for at least fifteen minutes. They're constantly trying to muck with me in Potions class. They jump out from under rocks and throw hexes all around-"

"Not all around, Weasley. We have excellent aim," Jenna interjected.

"They admit it!" he howled. "Ginny, they just want to use you for Dark purposes. They're being nice so you'll do what they want you to do."

Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you saying I'm too feeble-minded to think for myself? That I need noble, heroic Ronald the Brave to save me from the evil Slytherins? That noble Slytherin did save me, and I believe him when he says he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire! There's some foul villain around here intent on mayhem and murder."

"The only villains causing mayhem are you and Percy! Together you've torn the family apart!"

"You've done your share too! I don't think you could have whined much louder about not getting to go to the World Cup!"

Ron flushed. "I apologized for that."

"Only because Mum made you."

"Would you children like to be left alone?" Pansy interrupted condescendingly. "Airing the dirty laundry in public, my word. How uncouth. I expected little better from Weasleys. I'm disappointed, Laine. You said she was doing so much better. This little display is far too gauche."

Reminded of their audience, the siblings took a step back. Ron glared at Pansy. "Don't talk to my sister that way."

"Do you even know what gauche means, Weasley?" Pansy sneered. "What about you, Weasley? Do you have a justification for your behaviour? Laine spoke so highly of you."

"She has been getting better," Laine stated flatly, eyeing Ginny disapprovingly. "Didn't I tell you not to shout at him? You always lose your temper and start shouting."

Ginny looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but she shot her brother one last glare before storming off towards the Owlery. Weasley watched her go before turning to the other Slytherins with a dirty look. He motioned to Thomas and Finnigan with his head, and the three Gryffindors headed down the stairs.

Harry had asked Ginny to send her brother Percy a letter inquiring in a roundabout fashion what the first Task was. Percy's reply had been to send word of their brother Charlie and the important role he had in dialogue with the Romanian Ministry. It had been obtuse enough, but the message was clear:

Dragons. The First Task involved dragons somehow.

By Merlin's spotless undergarments, how the hell could he defeat a dragon?

Harry and Sirius had arranged to meet outside of the Hog's Head, for the sake of privacy more than anything else. Harry was one of the first to rise, break his fast, and bolt for the castle doors. He practically ran down the path, though he convinced himself that anyone watching would merely assume he was out jogging.

Sirius was right where he'd said he would be, and Harry began running in earnest. He squeezed Sirius hard around the middle, and the return pressure of Sirius' arms sheltering him from the world was the most euphoric medicine for his troubled mind.

"My boy," Sirius whispered, "when I find the damned Death Eater that got you in to this mess, they might send me back to Azkaban -- if they can find the evidence!"

"Don't even joke about that," Harry said, his voice muffled against Sirius' chest. "You don't joke about Azkaban."

"Sorry."

Harry didn't want to let go, but they were in public. He cleared his throat. For some reason he was very choked up. Sirius released him, reluctantly it seemed.

"So, ready to see London?"

"Are we seriously going?" Harry was amazed. "On the permission form, it says we're only allowed Hogsmeade."

Sirius smiled. "I read through the form when it was sent to me for signature, and I saw nothing in it that says I can't take you off the grounds. The motorbike is parked around to the side."

"Wicked!" Harry shouted. A nice long ride would be just the thing to take his mind off his troubles.

"We'll head for London, grab a quick bite at the Leaky, and then it's time for me to show you something new." The gleam in Sirius' eye was unmistakable.

Harry wanted to skip lunch and get right to the Animagus lesson, but he knew it would go better if he had a full stomach. Apparating was best done on an empty stomach, Sirius had advised him, but the Animagus transformation took tremendous energy.

Harry strapped his helmet on and let out a whoop of excitement as the old motorbike soared in to the sky. The wind rushing in his face reminded him of Quidditch, and Harry resolved to make time for flying at least once a week.

They were up above the clouds now, hiding from the view of Muggles below. Sirius dipped the tires down and left tremendous swirls in their wake. They encountered some birds flying south, and the birds were content to allow them to fly point for quite a few miles.

As they approached London, Sirius brought the motorbike in for a landing. With a jarring thud, gravity took command over them again. Harry held on tight as Sirius zoomed through the streets, dodging cars and double-deckers with awesome skill. They came to a screeching halt outside the Leaky Cauldron, and several Muggle women turned to give Sirius the once-over.

It took several moments for Harry's eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the inn. It was quite full of people, for it was lunch time, but Sirius led the way to a private booth in the back where a small card read "Reserved".

At the table, Harry quickly decided on the steak special that Sirius had been so enthusiastic about. When the waiter had taken their orders, Harry sighed with relief. At last.

"I'm so glad to see you, I can't even say," Harry told his godfather earnestly. "I'm in so much trouble."

"We'll get through this, Harry," Sirius promised. "No matter what they throw at us, we'll never give up."

"It's dragons, Sirius."

"What now?"

"Dragons. The first Task is dragons."

"Dragons," Sirius repeated. "Big, angry, scaly lizards with giant razor claws and breathing fire dragons?"

"Yeah."

Sirius looked ready to spit fire himself. "Well," he said after a moment or two, "I happen to know a bit about dragons. Their weak spot is in the eyes. I think if you hit it with a big enough spell -- Bludgeoner would work if it were strong enough, though the Conjunctivitis Curse would actually be better -- if it's big enough, you'll be able to blind it and get by it. Do you know what the goal is?"

"No. I just know it's dragons."

"And what is the source of this information?"

"I have a friend involved with running the tournament."

"He's not just pulling your chain?"

"No, it's dragons all right."

"Okay, Harry. Now then, dragons are very quick. They can cover distance in a very short time. They can stomp on you, slash you, cook you, and eat you if so inclined. I want you to set up a way where you can practice dodging. Get all your friends together and have them cast hexes at you. If you can dodge a spell, you can dodge a dragon."

The steaks appeared then, and any further discussion of strategy was put on hold for the all-important task of enjoying the fine slice of cow that had been delicately seasoned and now melted in the mouth.

When at last they had put down knife and fork and pushed their plates away, Harry groaned with delight. "I ate too much," he bemoaned, "but I just couldn't stop."

"I know," Sirius agreed. "I do this nearly every day. Every day it's the same thing. I can never manage to save any to take home in a doggy bag. I'm half-tempted to order two, but I'd probably eat it all anyway!"

They slowly made their way to the street and eased themselves on to the motorbike. Sirius kept a sedate pace on the short distance back to Grimmauld Place. Inside, Sirius cast a lazy Levitation Charm to bring both himself and Harry up to the sitting room, where they sat facing each other in padded leather chairs.

"Close your eyes, and clear your mind of all thoughts, all concerns. There is only you and only me and the sound of my voice. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus yourself inwards. Somewhere inside you there is an animal ready to come out. Breathe in. Breath out. Concentrate on your head, for the eyes are the windows to the soul. Concentrate on your chest, for the heart is where the soul resides. What is your other form? Breathe in. Breathe out. You are your own master. Your soul is your own. Reveal your nature."

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to feel, but he guessed that nothing wasn't it. He supposed it was like Muggle martial arts which involved a lot of meditation (and lots of ninja-kicking). Then he was thinking about the Bruce Lee movie he'd managed to watch nearly all the way through one evening at Privet Drive.

Stop it, he thought sternly. Nothing, nothing, nothing. There's an animal in my soul. I have a soul. I have a soul? What is a soul? And why does it hang around in this body? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? And why do people do what they do? Do they know why they're here? Do they know why we're here? Where is here? And why is it here? And how did it get here? Was it always here, or did-

His rambling train of thought was quickly derailing any attempts at meditation. He wrenched his thoughts back from contemplating the purpose of the universe and tried to focus on himself.

Sirius' breathing was a helpful thing to focus, and Harry consciously matched his pace. In and out. Inhale, exhale.

They sat there for ages. Harry did his best to concentrate, but finally he said, "Gah!" and shook his head in disgust. "I don't even know if I'm doing it right."

"You're doing fine, Harry. You must have patience."

"It's been hours, and I don't feel a thing."

Sirius looked very amused. "It's been ten minutes. You've lost track of time. That's good. That means you're focusing on yourself."

They kept at it for another frustrating two hours, before Sirius declared that Harry had done very well and it was time to get back to Hogsmeade.

"The trip isn't quick, even by motorbike. You'll barely make the start of dinner as it is."

"We could Floo back to the Three Broomsticks."

"That we could. Very well, if that's what you prefer."

to be continued...