Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

Ginny came down the stairs and looked around, her eyes showing a reflective listlessness. The brown depths, glossy and dull, had seen too little sleep the night before, and now she was paying for it. Yawning, covering her opened mouth with a hand, the Gryffindor lethargically looked around, rubbing sand out of her eyes and trying to stop another yawn.

There weren't a lot of people awake. 'Likely, no one had gone to sleep until long after two,' Ginny thought to herself. She hadn't. Even with McGonagall stalking the halls, she couldn't stop from sneaking out and looking over the banister at least once. Of course, her whole scheme had been ruined by the fact that the student and professor she'd been spying on spoke quietly, voices not carrying. Anyone who simply had to know what was going on was caught sneaking down the stairs, having learned nothing.

Ron wasn't up, and neither were the twins. Ginny stepped out of the middle of the stairway and gave herself some room to stretch, bones popping satisfactorily. A few eyes swirled her way, but she didn't care.

From the small crowds of waking students, she picked out a familiar face and smiled. "Neville," Ginny called out, waving a hand. The boy in question glanced up from where he'd been dozing off, and slowly stood, walking towards her. His expression was glum.

"Hey, Ginny," Neville greeted, leaning against the wall beside her.

The girl's face wrinkled up in concern. "Anything wrong?" she asked, searching his face for a clue. "You don't sound like yourself this morning."

Neville only shook his head. "It's nothing," he confessed, a little self-conscious. "I'm just a little worried about Harry, you know? He's acting very strange."

Ginny's face lit up with a grin, and she laughed. "Strange?" she repeated, eyes widening. "Why? I mean, it's not like you really know him or anything. For all we know, last night was a normal thing for him." She crossed her arms, turning away from him to face the room, head tilted back in speculation. "I actually don't know what the big deal is. So he didn't show up for Quidditch practice--there were a lot of other students who didn't. Malfoy didn't, and Hermione left in the middle of it. No one cares about them."

"But you didn't see Harry fly," Neville insisted seriously. "If you'd been outside, then you would have been angry that he didn't show up like the rest of us!" His face tightened as he said this, a sign of stress that Ginny recognized immediately. "And he did do something wrong. He left the school! Even you have to admit, Ginny, that that's against the rules."

"It is." Ginny bit the inside of her lip at the admission. Personally, she wanted nothing more than to let things settle themselves out--last night's little game of I-Spy was only because she was extremely curious.

Someone snickered, and the two Gryffindors straightened up to see a group of Slytherins walking down the stairs, all pompous arrogance and superiority. "Well, it looks like Potter's already causing a muck," the leading girl announced, one of her hands resting against her hip. The other was idly spinning her wand between agile fingers. That stopped as she tapped her wand against her cheek, a vicious smirk settling across her face. "If I had known that a Potter had that talent, I'd have been nicer in Potions."

"Shove off, Parkinson," Neville shot back stiffly, his lips thinned.

The Slytherin girl tilted her head mockingly. "You want to try and make me?" she purred. Her wand fingers twitched, convulsively tightening against the wooden rod.

But Neville wasn't the least bit put off. Standing to face her, his hand dipped into his pocket. He stared at her, eyes steady and unwavering. "I thought I proved I could yesterday," he reminded in a soft voice that hardly carried.

Parkinson's face flushed, and for a single moment the girl looked out of her depth, but then calm resettled itself and the Slytherin's face regained its sickening conceit. The girl's group marched down the stairs, snidely ignoring Ginny after that, and soon only Parkinson remained there, having paused in front of the two Gryffindors in the act of walking past them. She didn't glance at them, just stood there for a moment as if making sure they knew who she was before she walked away with her gang.

There was a moment of silence afterwards until Ginny shook her head wonderingly. "Those Slytherins..." she murmured mostly to herself, but Neville nodded in agreement. "They keep getting worse each year, don't they?"

"Almost like they're rotting!" Neville joked, and when Hermione walked downstairs, the two were shaking with laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny," Hermione fretted, her face pale with worry. She glanced around, hands wringing themselves anxiously. Without stopping to say more, the girl walked on, exiting the building and taking her dark clouds with her.

Not even a minute after that, while Ginny and Neville were still puzzling over the witch's radical behavior, Ron stomped down looking furious. "Where is she?" he demanded, eyebrows low on his forehead. Wordlessly, Ginny pointed towards the door and watched with her face stretched in surprise as her brother stomped his departure.

She glanced at Neville. "What was all that about?" Neville shrugged, and while the two gossiped over the possibilities, they walked out of the building, joining up with a few other friends and generally heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast. On the way there, Ginny noticed a black speck taking off against a clear blue sky as an owl flew, bearing messages. Funny. She hadn't seen Harry getting up that morning. In fact, she hadn't seen him since the early hours in the morning, and then she had been crowded back behind a human wall of Gryffindors. As she entered the dining building, she wondered exactly what had been going on last night, why Hermione had been so upset a second ago, and what else could possibly go wrong in the last days of the vacation.

*

"I don't want to do this anymore," Leo stated, leaning forward in the grass wearily and using his wand to forced the grass into tiny circles.

Sirius smiled affectionately at the little child, the child who reminded him so much of James. The wand of course had been given to Leo at a young age, but no one noticed anything wrong with that. What was wrong with giving the world's savior a wand earlier than others? "But you have to," he replied gently. "I thought you wanted to be like Harry."

"Right." The child's voice lacked any motivation and Leo flipped on his back, his light brown hair flopping up with him. It was uncanny how similar the brothers looked, Sirius decided, watching Leo. Though there were differences in coloring, the two were practically twins of each other. Save age of course. If Leo hair was just a little darker and his eyes a little greener... Leo's mouth turned up in a pout. "But I don't want to."

Chuckling, Sirius ruffled the child's hair. "All right, we'll take a break, but we'll start again tomorrow. You don't want to be behind at school, do you?" Leo shook his head no and excitedly ditched the home-schooled class Sirius was about to teach with more energy than he'd ever shown trying to learn.

"That kid," Sirius shook his head and nearly had a heart attack when someone laughed.

"I agree," Remus said, coming up from the house. He wore a light jacket and jeans, muggle styled for a reason.

"Ah." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Got another job?"

"Yea. From the Ministry of all places." Remus took out a piece of parchment and glanced through it though he undoubtedly had the list memorized. He handed it down to Sirius. "It's strange, though. The creatures they want me to find aren't... what I normally catch."

"Demons?" Sirius' eyes widened and he looked up. "Don't tell me the Ministry's starting to do business with-"

Remus laughed again and waved the idea away. "No, no. Nothing like that. They already assured me that there was a, and I quote, 'strict purpose' behind the capturing of the demons."

"Capture? Now that is too strange."

"Tell me about it. There are only bad reasons for wanting to capture a demon." Remus shook his head. "But the Ministry assures me that it's a legal purpose and it's not actually just this Ministry." He looked up in thought as Sirius handed the parchment back. "It's from all the European Ministries, so I'm thinking this demon hunt has something to do with the Tournament."

"Luckily Harry's not in that," Sirius breathed sincerely, looking down at his hands.

"Yea," Remus agreed. "Lucky that."

*

He woke up, words and dreams haunting him into consciousness, only to find that the sunlight couldn't dispel all nightmares. Lucius Malfoy was still there; Draco Malfoy was still there.

Hours later, long after the lunch hour and well into the afternoon, Harry was finally allowed to leave the governor's apartment after another small "lesson" on the goodness of the Dark Lord, and idly he walked through the gardens at the front of the school. No one else was around. The silence was company enough for gloomy brooding.

Beauxbatons' gardens were beautiful, breath-taking even to the hopeless spectator. Experts in foliage and flora could be stunned into several minutes of quiet appreciation of the layout, the infusion between beauty and magic. Carvers could wonder at the majesty of the statues, the depictions of the most graceful lines of the human body or the animal torso or whatever else stone was shaped into. Even students who knew nothing of the effort put into the place could enjoy the peace and shade indiscriminately.

He chose to sit beneath the shade of a large and creaky tree whose branches seemed to bend over in an attempt to hide him from the world and claim him as its own. Motionless, he watched the breeze rustle branches, trying to force leaves away in quick and playful strikes. He could hear the sound of a stream not too far away, its bubbly nature something that was listened to unconsciously, a natural symphony. Above that were the voices of students and professors and whoever else was there at Beauxbatons.

Vaguely, against his will even, words drifted to him along with the bubble of the brook. Accusations against his parents that came accompanied with images provoked by memory. Moment by moment, his thoughts became darker and stormier, a repetition of every word said the night before. He could remember every word perfectly, as if Lucius was standing before him once more with his spitting mouth and cold eyes.

Those thoughts were disquieting. He lost the peace of the gardens in them. He lost any rest from the night before, from the day before in the forest. All he could hear was the single accusing voice and nothing else in defense. Were his parents guilty? Would they have possibly done something so wrong, so... rightfully wrong?

'It's a paradox, then,' Harry decided with a glum shake of his head, and he could hear someone laughing maniacally in the background of his thoughts as if the whole situation was somehow freakishly hilarious. He hoped it wasn't him.

If James and Lily hadn't done anything to help the war, they would have been undeniably guilty of hiding away, of trying to pretend that the battles and deaths didn't effect them in any way. They would have been legally guilty, as British citizens living in Britain at a time when Britain was at war, of accepting sanctuary with the enemy, a treasonous offense. They would have been guilty of assisting the enemy in the sense that they were not actively resisting him.

If James and Lily had done something, they would have been guilty of a villainous backstabbing as traitorous as anything. Having given their word to stay away from the battles in exchange for protection, breaching that covenant was giving their protector full right to remove any protection. They would have, in effect, '"gotten what they deserved."

The gardens were stuffy, and the tree was suddenly a creeping enemy trying to capture him in its web. Paranoid, completely unsettled, Harry irritably stood up, swatting at the swaying tree branches with a violence not in his nature. Purposely, he stomped through a row of delicate flowers.

The destruction was pointless but formed an outlet for frustration. No one was around to stop him.

Glaring about with narrowed, hate-filled eyes, Harry saw the gardens and detested every single thing about them. It was all too perfect, too unnatural. Nature wasn't like that. Nature was chaotic; nature was dark. Nature was a cruel thing. Coldly, Harry curled his hands into fists, eyes still surveying the scenery with a cynical anger.

With a deliberate action, he walked over to the nearest statue and shoved the perfect Adonis figure off its risen pedestal. Because it was magical, the statue was animate and, going down, it let out a surprised yelp. It crashed against the ground, but with only a few chips, the destruction wasn't enough. Harry walked over, movements chillingly graceful and controlled as he stood watching over the stunned statue, thinking. He leaned over to test its weight, ignoring the thing's comments as well as the noise from the other statues in the area, only to find that it was too heavy to lift and throw again.

"What on earth on you doing?" a carved woman of stone asked, hysterical, as Harry pulled out his wand. Her eyes, designed to face away from the school, flitted around in a panic, unable to look away from the vandalism of her colleague and unable to call for help.

"By Merlin..." breathed a statue of a wizard, possibly one of Merlin, as Harry sent the Adonis flying to smash against a roaring cat figurine. Chips of stone went flying, scattering across the ground like marble blood, and the cat's roar became a mute whimper, then no more.

The other sculptures began to murmur, first frightened, then panicked as the wizard-in-training turned his cool attention on each, methodically destroying every piece of art in the immediate area. All the while, that single accusing voice taunted him, daring him to lay down his allegiances. At times, it seemed like Lucius's voice was replaced with someone else's, someone whose voice was as cold as ice or death or darkness.

Parents the voice seemed to hiss... (A sculpting of some witch slid across the ground, ruthlessly uprooting the carefully planted ferns.) ... they couldn't be trusted think of all they've done They ... (A tearing spell ripped flower petals to shreds, then shredded green leaves and roots.) ... lied worse than that Cheated more Left him all alone

Death Eaters remember everything they've done to you... (Three neat rows of waist-high bushes abruptly rose into the air and served as a rough broom, scrapping their branches to nothing while digging vicious streaks into the earth.) ... traitors, evil, liars but were they really? No, not them of course not... (Some statue cracked in half and gibbered mindlessly until a spell crumbled granite into dust.)

Aurors, the Ministry... (He laughed at this idea, a hollow and lifeless sound that fit in with the freezing over of that stupid brook the voice laughed with him) ... all of them were stupid yes, idiotic yes, and (The tree with its dipping branches was violently stripped, sticks and twigs torn out.) don't forget taking advantage of the worse part (Leaves fell down, with the procedure being much more efficient than some weak breeze.) Leo he's so young

With a snarl, Harry flung one last piece of stone at the tree's bare trunk, breathing hard and eyes unfocused, not seeing as the stone imbedded itself in weeping sap. His body gave a shudder and wordlessly he tumbled, making a bed in the broken lilies and cracked antlers. Shuddering, shaking, but making no sound whatsoever, the only thing he heard was his rushing heartbeat, and he listened to its fast pace slow down as adrenaline left him aching.

Energy was gone, anger rush was gone. Weakly, he turned over to lie on his back and stare dumbly at the blue sky whose tranquility was mocking. Stone chips burrowed against his skin, but he ignored them. White clouds puffed importantly about, as if unafraid of his recent temper, as if knowing that no matter what, he couldn't touch them. Staring at them too long made his eyes hurt. They were too white, and he blinked away tears.

'I think I hate them,' he confessed to those pale wisps, knowing that if he couldn't harm them, the clouds could do nothing to him in return. They just floated, some seemingly stationary while others raced the heavens. 'I think I hate them all.'

Sighing, he forced himself to his knees, and had to stop when a particularly sharp flint chip stabbed into his leg, a tiny but deep puncture wound. Hissing air between his teeth, he tweaked deft fingers against the protruding stone and drew it out in a quick motion, throwing the chip behind his shoulder without the least bit of fury. All of his anger had been drained, leaving him with nothing left. His personality resumed itself, mellowing his mood and shallowing his gloomy brooding until he lost his dark edge of viciousness.

When he stood up, his eyes widened at the damage done to the entire area. A rampant destruction had occurred here, a murder of beauty, a meaningless devastation. And a sharp pang of guilt, as sharp as the stone embedded into his leg, tore through his heart at the realization that all of this had come of his unleashed and uncontrolled temper. The only good thing was that no one else was around; there was no telling what injury could have occurred.

He was so tired. Just viewing the scene was too much, and he felt like collapsing again. Another thing that was his fault, Harry accepted sadly. It had been so easy to blame everyone else, but in the end he was the one that was destroying everything. No wonder Leo didn't want to be near him. There was nothing left to be done about it, he supposed dully, giving up and letting the last of his emotions dry out.

Repairing this spot of the garden was done with the same split-thought as happened during its destruction.

His parents (Flowers were collected and meticulously glued back together, slightly lopsided and limping but back in their original positions.) had left him because he was a horrible child, and the protection (The little stream was thawed out, its watery life brought back from a frozen existence.) that the Dark Lord offered simply wasn't important enough as they didn't particularly care for Harry anyway. He had always known that, had always known that Leo was the child everyone liked better. The voice was quiet but felt like it was brooding, wordlessly

The Death Eaters (Half of a statue floated into the air, its other half slowly reassembling itself from fragmented dust.) had never promised him continual friendship, and they had never (A pedestal, tipped over and chipped, righted itself.) pretended that they were on anything more than their master's business. He had let himself be tricked into believing (The stone piece pierced into the tree wobbled and pulled out, dripping of sap and leaving a hole behind.) that they had ever really cared for them. It wasn't betrayal when they were only following orders, and those orders had been rightfully followed through after his parents' atrocious betrayal of the Dark Lord's trust. Besides (Still whimpering, the cat statue regained its standing place, warily watching him with its whispers twitching.) here Lucius was, at the first opportunity available, trying to regain past trust. They're only trying to help you

Aurors (He paused in his reconstruction, face darkening momentarily in the act of reattaching broken tree branches.) well, there was no help for the Ministry, but he had never thought that there would be. If the Death Eaters (Fallen leaves hopped onto a magical wind to ride back up to twigs and sticks, clothing the tree again.) returned, then he was free to publicly hate the Ministry once more. Hate and more

The gardens were returned to normal, and only the slightest of details hinted at the possibility of anything other than a perfect scene. Experts in foliage would sit stunned, sculptors would wonder, and students would enjoy. Everything was beautiful; everything was orderly.

Harry stood in the middle of it, body quivering from the effort of first destroying and then repairing. His muscles were bunched up, a physical reflection of magical fatigue, and the sinews twitched in agitation, forcing shock-shudders out of his limbs. The world felt mysteriously cold, ready to gape down and destroy him if it could. Sweat covered his body, dripping with stinging accuracy into his eyes and down his face and down his neck, clinging to all parts of him.

His eyes burned, and he blinked away tears, looking up to squint the sensation away only to find that the sky was clear of all clouds. So blue, it looked like an empty space, some stretching blue cover over all the world with no specific purpose. All of it painted the same monotonous color, so boring and annoying.

"I hate them," he whispered aloud, needing to hear the words, "I hate them anyway." A flash of his parents zipped through his mind, some remembered time of fun, but it enraged him. Why should he have to remember them, after everything they did? Why should he still have to feel... wounded somehow? And he realized that now, his anger was directed only at those two dead ones. The living were no longer afforded his hate.

Shaking badly from physical exhaustion and mental tension, Harry stumbled over to the tree again, reveling in the way its branches still tried to claim him despite his fit of madness, reveling in the way that it tried to hide him from the world in an oddly protective gesture, reveling in the fact that such an inanimate object could act more caring towards him than the animate objects of the world. He felt oddly cheated, like just now realizing that his childhood hadn't been normal in the least and he hadn't been able to go through all the motions of ignorant innocence and love. He felt oddly cheated that the only being that now cared to hold him was a mindless and overgrown tree. But he was too weak to do anything about it beside stumble to the tree's great trunk and collapse there, ignoring the overwhelming scent of tree sap or its dripping stickiness.

Lucius's the voice's words rang through his head a final time, sounding like some definite boundary he had to pass. Whether or not to believe him? Oh, how he wanted to! And... and how he as going to. He realized it now, a doom-bell sounding in his mind. He had already accepted the Death Eaters again, Lucius at least, and it would start a chain reaction. Who knew where it would end? But he no longer cared. If half of what Lucius said was true... and the Death Eater had no reason to lie.

The analysis burned into his brain, and weakly Harry began to laugh, hollowly and lifelessly. He leaned his head against the tree trunk, ignoring how the sap dripped into his hair, and let his chest shake in dry laughs and groans and then choking sobs. Eyes closed, he railed against fate, sobs grounding into nothingness as the air became silent again, the perfect atmosphere for brooding about pain and inevitability.

Footsteps crept through the gardens, and even with his body hazy and mind dulled, Harry pulled his head up to see the black-robed governor standing before him, posture arched in cool perfection and confidence. "You missed lunch." The admonition was odd, coming from that person with that history and that personality.

His head slumped against his chest, eyes that felt as dry as sand closing, and Harry waited a moment before answering, "I did." There was an odd defeated air around him, suffocating him, but he didn't care anymore.

He could imagine the wizard raising an eyebrow, and Lucius indeed did do so, looking curiously at the slumped shoulders and exhausted face.

Harry let loose a low breath, not quite a sigh but almost as desolate, then forced his eyes to open and his head to raise, staring defiantly at the man before him. "Did you want something?" he shot out, bitter about the intrusion on his privacy, on his life, on everything. "I'm not really in the mood for more surprises. I'm having enough trouble as it is."

The Death Eater chuckled dryly. "No, Harry, I only came out here to see how you were doing. There were a few rumors being spread this morning, and some unhappy professors." He paused, then thoughtfully added, "How are you feeling, Harry?" It was asked sincerely, almost as though the man really wanted to know. There was even the proper facial expression. It was so artificial that Harry fought against an urge to look away.

His bitterness growing, Harry determined one thing: even if he threw his lot in with Lucius, he would never let the man have any influence over him. One final whisper: control him, not the other way around Eyes narrowing, the green slits almost glowing under the tree shade, Harry watched the wizard closely. "Better," the teenager allowed, "now that I've decided a few things."

That caught the Death Eater's attention, though Lucius tried to hide any interest. Harry leaned his head back against the tree, wondering if he was going to regret anything then deciding not to wonder any more. Quietly, he explained his belief in everything Lucius had said, and his shaky offer of trust was extended. Just as quietly, Lucius accepted the words, adding more about future meetings with the other Death Eaters.

The next time any Gryffindor--or any Hogwarts student--saw him, he was different. There was a certain change in his attitude, in his appearance, in his atmosphere. Instead of seeming to simply repulse people, ignoring them or hiding away, he now steadily pretended that they no longer concerned him. It was as if he was an adult mind trapped in a teenager's body, forced to go through the motions of adolescence while truly being too wise for it. It was like he, an experienced veteran of life, was thrown in with a multitude of immature youths.

And because they were so inexperienced with the ways of observation, no one really noticed.

*

The language was flowing, tangy, almost a force that either pushed outsiders aside or invited them in. He walked, feeling a sense of peace in this pool of meaningless gabble, enjoying his time of obscurity. Not that he really expected to walk along a stranger much longer. His face was on many a young witch/wizard's chocolate card, and it would not take long for them to connect the card's smiling wizard to him, walking along the centuries-old stone path.

Spanish washed along his ears--distinctively different from his continent's own version, but only to those who listened. The people smile and nodded at him, backing away to allow him comfortable walking space, respecting him as an elder wizard if nothing else. Perhaps they thought him a customs inspector, checking to make sure this tournament was run smoothly. Perhaps they thought him nothing more than a wandering wizard. He returned the smiles but moved on purposely, avoiding the tourists traps and sidestepping younger children.

A voice called out to him, innately familiar though speaking a foreign tongue. He smiled and allowed an elderly witch to walk by before crossing through the crowds and noise to his one and only brother. In the sea of tanned bodies, his and his brother's bleach-pale skins stuck out like a sore spot in an otherwise exotic photo.

Aberforth was in the middle of telling a magical story, hand-motions entrapping his young audience as assuredly as the older. Tattered robes clung to his body, creating the image of a homeless and harmless beggar, inviting those passing by to leave a small donation. Indeed, a pile of gold coins was already growing at his feet. Thin and bony, beardless but with a head full of short, wiry white hair, Albus remembered that Aberforth could nevertheless present quite a presence when he wanted to. At the moment, a brightly colored parrot was picking through his hair.

The children squealed with delight as he brought his story to a close, their parents and older siblings shaking their heads in muted wonder and amusement. Aberforth grinned and wiggled his ears--a talent Albus himself found mildly disturbing--and the children screamed louder, laughing hard enough to make passerbys pause to see what the fun was about. The parents smiled, coming up to talk with the eccentric old man, leaving a few more gold coins behind before gathering their children and herding them off.

Aberforth grinned, waving farewell to them, and went about picking up his new money, and it took a minute for his eyes to finally look up. When they did, they didn't widen in surprise or look the slightest bit unsettled at the sight of a newly arrived elder brother. "Albus, what are you doing here?" he asked, an accent he must have picked up while in the country tinting his words. Both of them knew the question was purely for conversational value; Aberforth already knew what he was doing.

Albus smiled. "Aberforth, it is good to see you. You're doing well?"

His brother shrugged a bony shoulder, motioning to the pile of gold. "Good enough considering I've not done a day's work yet, not real work anyhow." He grinned, then, and waved Albus over. He finished dropping the gold into a small sack. "Let's talk somewhere private. Your fan club will be here as soon as the word gets out."

He was right, as always; seconds later, a young boy walking by, having just opened up his chocolate frog, bumped into Albus while trying to catch the bouncing amphibian. Opening his mouth to apologize, the boy looked up, gulped, looked down, compared the card in his hands to the wizard before him, and then started gibbering. Aberforth laughed, leaning forward to whisper something in Spanish to the young child.

The boy's eyes widened and, glancing towards Albus, he asked in an awed voice, "Este es tu hermano?"

"Si," Aberforth nodded, pointing to Albus and replying in a joking voice when the boy's eyes widened yet again and began stuttering in disbelief. Aberforth frowned, looking slightly offended, and said something again that got the boy pulling something--a piece of paper--from his pockets.

"Puedo tener su autografia, Senor Dumbledore-"

Aberforth laughed heartily, drawing the attention of those who heard, all of them turning to goggle at Albus. Waving the paper away, Aberforth tugged on Albus' robes and started away from the prying and awe-filled eyes.

The two walked along, dodging into the nearby trees when the crowds came along looking for them, and after a while's walk, Aberforth led up through the trees to a nearly invisible little house that looked very old and worn. "I hope you're not planning to stay long," he commented to Albus as he knocked on the house's door. "Now that they know who you are and that you're here, they'll be starting a fire trying to find you."

Albus smiled softly and shook his head. "No, I hadn't planned on staying more than a few hours." His eyes drifted upwards to the sun as it began its slow afternoon decent to the bottom of the sky. "There are things back home that need my attention as soon as I can spare the time."

Aberforth mumbled something darkly, and the door opened before Albus could ask what. It opened to show a little old woman so frail that she looked like a good gust of wind could knock her down. Around her feet, small children crowded, fighting to see who their visitor was. When they saw Aberforth, they surged forward, squealing and squirming to get past the woman and grab at his legs and tattered robes, hands up as if grasping for something.

Aberforth laughed, patting at his pockets and pulling from them a bag of sweets that he passed out to the grasping hands. He looked to the old woman, smiling cheekily, and handed her another sack--the same sack he'd placed his newfound wealth into. At the sound of the jiggling coins, her face lit up with wonder and she leaned past the children to plant a kiss on his forehead.

The children broke into tears of laughter as Aberforth's face went up to a blush, and somewhat indignantly, Aberforth motioned to Albus, speaking words that the children obviously didn't believe. The woman smiled at Albus, ushering everyone into the house and directing, in Spanish, the two brothers down the halls.

"They never believe me," Aberforth muttered, walking down the hall with the ease of familiarity. "I tell them my brother is the great Albus Dumbledore, and they laugh at me. I tell them that this brother will be visiting this very night, and they dub me the mad seer. And at last I bring them this brother. Do you know what they do?" He threw his hands into the air with mock fury. "They ask how much money I spend buying 'brothers'."

"You look very happy here," Albus commented softly, entering a room behind his brother and taking a seat in an offered chair. "More than you ever did in England." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "I'm sure if mother ever knew how unhappy you were in England, she never would have disinherited you."

"Mother never thought I was unhappy," Aberforth reminded curtly. "And she didn't disinherited me because I left. She thought I was unstable, and the incident with the goat never helped. Besides, I never needed the money--not from her or you." His eyes glittered suddenly. "But you didn't come here to offer me money."

"The offer stands, as always," Albus stated quietly. "You just never accept."

I told you once," Aberforth reminded, talking as if from a far-away place. "I told you, when we were still children, that I would never like money. That I would never need money."

"A warning," Albus concurred softly. "I see that now. At the time, we were both too young to know what you were trying to say, what you were speaking about." He let the words sink in a moment. "I see so many things that should have opened my eyes." And he looked down into his hands. "I do believe you know why I'm here."

"Of course I do," Aberforth said absently, eyes acquiring a gazed-over quality. "I always do, don't I?" He chuckled darkly. "Mother was right in a way. I am rather unstable."

"You are a seer," Albus corrected, but Aberforth merely shrugged.

"Same difference. Let's see... you are here because you've learned a disturbing fact the other day didn't you? Something with a diary and a boy--that Thomas Riddle fellow."

"Tom Riddle. And the diary confirmed my fears." Albus closed weary blue eyes, his century-plus age showing. "He is alive, as alive as a bodiless being can be, and I fear he has a plan to regain his body. Talking with a younger version of him through the diary, I realize that he's had a plan for many years now, since the age he took on the title 'Lord Voldemort.'"

"Of course he does." Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "Did you expect him to stay at his less-than-ghost state forever?"

"Aberforth, is there anything you can tell me?" At his brother's look, Albus quickly added, "Nothing about the future--I'd never press you. But perhaps something in the past will help solve this riddle, this riddle of what Tom plans to do."

Surprisingly, Aberforth's normally expressive face blanked out, closing like a forbidden book, a sure sign of something important being said or inferred, meaning that there was something in the past that would help the future. Of course, there was much in the past that was better left unknown. All he said in answer to the request was "Oh? About what?"

Albus stood, unable to keep sitting, and started to pace, one aged hand against his temple. "I don't know," he confessed weakly. "Something... something weighs on my mind. A mistake I made. A detail I overlooked. Something... and I fear it has to do with the Potter child." He shook his head. "There is something connecting the defeater and the defeated. A spell that Tom might use to revive himself."

"Potter." Aberforth smiled tentatively, easing slightly as if sensing an escape from an untimely situation. "Well, if it's the Potter boy... I'm sure I can space a few secrets to ease your mind." Albus sighed in relief, sitting down once more and turning all his attention to his brother. "Yes... Potter. What would you like to know?"

"Did he defeat Voldemort?"

A shadow passed over his brother's eyes, then Aberforth smiled again and nodded. "No doubt there. I'll remember that battle for quite some time. It's not often that a Seer has the chance to witness the fulfilling of his own prophecy, or partial one at that."

Albus closed his eyes for a moment in relief. "That is good," he murmured quietly. "When Tom tries to rise again, he will need Leonard to gain full power, and I must admit that whatever other faults the Ministry has, the protections around Leonard are near unbreakable." With his eyes closed, he didn't see the slightly pained look on his brother's face, a look that was quickly erased.

There was a knock on the door and one of the children, a little girl, stuck her head in, saying something. Aberforth responded with a nod and the girl was gone. "They say that dinner is done," he explained, standing up to stretch.

Albus nodded, still thinking, and the two made their way towards the kitchen where delicious smells came floating in the air. Outside, the loud noise of the crowd could be heard even from a distance, and Aberforth snorted. Albus glanced at him, but his brother said nothing. It wasn't until a small crowd had passed close by, loud enough to make the old lady look up in slight fear, that he let his opinions known.

"They're too concerned with this," Aberforth finally said, and Albus listened hungrily, knowing that whatever words came from his brother now would be tinged with prophecy. "This tournament, that tournament--all the tournaments. They place too much value on the outcomes of a competition when really time should be spent on preparation."

"Preparation?" Albus repeated. "Preparation for what?" They reached the kitchen, sitting as the witch and the many children brought out bowl and bowl of steaming food.

His brother let out a small breath and leaned back as if contemplating the ceiling. "Preparation for the future," Aberforth finally replied, drifting into his cryptic mode again, where whatever he said was prophecy but prophecy so twisted and hidden that the only way to understand it was to live it. "Preparation for a time when the world will be turned backwards, when falsities will become the public's only truth."

Then his prophesying was over. He smiled gratefully, starting a conversation in Spanish with the rest of the household and leaving Albus to carefully ponder the words spoken.

After the delicious dinner, Aberforth led him just outside the house and they discussed the differences between this tournament and the one going on in Europe. This tournament had been placed in a large clearing. Unlike their European counterparts, these wizards and witches had no school large enough to fit all the champions, and neither could they agree on a specific school to simply enlarge. Instead, they chose a large area in Brazil deep in the rain forest to create a school. Away from muggle eyes, it seemed like a perfect idea.

However, it disturbed much of the local life.

"This lady here for instance," Aberforth pointed out as an example. "When they decided to have the tournament here, she was offered money to move out, to let someone live here for the year. Some rich couple from Mexico. But she said no, that the memories of this place were too great to simply give away for money. They greatly need the money, badly need it, but they've lived here alone for as long as her family has been around, and they'll live here after the tournament is over." He shrugged. "So I give them money."

Albus nodded, feeling proud of his younger brother and the way the seer had dealt with his life. It hadn't been easy for Aberforth. He motioned to the stones placed on the floor like a path from this house to the small village nearby. "This is Native work, is it not?"

Aberforth grinned deviously as if he knew something no one else did, which was of course true. "It is. The Natives left a lot behind. This house is many years old, left over from that time period. They left walls, buildings, paths, and even statues."

In the distance, a small sound floated in the air, lingering with long and deep notes. It was a horn, and it was a signal for something. Seconds after the horn rang, one of the children burst open the front door, her family not far behind her, and she called out excitedly to the two brothers, yelling something than running off towards the noise with the rest of the family.

Aberforth looked to Albus with a grin. "Come on," he said, standing up and helping Albus to his feet. "You don't want to miss this, and whatever else you've planned can wait." That, if anything was an order. "The Wizard Tournament's about to begin."

They walked at a comfortable pace, ignoring the rushing crowds to all sides. Excitement was in the air, growing as another and then another horn sounded, noise growing until a beautiful melody of horns was formed.

They came upon the huge clearing prepared for the tournament. A section of the rainforest had been cleared of all plants and animals, those being relocated to other parts of the jungle. The wizards would, of course, replace the creatures once the year was up, but until then the area was strictly magical.

A group of young students went by, the flag of Mexico wrapped around them as they screamed and shouted, drawing amusement from their elders. Central America, though part of North America, had been added to the South American Wizarding Tournament simply because most of those countries spoke the same language. At first, the arrangement looked doomed to fail; taking Mexico and the other countries from the North's Tournament would leave only Canada and the United States to compete against each other as Greenland hadn't a proper wizarding school. But then, the United States' different states all clamored to compete as separate entities in the contest, and the Canadian territories argued the same. Surprisingly, the ministers had allowed it, leaving fifty states against three territories and ten provinces, odds that both countries were content with.

People were chanting and the crowds cheered as, on a platform in the middle of the clearing, a group of ministers appeared. They waved, inciting more emotions from the crowds, and finally one stepped forward to begin speaking.

Beside him, Aberforth quietly murmured, "He's welcoming us all... and now they're introducing the chosen champions." At each name, there was some supporter, some cheerleader in the crowd screaming with happiness. Some names were short and easy to pronounce. "Braulio Cortez" of Venezuela was one that Albus felt confident enough to try repeated, sure that his tongue wouldn't stumble over the simple sounds. Others, however, were long and twisted with rolling R's and breathy vowels that, should he try to pronounce, he was sure to offend

Introductions were soon over and, as the ministers began speaking, Aberforth kindly took up translating again. There was a spell that would allow a witch or wizard to understand all languages, but it was extremely taxing on the sense and a translator was much more reasonable. "He's saying all this garbage about how he hopes everyone had a good time and that the best champion will win." Aberforth snorted in derision. "He's the Minster of Venezuela and his own son in the champion. No doubt there who he really wants to win." Then Aberforth paused and his face lit up. "And now," he breathed, hardly audible over the crowd, "the tournament will begin with its first task."

Albus made a sound in the back of his throat, then asked, "They will announce the task, then?"

His brother looked to him as if he were mad. "Of course they will! What kind of tournament would this be if a champion couldn't at least slightly prepare for the task? Even last year with those dragons, the champions had a minute or two to sort things out mentally." He winced. "Though I hear that Amos boy didn't think things quite through. Panicked, didn't he?"

Albus made another noise and settled for watching. The ministers had apparently already told what the task would be, for the crowds had quieted down and the champions, all seated right next to the platform, looked pale. "What did he say?"

"What?" Aberforth looked up. "Oh, they're to be facing down Dark Wizards" He made a face. "A little over-dramatic, I'd say. Dark Wizards indeed." A very nice side affect of seeing the future was never being truly surprised at future events. Where Aberforth dismissed the task, Albus' throat tightened. No wonder the crowd was quiet, the champions pale. Who would willingly face down a Dark Wizard?

Announcements made, the ministers huddled together, calling some aides from offstage, and using their combined powers to begin a chant. Voices echoed through the clearing, chilling the thousands gathered to watch, and it seemed the earth itself shuddered in fear.

When the ministers chose this clearing, they deliberately left the many ancient Indian statues that lay or stood scattered about the area, crumbling and growing moss. The reason became apparent as the statures, touched by the magical voices, began to move. Those nearby screamed, jumping back, but the statures merely shook off millennial dust and moss before making a cumbersome way to the front.

Some of the champions murmured to each other, taking out their wands and staring dubiously at the oncoming onslaught of slow, rotting stone statures. Albus could almost hear their thoughts, hear them mocking the stone's slow and lumbering ways, hear them confidently assure themselves that, if these were the 'wizards' then victory was to be quick. He could almost hear them, and he wanted to cry out a warning.

The spell the ministers were chanting was none other than a reanimation chant, but his Latin picked out added words: strength, skill, speed, magic--dark magic. The ministers were taking these statures and slowly transforming them into stone wizards, stones that would soon be capable of magic as dark and powerful as that of Grindelwald.

One minister was speaking again, and Aberforth yawned. "Something, something, something. They're going to match each student up with a certain statue," the statues had reached the front now, eyes glowing but standing frightening still as if seeking through the student ranks to find their opponent, "and it'll be based on the champion's strength, meaning that each battle will be hard." One statue, a cross between man and cow, let out a roar as it picked out its student, and it slowly raised an arm. "Each champion is supposed to defeat their monster, then sit out on the sidelines. No helping."

The other ministers had finished their chants and now all backed away from the platform. Some wizards decked out in Auror robes stepped forward, casting shields around the area for the crowds' protection.

The fight began.

The man-cow statue's arm pointed to a champion like a death sentence, and from its mouth came surprisingly human words. The other statues did the same, each to their own student. This champion confidently took out her wand and, as the duel began, bowed low to the statue even as the statue did the same. From the man-cow came a spell, a combination of disarming and stunning, that the witch easily knocked aside, answering with her own spell of a water blast. She was trying to use the elements against stone to win against the statue, but when the water was gone the stone still remained untouched.

The statue, dripping wet, took a step forward and the witch, cursing in Spanish, took a step back. Her wand waved and an invisible wind was sent forward to knock the statue from its feet, but the stones moved magically quick, avoiding the spell that went on to knock a few champions away accidentally. The witch tried again, this time sending a freezing spell, and it hit.

The statue froze, but before the witch could do anything more, its stones began to click and clank, moving so slightly that the ice that frosted its body began to quiver. Its motions picked up speed until the statue was able to shake off the spell, much to the amazement of the witch. It sent a spell that hit her, sending her down to the ground with a yelp.

The stone didn't wait. The instant her feet went unsteady, it attacked with a viciousness that Albus was shocked to recognize. The statue's face twisted into a merciless grin, drawing back one hand and murmuring with a husky breath the words of a spell. The spell, of course, was not an attack, at least not a physical one; when it was done chanting, a shroud of darkness covered the statue that, when the shroud left, had removed all statue-looking properties. In the stone's stead was a face of immaculate beauty and mesmerizing savagery. The crowds went wild, also realizing what evil spirit this statue was imitating--none other than the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort, or what imitation this was of him, calmly dusted the rock and stones from his new robes, and turned a face towards the crowds, pale face too familiar for anyone's comfort. The shield that was supposedly placed around the champions to prevent harm to the spectators was instantly forgotten as the Dark Lord took one step towards the crowds.

The girl, meanwhile, had recovered her shock and was back on her feet with a scream. Her wand, held in a shaky hand, sent a curse at the humanized stone, foreign voice lost on Albus' ears, but the reincarnated Voldemort shook the curse off, letting it slide from his shoulders like hot oil.

The other champions, many completing the task quickly and efficiently, turned and watched this last trail with horrified awe, and one of the champions rushed towards the girl, shouting something. She shook her head, but the boy moved towards her side.

Voldemort was examining his new challengers, taking a sick amusement and no caution from the fact that he was being double-teamed, for the boy now shot off curses at him in time with the girl, magically doubling her power. Like before, the Dark Lord shrugged the power off.

Albus leaned forward, old eyes taking in the scene, knowing that Tom Riddle was defeated but wondering how his spirit could've been brought back to possess stone statues. With a low chuckle, his brother elbowed his side and pointed towards the platform of ministers. "Serves them right," was the cynical comment as Aberforth laughed at the men who ran about like headless chickens. "That's what they get by trying to randomly apply tasks." He scoffed in utter content. "Fools, one and all."

"How did they do this?" Albus asked quietly, watching as finally one curse shocked Voldemort into attention. The humanized stone statue turned and faced the two champions and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them both flying back, hitting the ground painfully.

Aberforth shrugged, emotions under control again. "Magic."

The two teens were on their feet, ready to challenge the monster before them, when the other champions decided to help in as well. The other stone statues laid about the area, crushed into small pieces, a historian's worst nightmare. Voldemort began to move faster, seeing the many others descending on him, and stole a wand from one champion.

Curses were sent. Three of the champions went down fast. Voldemort hissed something, and from his wand came thick and angry black snakes that slithered forward eagerly. The students, momentarily upset at the reptilian appearance, drew back in shock before the girl sent a flame of fire to burn the snakes into oblivion.

The fire spiraled out of control, destroying the snakes but being unleashed with panicky power, it quickly caught onto grass and trees. Smoke was sent up to the sky, and Voldemort had disappeared. In his place was a pile of dust. The magical spell had worn off, leaving only cold stone that hissed before turning black. And Albus, as the champions wearily stood amidst the battlegrounds, could only wonder what his students were doing in France.

"You wondered, perhaps, what Tom's spirit was doing?" Aberforth calmly stated, setting Albus out of any thought for France. The Seer waved a neglect hand towards the battlefield. "He is waiting for any chance whatsoever to return to a body. Even for a few seconds. His spirit is drawn to every possibility." There was a warning in the look Aberforth gave him. "Every single possibility."

*

The world was dizzy with feverish activity. He felt slick sweat run down his face, soak his hair and body and skin--for a blind, panicky moment, he thought it was blood.

Sunlight glistened in the air, faintly red with the approaching sunset, and that light dye cast a shadow on everything in the room. Spilling through large windows, the light was as suspicious as a dark stain. Pristine carpets and rugs became sinister stitches of bloody evidence; the cool pale walls all but gleamed with the bloodied light. Other assorted furniture sets looked strangely mischievous under the dying sun's end.

He didn't remember falling asleep. Nor did he remember ever returning to Malfoy's apartment, which was what he recognized the room to be. Softly getting off of the couch he had been lounging on, Harry glided through the red sunbeams along the room, looking for someone. It was all too still. An eerie feeling pricked at the base of his skull.

He walked around half-undressed, in a sense, because someone had stripped him of his school robes. The theft left Harry feeling surprisingly light, as if freed from an unconscious weight. The idea was just silly, though, and he chided himself for it. Besides, no new freedom of movement could make up for a loss in defense. Somewhere in the folds of his vanished robe's pockets was his wand, and despite new pledges of friendship he didn't feel too secure walking through a Malfoy's residence unarmed.

A floor panel creaked but, turning, Harry only caught a split-second view of a surprised-then-gone house-elf. His heart started pounding even so.

'Relax,' he ordered himself, taking in a deep breath of air to control his heartbeat.

'Or don't,' his mind countered. 'After all, you are rather helpless.'

He grimaced at that truth.

Deciding that mental debates were for another time, Harry continued to look around. Memories from the night before unscrambled themselves, all with the potential to confuse him even more if he hadn't firmly made up his mind on the matter. He wasn't going to put up with being confused any longer.

Now he could remember everything and anything without batting an eye. He could, for instance, remember that this was the room where he first saw Lucius.

There were no windows here, unlike the room he's waken in, so sun the room had only milky white glow lights hovering near the ceiling instead of being bathed in the glory of a setting. The room was frighteningly cold, bare. Harry looked around curiously, but soon lost interest as all scenery became dull and trivial.

Carefully remembering, he backtracked, leaving the florescent room, until finally he reached an exit point with something near a smile on his face. The door had been white and was now stained a sickly orange color from one of the windows on the wall.

Just as he touched the knob, it turned under his fingers. For a moment, he was taken off guard, thinking that the door was magically opening itself at a touch. It swung open to reveal a simple explanation: Draco Malfoy, accompanied by a platoon of associates. The near-smile on Harry's face rinsed away as if the breeze of a swinging door was acidic to happiness.

Draco didn't look a bit surprised. If anything, the teen looked a mixture of boredom and cynical amusement. "Ah, Potter." Draco tipped his head magnanimously in acknowledgement. "I've just spoken with my father." Harry tensed slightly at that; the last thing he remembered was walking with the older Malfoy from the gardens and that was hours ago. Who knows what he'd told Draco in that time? "He told me you'd be here."

"Did he put me here?" Harry asked curiously, keeping his tone light. He leaned slightly against the doorway, eyes focused completely on Draco, and so he was slightly startled when his answer came from another source.

"Actually, yes," a girl just behind Draco answered.

Draco looked at her enquiringly. "Spying, Pansy?"

The girl smiled in the way all Slytherins smile: a corner of her lip raised up, and her eyes narrowed slightly, pupils switching searchingly from Draco to Harry as if digging in for a secret. "Why would I be?" she asked, her voice appallingly oily as she continued smiling at Draco. "I only happened to notice your father going up to his room--and imagine how surprised I was at seeing him dragging a Gryffindor up with him!" Her eyes widened in what might have been an attempt at innocence. "And remember, Draco, that I did come up and ask you immediately after."

Harry tried to swallow, only to realize that his throat was completely dried out. He wondered about the last time he had anything to drink, or eat for that matter, then ignored the thought. There were more important things to be thought about. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice a little dry.

"After dinner, if you're hungry," Pansy answered again, and this time Draco gave her a sharper look. She either didn't see it or didn't care. "Curfew's not too far off, and you're Gryffindor friends are looking for you. Is that who you're wondering about?"

The question sounded innocent enough, and Harry almost answered without thought, but then he noticed the way she stressed the word "friend." How she said it, the word came out as a half-slur, a half-insult, and how she was watching him with a strange intensity, was like a cat waiting to see if the mouse would come out and play. Pansy, he recalled abruptly, was the one who had challenged him in Potions not too long ago.

He looked at her for a moment, and found that he couldn't look away as her eyes locked on his. There was a flash of something--worry? relief? triumph? anger?-- in the Slytherin's eyes, here and gone again so fast Harry only had time to register its presence. The slip lasted only a second before all emotions were wiped from Pansy's face like unfortunate mistakes, replaced with false impressions that anyone else would expect to see: wide-eyed expressions of simplicity and shallowness.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and a cold shudder ran through his body that stood every hair on its end like a jolt of lightening. In that moment of bare contact, Pansy's emotions had been exposed and thrown at Harry like a heavy cloak of blackness, leaving him in no doubt as to what her opinions were.

Pansy smiled at him, and the smile looked more like a revealing of her teeth. "Well, Harry?" she asked, her voice dripping and her eyes impossibly wide.

He stared back at her moment, then blinked. "I was actually hungry," he answered neutrally, "not worrying about anyone." Then he looked away, breaking any empathy towards the little witch. He spared a moment to pity the man who underestimated her just because she was a woman; gender aside, she was a Slytherin to the bone.

Glancing back at Draco, Harry found that Slytherin looking back with a particular smirk, and he fought the urge to lash out. Draco had known that Pansy was toying with him, trying to get him to admit... something. Harry still wasn't sure if he had or not, only that there was something going on beyond him and it was beginning to become annoying.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone a little scratchier than he would have preferred but still understandable.

Draco gave him a little half-shrug. Absently, Draco pointed out to a few random students, naming them. "This is Zabini, Potter. And here's Goyle." The list went on to include five more students, but Harry had no intention on ever remembering their names again. He focused on Draco again, wondering what to say or if he had to say anything at that. There was something unspoken between them. Lucius had said something to his son, and now Draco was here to see how much of that was true.

Even though he didn't care about those others, they cared about him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see them watching him. From the way his skin crawled, he knew they were glaring. A Gryffindor in the midst of a Slytherin party? To them, this meeting must be something approaching sacrilege, and Harry wondered with a stab exactly where his robes where. It wouldn't do to be caught weaponless if one of those unnamed faces decided enough was enough and attacked.

These were Slytherins, and all as bad as Pansy showed herself to be. He had to remember that. Had to remember that some (if not all) were children of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters (and even though he was resuming conversations with one of them, it did not mean that he was going to forgive all of them). For all he knew, they were ordered here by their parents to spy on him in order to gain information on his brother-

But that could just be Sirius talking, Harry noted. He swallowed, wondering just how much influence the Auror had gained over the last five years.

Schooling his face to show even less emotion than the Slytherins, Harry asked them what they wanted. He knew the answer, but he didn't want them to know that. Casually and without giving any answer, Draco sauntered in, his peers coming in behind him, and the last one started to push Harry in order to shut the door.

Instinctively, Harry shoved back, sending the scrawny boy to the floor. Zabini, he remembered distractedly, the name rising up from Draco's information. "Don't touch me," Harry said aloud, his words soft but firm. Then he turned and shut the door himself, using the time to make sure the Slytherin hadn't used the physical contact to plant some spell or jinx.

The silence was deafening, but Harry pretended as if the incident wasn't awkward in the least when he faced Draco with a blank expression. "If you want anything from me, I suggest you answer my question or I'm leaving."

"Leave then," Pansy dared, her skin only the lightest of shades paler. "But you better be careful. McGonagall was looking for you." He couldn't tell whether she was angry or shocked, but either emotion was enough to put a Slytherin on the testy side.

Harry ignored her, keeping his eyes trained on Draco and waiting for that one's answer. Draco was obviously the leader of this little group; all answers would come from him.

"Get off the floor," Draco ordered harshly, sparing the fallen boy a disgusted look. Zabini stood, dusting himself off angrily and glaring at Harry, but when the boy's hand began to zip towards a pocket Draco again spoke. "I didn't give you permission to take out your wand, did I?"

"I don't need your permission," Zabini sneered, but his hand froze anyway. The teenager looked furious, and glanced at the others. "In fact, I don't need any of this. What's going on, Malfoy? Why are we talking with..." He didn't even say Harry's name. All he did was toss a glare in the Gryffindor's general direction.

Draco stared back coolly. "Shut up, Zabini," was the only answer before Draco looked away, obviously dismissing the boy. While Zabini sputtered, Draco turned to look at Harry with a disinterested look. "Why should I answer you?"

"Because I told you to," Harry shot back, his anger from earlier rising again. Didn't Draco understand? All he wanted was a straight answer from someone, a simple answer, something he could understand the first time and not trip over.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Draco said softly, "Is that so, Potter?" He took a half-step forward, coming directly under the path of one of the windows. Red sunlight, grown darker during the last few minutes, stained Draco's skin the same it stained everything, but there was something else added. Harry felt bile rising in his throat; from where Draco stood, it looked like he was covered in blood, like he was bleeding from a pulsing head wound that trailed down the rest of his body.

With that, Harry felt all the anger within him dissolve. He felt all his weariness return and wanted nothing more than to leave. Leo's image drifted into his mind, sending a power jolt of pain and longing through him. He didn't want this anymore.

Harry turned away, leaning again on the wall and closing his eyes. He sighed. "Forget it," he murmured. Then he opened the door and walked out, ignoring whatever it was Draco shouted at him, whatever Pansy said, whatever Zabini might have cursed him with. He walked outside, took a breath of fresh air, and continued walking. The shadows consumed him

It had been almost a full day since he last had anything to eat, which, to Harry at least, seemed a perfectly good reason to chance walking outside alone minutes before curfew. That of course had been before he saw a goodly number of Gryffindors, lead by the Transfiguration professor, heading his way. Had he noticed only a moment earlier, he would have been able to stay hidden in the shadows, but now he stood fully exposed on one of the glow-globes that lit up Beauxbatons' night campus.

Harry stopped under the clock tower's doorway, stomach growling as if his hunger beast knew food was only a few minutes to the getting, and he sighed knowing that if the group reached him he'd have to stand being hungry a while longer. He waited, unsure of whether he had enough time to get away before they caught him, but then straightened his shoulders and leaned against the building, blank-faced and ready for whatever they wanted to throw at him, hoping his stomach would stop growling.

His eyes, almost of their own will, sought out Hermione's face. He couldn't believe... what he'd said last night, how he acted. Now he watched her in semi-fascination, realizing that his body was tensing up as if waiting for her to explode, as if wanting to see her get upset again. Morbidly, he realized that deep inside he was disappointed by her clam expression. He'd wanted to hurt her last night, just a little, to make her back off, and there was nothing to show for it.

Hermione looked over from were her eyes had been watching McGonagall, and as close as she was Harry could see those eyes widen a fraction. The witch's calm rippled for a single moment then firmed again, but the time was long enough. Barely, Harry's lips tugged up in a satisfied whisper of a smile.

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall drew herself up, as if gathering all the ragged shred of respect Harry still held for her and creating a presence with which she might intimidate. Harry's eyes flickered away from an icy glaring-contest with Hermione to quickly measure his professor up.

'She's not recovered from last night,' Harry noted to himself with silent amusement. Seeing such a formidable lady at a loss for words had been humoring, almost as though he was getting avenged for everything she'd done to him so far and then some.

Indifferently, he let his eyes drift back to Hermione's face. If anything, this blatant disregard for such an esteemed professor upset Hermione more than anything. The teenage witch's lips tightened, her jaw almost audibly clicked together.

Idly, Harry realized that the Gryffindors had cornered him on all sides, even though they stayed a ways back. His staring-contest grown boring, Harry looked around at the classmen who had surrounded him, supplying names where he could and dismissing where he could not. In grand total there were about ten students, all fifth-year and up. Most were hanging back just at the edge of the light, likely only present for moral support as they whispered among themselves. Neville, and the twins stood closest to Ron, who stood closest to Hermione, who stood closest to McGonagall, who stopped an arm's length away from Harry's nose. He could almost feel McGonagall's anger radiating across the short gap that separated them, but continued to ignore her.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall tried again.

Harry didn't look towards her. His eyes had found Ron's. Without blinking, Harry stared at the student, mentally wondering what the other was thinking. The anger last night had been bewildering, and since then they hadn't spoken to each other at all. Since Ron and Hermione were involved, Harry assumed the witch had said something or other about the brief encounter outside the dormitory.

Ron blinked and took a half step back, surprised. He opened his mouth to say-

"Potter!"

Harry's face whipped around and though his expression was still faultlessly blank, he couldn't keep his voice from being a little frigid. "You're beginning to repeat yourself, if you didn't notice."

McGonagall's face flushed slightly in what was undoubtedly anger, but she kept whatever retort or punishment back and said, "Mr. Potter, I have been looking for you all day. Where were you? Where did you go last night? Didn't you learn anything-"

"You mean, did I leave school grounds?" Harry rephrased, his voice successfully neutral. "No, I did not. Though you might find it interesting to know that since I never knew those forests were forbidden, and since I had no prior experience with school rules, I am technically not guilty of breaking any rule." His eyes wandered to Hermione, wondering how she was going to react--wondering more about her forced calm than any anger McGonagall could call up. Would the reasoning make any sense to her?

He wanted to shake his head and narrow his eyes. 'Of course not,' he answered himself. 'To Hermione, rules are rules and there are no exceptions.' His voice was surprisingly bitter, leaving him to wonder why he really cared to begin with.

"I asked you where you were, Potter, not where you were not," McGonagall said, her voice a little icy.

Harry glanced at the professor, debating on how to answer the question, then decided that she really deserved all she had coming for her. He had done nothing to deserve either her respect or disrespect, yet she had been serving out the later in abundant sizes since the start of school.

Shrugging in a deliberately insolent fashion, Harry blandly replied, "On school grounds."

As McGonagall struggled quite visibly too keep cool a student stepped closer. The Head Boy, Harry identified, staring at the seventh-year. The older teen slowed down and then stopped, obviously uncomfortably, and Harry mercifully looked away, choosing to slouch further back on the stone wall behind him. His eyes, half-open and drifting shut, flowed to the ground.

It was dark. The sun had set hours ago, a spectacle he'd only caught by the drags of coloring through windows, and now the only lights were those glowing globes that hung over the doorways of Beauxbatons' buildings like suspended fairies.

"Are you going to give me an answer," McGonagall began, her face pale with rage, "or am I going to have to drag it out?"

There really was no need to get so angry, Harry thought, again amused at his professor's reaction. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes opening fractionally to barely glimpse McGonagall's expression. "If you need to know, I was with Draco Malfoy and his father. The governor wanted to speak with me."

That drew a list of responses. Harry had lowered his voice so only the closer students could hear, and the three (Ron, Hermione, and the Head Boy) acted identical: eyes widening, soft gasps of surprise, leaning back on their heels as if to escape something. Together they preformed like well-mastered puppets at the reference to the suspect Death Eater.

McGonagall's face froze in a comical expression, as if her features were waiting for her mind to process the latest bit of information. After a time, she drew in a shaky breath, swallowed, and with a strangled voice asked, "About what?"

"That," Harry answered emphatically, "is a private matter."

He felt a wave of dizziness, and the only reason he didn't tumble over was because he was leaning securely against the wall. His knees trembled slightly, a shudder echoed by his entire body. If felt like his stomach, tired of waiting for food, was ready to eat whatever it could find and now attacked his tired muscles. He felt tired. He felt irritable.

The Head Boy stepped forward again, a self-righteous expression on his face. "Now see here," he snapped. "There's no need to be rude."

'There's a perfect reason.' Harry swallowed the comment.

"All we came out here to do was offer you a chance to play on the team," the seventh-year continued. He shot a look at McGonagall, but no help was coming from her; face strangely gray, the deputy headmistress looked too deep in thought to have a strong grip on the present. The Head Boy jabbed a thumb towards Hermione. "Your friend told us how you didn't hear the news, so Auror Moody said it's be all right to let you on the team, 'specially with all the people who wanted you to fly in the first-"

Harry blinked and frowned. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, pushing up from the wall.

"Yesterday, Dumbledore announced that, to keep the underclassmen busy while seventh-years prepared for the Tournament, there'd be a Quidditch Tournament for the schools. We have until Friday to practice, and then it's on to the games. Normally, you'd be disqualified since you didn't show up to the tryouts yesterday, but Moody contacted Dumbledore, who said that if enough students agreed, you could be put in as Seeker, of one of the backup players at least."

"And?" Harry almost frantically glanced away to the other students. "Am I?"

The Head Boy nodded proudly. "Lot of your mates saw you flying before we left Hogwarts, and not all from Gryffindor either. Of course, there are some problems getting the Slytherins to agree to it. Right now, you're backup Seeker, but hopefully tomorrow when you give the school a demonstration-"

"It that it then?" Harry felt a chill run down his back. This whole matter felt too much like manipulation, like someone was trying to force him into doing something. "Do I even get a say in the matter?"

Ron's forehead scrunched up. "What do you mean, a say in the matter? What's left to be said!" He broke out into a sunny grin. "You made the team, Harry!"

Harry turned on his, backing up into the wall to keep the distance between them. The shadows drained the color from his face, but not from his words. "I had no bloody idea that any of this was going on! And now what? Now I get stuck playing some game? Have any of you even considered the fact that I might not want to?"

Looking decidedly confused, Ron stuttered, "N-not want to play? Are you daft!"

"Ron!" Hermione spoke for the first time, touching Ron's shoulder in a pleading manner.

"Why wouldn't you want to play?" the Head Boy asked, perplexed. "Even if it's just a game, there's the school's name on the line, and we need the best players. I know you haven't been at Hogwarts long, but now that you're a student you've got to feel some sort of pride."

Harry resolutely shook his head. "Of course not," he lied, his heart twinging as he remembered the feeling of homecoming Hogwarts seemed to give him, of peace. There was a sense of irrational indignity at the thought of someone insulting such a beautiful castle, but he refused to give in on those grounds alone. "I really don't care what anyone thinks about Hogwarts. Besides, Quidditch is only a game."

"A game that can show that we're the best!" Ron inserted vividly.

McGonagall straightened up, and motioned for the boys to hush as she stared at Harry. Quietly, she informed him, "Your godfather will be informed, Mr. Potter, of the Quidditch game planned here, and that you've been offered a position on our team." She paused dramatically, and Harry felt with a certainty that the witch had thought up some plan to catch him. "How badly, do you think, will Sirius feel knowing that you turned down that position? I think he'll be terribly disappointed and a little hurt. I'm sure he knows your skill at the game."

Harry stared at her for a moment, disbelief written across his face. "You... you think this will make Sirius proud?" he finally said, voice dull.

McGonagall smiled triumphantly, and nodded. "Of course," she answered loftily. "You know how obsessed he is with the game."

Harry's hands clenched into fists, shaking with rage. How dare they try to hit him with that! He hid a bitter smile. Too bad they didn't know that Harry didn't care-

"Not to mention your brother," the Head Boy added, having caught on to McGonagall's form of blackmail. "I hear Leonard's positively wild over the sport."

Harry froze and looked up, a trapped expression on his face. 'Leo...' Leo would be crushed.

"I..." His words caught in his throat, and he swallowed, having no idea what he could say. Finally, he closed his eyes and let his head drop against his chest, fists still clenched. "I'll play," he conceded in a defeated tone, then looked up, eyes wild with rage. "But don't expect me to be thankful," he nearly hissed before turned around and storming away, away from the dining hall and the clock tower and the spiteful Transfiguration professor.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him, and he held back from sending a curse her way.

He didn't stop when he passed the Hogwarts dormitories, though Ginny was outside, obviously waiting for someone, and tried to catch his attention. He didn't stop until he collapsed under a shaking fit just at the edge of the forest, knees too weak to hold him up anymore. Harry curled up, ignoring hungry stabs, and thought of his brother and then thought of nothing at all.

*

Quidditch practice took up everyone's attention (except for the seventh-years who were excusably practicing other things). With so many schools, the Quidditch fields were scheduled for practices practically every minute of daylight, and then some night sessions were snuck in by the truly obsessed.

Hogwarts was given a prime practice time: after lunch and before dinner every day of the week, the team gathered for their hour slot to practice when the sun, going down, provided just enough light to be a challenge. Two Slytherin Beaters (the twins were suitably upset that they couldn't play, and then suitably upset that they were being replaced by Slytherins), a Ravenclaw Keeper, two Hufflepuff and one Ravenclaw Chasers, and a Gryffindor Seeker. All the houses were being represented, and some students actually resented that fact. Some thought that the whole team should be composed of students entirely of one house.

Choosing a captain was a risky endeavor. Everyone wanted a different person to be captain, and no one could really agree. Finally, it came down to simply good tactics and the Ravenclaw Keeper was picked.

During the practices, everyone came down to watch. Even the seventh-years, who were scolded half-heartedly by professors, stopped their practicing to watch appreciatively the best flyers of the school work together for once. It made for less competition, but then again no one wanted any competition between the flyers until Saturday when they started playing against other teams. It wouldn't do for the Slytherins to purposely knock the Bludgers against their own teammate, no matter that the teammate was Gryffindor.

Even if they did try ("accidents happen," the Beaters explained after one close call, "and he needs the practice") nothing ever touched the Seeker.

And while the underclassmen practiced Quidditch, the seventh-years practiced spells and curses and whatnot, daily adding their names to a mysterious goblet of fire that patiently sat waiting in the dining hall. With every name that was burned, more excitement was added to the school until it felt like things would either come to a head or explode with the pure tension that held measure over Beaxbatons.

*

"Here's how it's going to be," the Keeper explained hurriedly. He glanced at his arm which was almost dripping from the many notes scribbled into flesh. "I just found out what they were hiding--turns out that there's going to be time limits on how long each game lasts."

The small group broke out into groans barely audible over the roar of the crowd waiting just outside the tent.

"Are you serious?" one Chaser asked, voice whiny.

"How are we supposed to play under a clock?"

"Be quiet and listen," the other Ravenclaw chastised, "otherwise we won't know!" She looked calmly at the Keeper. "You were saying?"

"Right." He nodded, but could hardly hide all the nervous energy in every jerky motion. The crowd's noise was getting to all of them, as well as the fact that Hogwarts was one of the schools about to start in the first round. If they won this game, then they could move on to play the second round, and then the third, up to the fifth. With forty-eight countries participating, the sheer number of games was mind-numbing. The fact that losing one game could cost everything was mind-wearing. And all the people watching were simply intimidating.

The Keeper glanced at the notes on his arm, though he'd probably memorized the information when he first heard it. "Time limit's set to be one hour. If the Snitch isn't caught by then, the team ahead in points wins. The Ministries have set up a dozen temporary fields so that half the teams get done with the first round in the first hour, and half the teams play the second."

He wiped at his forehead where a thin layer of sweat had gathered, and looked hard at his team. "This is going to be fast and rough," he advised, "and we have to play our best in each game. Otherwise, we'll lose.

"The first two hours will be round one, then we get an hours break, then every round continues after that with thirty minutes break between games."

"Meaning this will all be over by dinner?" a Beater inferred.

The Keeper nodded, then hesitated and added, "All the rounds except for the final one. That's saved until after dinner."

"Great," a Hufflepuff moaned. "We'll be throwing chunks by then."

A Ravenclaw looked sharply at him. "Who's to say we'll still be playing?" she asked calmly. "We might be out of the game by then."

"Thinking like that's only going to bring bad luck," a Slytherin informed her snidely.

The other Beater looked surprised. "You believe in luck?"

"Of course. Took a class on it in Hogwarts, remember? It might not be luck in the general term, exactly, but it's close enough for me."

"Sounds like you're talking about karma," a Hufflepuff joked.

"Enough!" the Keeper shouted. "Let's keep our minds on the game?"

He conjured up a board full of roaming crosses and noughts. "Here's the game plan," he explained, dragging through scenario after scenario, expanding on certain things he wanted to see happen and certain things that had better not happen. That last part was said with a warning look shot at the Beaters, who pretended not to notice.

A bell buzzed outside, and the Keeper vanished the board, looking out the tent flap. "Almost up," he murmured, softly as if to himself but the rest of the team had gone quiet enough to hear him. He glanced at them. "We start at nine, and there's nearly two minutes left."

"Well, don't start on the moral-boosting speech, already," a Chaser said with a grin. "We're really not in the mood to hear it."

The Keeper spread his arms out with a vague shrug. "What can I say?" he asked rhetorically. "This is going to be like nothing any of us have ever done before. We're going to go out and play against people who don't speak our language--so we can't swear at them--who don't practice our culture--so we won't know if they're swearing at us--and how probably want to beat us down with a passion. "

He ran a hand through his hair. "I say, let's beat them before they beat us. If we lose this match, we're out of the running--but you know that." He gave them all a confident look that was only slightly ruined by the quiver in his body. "We're the best Hogwarts has to offer. Now let's go out there and prove it!"

This time, the bell rang, and among the screams of the crowds the Hogwarts Quidditch team walked outside and into the sunlight. Some dozen voices were announcing, sounding like twisted echoes of each other, but one of the voices was eagerly introducing the team in English. On the other side of the field, another team walked out dressed in different shades of gray. The Hogwarts students had settled on merely black, since no one wanted any one house to be represented more so than the others. The teams walked towards each other to meet in the middle of the field, and when the referee made his comments no one could hear him over the noise.

The message got across, though, whether or not he was speaking English, and soon everyone was mounted on their brooms, watching the Snitch buzz by and waiting for the Quaffle to fly.

The referee looked at the two captains, lowered his hands for a moment, then threw high the Quaffle into the air. Somewhere, a low bang went off, a clock started ticking backwards, and the two teams soared into the sky.

*

"Come on, Ron, let's go look at the scoreboards," Hermione suggested a little hesitantly, not sure what to expect with their fight just barely over. Ron stood up obediently, but from the way his eyes tracked the ongoing game she was sure he didn't hear her. That, or didn't really comprehend her words. Amused, she tugged on his sleeve. "Are you listening?"

"'Course," he answered distractedly, then nearly leaped forward with a hoot as Hogwarts scored. Hermione winced, plugging her ears at the noise; the whole school was on their feet! Glancing around with a raised eyebrow, Hermione rather thought that she should have been used to it by now. The game was getting close to ending, and Hogwarts was in the lead by thirty points, heading the game one hundred twenty to ninety. With twenty minutes left, and with the offence and defense still going strong, the only way the other school could win was by catching the Snitch.

Her eyes flew up to the lone player whose broom floated above everything else by a good distance, and she swallowed, throat going dry. 'Harry...'

"Did you see that, Hermione?" Ron asked excitedly, face wide with cheer. It looked like he was practically shaking. "We've bagged this round!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, shedding her gloom, and gently patted Ron's shoulder. "Calm down, Ron, you're going to have a heart attack."

"Bet they'll think twice about Hogwarts after this," he declared viciously, completely focused on the game.

"I'm sure they will," she agreed sarcastically, grinning. His happiness was infectious. Ron didn't even hear her as he sat back down, eyes wildly zooming from side to side as they followed the Quaffle.

Hermione looked around, ready to sit back down and just wait another ten minutes, but she was getting restless and needed to move around. Ginny, sitting a few seats down, noticed and stood up. "Going somewhere, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head with a rueful smile, poking a finger towards Ron. "Not anytime soon," she explained. "Ron's too caught up in the game to even be thirsty."

Ginny grinned. "He's a boy. They're all like that. Come on, I'm thirsty even if Ron's not."

The two girls carefully threaded their way through the crowd, nearly tripping down the flights of stairs down the stadium, and ended up walking towards the confections stand giggling with laughter.

"I would not have tripped!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly as they got in line.

Ginny gave her a light shove. "Of course you would have," the witch declared wisely. "And you were about to take that whole group of first-years with you if I hadn't caught you." Hermione persistently shook her head, but another voice answered.

"Clumsy as ever, mudblood?" The two slowly turned to see Malfoy waiting behind them, looking impatient as ever. He nodded towards the line before them. "If you're not here to get anything, why don't you get out of the way of people who have money?"

Ginny sniffed, purposely pulling from her pockets a clinking purse, and looked away to move up and order. Hermione did the same, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes and wondering about him. When she began to leave with her drink, she bit her cheek and determinedly moved towards the boy. "Thank you," she uttered, "for helping me look for Harry a while back."

Malfoy looked slightly surprised, and he shrugged. "I wasn't helping you," he answered coldly. "And as I remember, you weren't any help at all."

Hermione flushed. "At least I knew where to look in the first place," she bit back savagely, "and at least I found out where he went. That's more than you knew before you tagged along with me."

"Please, Granger, if you think I wouldn't have found out on my own..." The Slytherin turned away to order, completely tuning her out.

Hermione snorted, irritated, and left to catch up with Ginny. The girl was confused about her sudden absence, but Hermione waved off any concerns and they made it back to the stands in time to hear everyone groan when a score was made against Hogwarts. Hermione quickly checked the clock: only a few minutes left to go. That latest goal had been offset by another Hogwarts point, and the score still stood with Hogwarts leading by thirty.

Suddenly, the lone figure floating above everyone else dove, so fast that for a moment Hermione was sure he'd fallen off his broom. She jumped up. "HARRY!"

Harry didn't stop. His broom only gathered speed as he completed his free-fall all the way to the ground. Players beneath him flew out of the way, staring in bewilderment in his wake until the opposing Beaters got the urge to swing a Bludger his way. Still falling, he was simply too fast for the devil-ball to catch up with.

Almost at the last second, Harry pulled up, going horizontal. The Bludger, speeding behind him, had no such grace and sped into the ground like a meteor, tearing open a gaping wound on the Quidditch field. A few seconds after it disappeared beneath the earth, it burrowed up another way like a departing mole, leaving two holes like eyes in the grass as it tore up after Harry.

The other Seeker picked up his trail as well, zooming in to follow as closely as she dared, but not even she could catch up. Harry sped off, flying from one end of the field to the other and it wasn't until it completed his circuit that everyone realized what he held in his hand.

The Snitch. Hermione whipped her eyes over to the clock: thirty seconds left in the game. When the school joined up to cheer, she screamed louder than Ron.

*

He ate dinner off to the side, partly mixed with other schools and partly by himself, but totally cut off from his team. They were beginning to get annoying, arrogant. Four victories, all times catching the Snitch, had put Hogwarts in the top of the scoreboard for total games.

A glance towards the clock tower showed that he had only some little time left before the next game, and he still was tired.

There was a bit of movement that caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes, and he turned to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny walking around, talking together but eyes roving everywhere. Quietly, he packed up his things and walked away, moving slowly but determinedly. He would have to find somewhere else to rest.

Hogwarts's student population had scattered about during that last game before dinner. Their team had already won, the Seeker having swooped down in his customary chase that he was now known for only twenty minutes into the game, catching the Snitch before any points had even been scored. The Keeper had confided that this had been the strategy; informers had told the team that the opposing school was merciless, and Hogwarts's only chance was catching the Snitch as early as possible.

Now that it was dinner, there seemed to be some unspoken agreement that all students eat together in the gardens, and when Harry had been dragged in he'd nearly been suffocated. Now that he'd escaped, he had no plans on being pulled into that maelstrom again.

The clock tower exploded in noise, particularly loud since Harry was climbing up its winding steps. He paused, covering his ears until the bell-ringing stopped, shook his head to get the noise out of his ears, and continued up to where the students' owls all perched peacefully. A quick look around showed him everything he wanted to know. Hedwig was still missing. He'd only sent an owl that morning and didn't expect the owl to be back, but there was always room for hope.

Harry sighed and slid his back against the stone wall, leaning forward to drop his head against his knees, eyes lightly closed. 'Leo, what's wrong?' Since the start of school, he'd not received one answer. It was beginning to wear on his mind, all the possibilities of what might have happened. Leo had been hurt, Leo had been hospitalized, Leo had been kidnapped...Leo honestly didn't care about him whatsoever and really didn't want to keep up any form of communication.

That last possibility was like a punch in the gut, dull now that he'd halfway accepted it as truth. That was probably why Leo was so happy to see him off: the little boy was tired of such an overbearing big brother.

Harry leaned his head against the wall, staring up at the owls who all blinked back at him, unnerving him.

When fifteen minutes passed, Harry reluctantly stood and made his way back downstairs, head pounding with weariness. It was almost time for the last game to start, and it felt like all the blood had rushed to his head.

His maneuvered through the crowds of students bustling to get the best seats, and looked for the field where Hogwarts would next have the game. On the way, he saw a few of his teammates heading off in another direction and followed to a black tent with the Hogwarts sigil emblazoned across the front flaps. Entering, he was the last one to come.

"Everyone here?" the Keeper asked, nearly bouncing across the room. Everyone was, and all with bright gins on their faces. Even the Slytherins were being friendly, though that might have been because of the adrenaline rush. "No one feeling ready to choke up, I hope?"

"No," a Chaser answered cheerfully, patting his stomach. "I made sure not to eat too much."

"And if we did, couldn't we use it to our advantage?" another Chaser added.

The Keeper smiled. "Why not? It's not like we're going to lose!" The team all made encouraging sounds, clapping him on. "Look at us! This is the final match. I've, er, taken an opportunity to look around and all the other teams are wimping out. Our competitors are tired. Are we?"

"NO!"

"Are we tired? Are we ready to give up? Are we scared by the other team?"

"NO!"

A bell rang, and the Keeper threw his arm towards the tent flap like a commander pointing the way out to his troops. "Then let's go out there and win once and for all!"

Harry trailed them out silently, swallowing at seeing all the fans gathered around for this final match. Hogwarts versus... versus some school that no one thought fit enough to name and no one thought fit enough to worry about. He slowly joined his team out on the field, mounting his broom on the signal and hoping it wasn't wavering. No one seemed to notice. The Quaffle was thrown, the Chasers went off, and the Bludgers were being herded by vicious Beaters, but Harry stayed floating near the ground.

All day, he'd gone as far up as he could, forcing the limits of his broom, and now he was shivering from the effort. The other Seeker was watching him suspiciously, zooming around the field at a slightly higher altitude but obviously thinking that he was up to something.

Harry caught the look on the Hogwarts's Keeper's face, and reluctantly started to rise into the air. From higher up, he could view everything and keep an eye out from the Snitch. It was just so cold up there.

The sun had begun going down, throwing its remaining light hazardously in the air. Someone scored a goal. Someone was hit by the Bludger. Someone was shouting his name.

At that, Harry looked around in surprise. He's risen higher than before, so high that it was getting difficult to breathe, and everything below him looked odd. His eyes blurred up.

Harry forced slumped shoulders to straighten up and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Far below, another goal was scored.

He lost interest in keeping his back straight and leaned forward, almost lying down on his broom as he watched the game play out below him. It was easier that way, being a spectator instead of playing.

A buzzing sound filled his ears like an annoying bee, and Harry swatted his hand absently towards the source of the noise. Fingers touched something soft, jerking him to attention in the realization that the Snitch floated beside him.

"I always wondered where you went during the game," he murmured to the flying gold ball. It dipped a little, almost in response to his words, then resumed floating beside him. Harry looked around, and though he couldn't make out the time, he was sure that ending the game now would be a waste of it. Idly, he leaned back on his broom, watching the Snitch buzz around.

As he wasn't chasing it, the ball seemed perfectly content to drift besides him, occasionally breaking out into odd patterns in the air and occasionally freezing completely except for the flutter of its wings. Harry pushed the hair out of his eyes to watch it, amazed at the speed of the little thing. The only time he ever saw the Snitch during games was in the chasing. Outside of Quidditch, the ball was locked carefully aware to make sure it didn't escape. He never just watched it.

Experimentally, Harry reached out and captured it between his two hands, holding it like a firefly. Its wings hummed against his fingers, ticklish, and he let it go. The Snitch buzzed around him in a circle, and he snorted, reaching out to catch it again. Release, and catch. Release, and catch.

Another goal was scored below, bringing him back to the reality of his situation, and he noticed that the sun was now almost completely gone, taking with it the bright sunbeams. Soon enough, the game would be over.

*

"What in blazes is Potter doing?" someone demanded beside Ginny. "We're losing the whole bloody game."

"It's not like Harry controls the game," she retorted, frowning. "You can stop blaming him at any time."

"What is he doing?" Hermione murmured, looking high into the dimming sky. "He's been up there the whole game."

"Waiting to catch the Snitch, of course," Ron answered informatively. "That's his job right now. Mind you, when he catches sight of the Snitch, he'll be moving 'round quick enough."

"We've all watched the games earlier," Ginny pointed out sulkily, "and we all know what's going to happen. You don't have to act like we're blind."

*

The Snitch might have realized that Harry was now heading to catch it without intent of releasing it, but as it began to dive away Harry's fingers snatched it out of the air. He held his hand closed tightly but without squeezing the ball's tiny wings as he dove through the air.

Players beneath him scattered, and the other Seeker took after him, thinking he'd seen the Snitch. It was the perfect opportunity, and Harry, instead of stopping to show he'd already caught the ball, continued to dive in his trademark move.

As he neared the ground, a spark of gold caught his attention. It was just flittering through the air on the side of his free hand. Automatically, his free hand jerked out to snatch it from the air, and he continued falling, leveling out before hitting the ground. The other Seeker saw the movement as did all the spectators, and the crowds busted into roaring noise.

Harry opened one hand to see what he'd caught on the way down, and nearly fell back in surprise as the Snitch flew out of his hands, wings elegantly folding up around its sphere shape and settling down into the palm of his hands for the referee to see and verify. There was still a humming drum against his fingers in his other hand, but Harry kept it closed, suspicious about what he'd caught while floating high above the field.

The time on the clock read ten minutes left in the game, with Gryffindor behind by eighty points--at least, until Harry caught the Snitch. The numbers changed like falling sand, giving Hogwarts a short lead but meaningful victory.

Before he could become crowded, Harry hurried over to the tent, beating the masses of bodies heading his way, and skipped through the other side of the tent to find some privacy.

Cautiously, he opened his free hand. A small bird, body shaped exactly like the Snitch, looked up at him with red, jewel-like eyes. The Snidget ruffled its golden feathers indignantly, chirped out some birdish call, and flew up in a huff.

*

By the time the game ended, most of the students were groaning. Only ten minutes to catch up, to make up for an eighty-point lead? Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. And what was that bloody Potter boy doing? Looking for a nosebleed? But now... now everyone was wondering where he was going, but hardly giving much care to the matter. The game was won, the day was over, and the party was going to start.

Draco lounged back in his chair as the area around him exploded in noise, keeping his eyes focused on the teenager who dropped out of the sky like a crashing ball. When Potter took off, Draco mentally noted to himself that once everyone returned to Hogwarts, Potter would have to be cornered and taught not to run off so easily.

He stood, languidly stretching sleepy muscles, then glanced meaningfully at his companions. Pansy looked up at him appeasingly, but he wasn't in the mood to be pampered. He wanted to make sure Potter wasn't going to avoid him like he had been avoiding the rest of the school. Not too many people noticed, but Draco noticed everything.

"Let's go," he ordered sharply, and the few people with him stood, gazing longingly towards the field where a party was starting but knowing better than to disobey a direct order.

Zabini, who'd been sulking all week, fell in line beside Draco and was looking suspiciously pleased. The sneer on the boy's face couldn't mean anything good, but Draco wasn't in the mood to be malicious. Let Zabini keep plans to himself for once, and let Draco keep plans to himself as usual.

Of all the Slytherins unhappy with Draco's decision to begin consorting with Potter, Zabini was the worst but even Zabini was firmly under Draco's control.

His group was small, all the more so for easy sneaking around the school. Zabini and Pansy followed loyally, Crabbe and Goyle stupidly. Occasionally, Tracey Davis or Malcolm Baddock tried to come along, but rarely was anyone else of high enough status to join him on his sneakings.

Draco ducked into the tent and immediately backed off with a curse as something small and yellow flew into his face, chirping before flying off. He swatted at the air, glaring around to try and see what had attacked him, but nothing came into view. "What was that?" he demanded of the four following him. "Did anyone see it?" They all shook their heads dully.

Draco frowned with annoyance, and causally waved his hand at them. "You all wait here. I've got to talk with Potter." Zabini's mouth tightened, but Draco didn't care. He opened the tent flap again and walked in.

Draco had imagined that Potter would be, well, collapsed somewhere. The rest of the team had had a good refuel of Pepper-Up Potion after dinner, but Potter had vanished and an all-day workout of Quidditch wasn't exactly easy to get through. But as Draco looked around, he found the tent empty of all personas. The only evidence that Potter had even come through here--as Draco knew he had--was a slight ruffling of the tent's far wall.

Draco stalked to the cloth wall, nearly ripping up the tent's supports as he pulled the material up and walked beneath. The crowds were a dulled background noise, a distraction great enough that Draco nearly missed seeing footprints leading away from the tent. Frowning again, he followed the faint trail, squinting to get moonlight for assistance.

The prints led right up to a trodden path, but by then Draco had caught sight of Potter and didn't need to follow vague trails. The boy was turning up towards the clock tower. Jaw set, Draco followed, having no idea really what he wanted to say to the boy if anything was necessary to say at all.

"Potter," he called out, stopping the teen before he went into the tower. Potter looked surprised, but that emotion disappeared from his face soon enough. Taking his time, Draco walked up to the boy. "Decide not to join the rest of us?" he asked, voice drawling. "They'll be missing you soon enough."

"I doubt it," Potter answered firmly, "and if they do, I don't care."

"They'll be announcing the school champions tonight," Draco reminded, suddenly remembering that fact himself. He looked towards the Quidditch field. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"No."

Draco raised an eyebrow, and found what he wanted to say: nothing at all. This boy was still too much of a mystery to either matter or not matter. Despite the fact that his father had all but forced Potter to spend the week sleeping in the governors' apartments, despite the fact that his father had gave up revelation after revelation about Potter, and despite the fact that Draco had been closely observing the boy for some time now, there were still no definite statements Draco could say. He shrugged, then, and turned away. "I'm sure you'll find out sooner or later."

As he started to go, Potter cleared his throat. Looking back, the teenager looked visibly uneasy.

"Draco," Potter began, hesitantly, "is there any way that your father... could get some information for me?"

Now this was interesting. Draco paused and made a show of considering. "What kind of information?"

"About my brother. I haven't heard from him."

"You want me to ask my father about your brother?" Draco repeated incredulously. He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know what people will think if my father begins asking about Leonard Potter?" He let that stew for a moment, then added, "He could, but it will cost you."

Potter closed his eyes. The clock tower's light bleached the color from him until he looked more ghostlike than alive, but when he opened his eyes again Draco was startled to realize that Potter's green eyes weren't the least bit affected. They were still brilliantly colored, almost defiantly so. "What will it cost?"

"You tell me," Draco shot out quickly. "Tell me anything I want to know." The plan had formulated itself on the spot, an instant shining of genius, and from the expression on Potter's face there were a lot of secrets to be had. "If you agree to answer my questions, then I'll have my father find out anything that's happened to your brother since you left. You'll know about every interview, every haircut, or even every time someone tried to sneak onto your property."

There was a faint scar on Potter's forehead as the boy resignedly dropped his chin down, upsetting his messy hair. It looked something like a lightening bolt, but Draco had hardly anytime to really see it. His mind mentioned something about an article stating that Harry Potter did have a scar, but it came from some unimportant curse likely suffered the night his parents die. That article had only mentioned that fact to point out the differences between the two brothers: where one suffered hideous scarring from magical weakness, the other came through that night without a bruise to his name.

Potter stared at him as if dissecting every aspect of the agreement, but finally nodded faintly. "Agreed," he murmured, "with one exception."

"I don't do exceptions," Draco shot back.

Green eyes narrowing, Potter ignored that last statement to continue, "I will answer anything you ask, and I'll be honest about it, if you give me one time to avoid one question--and by avoid, I mean I won't have to answer any question that you try to sneak on the subject."

Potter didn't even wait to see if he agreed to this. The teen merely started walking away, with whatever purpose he had in going to the tower in the first place nullified. Draco suspected, more than suspected, that Potter was worrying about his brother.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, more an experiment to see if Potter would really hold true to his word.

Pausing, the Gryffindor considered this. "Away from here," he finally answered.

Draco frowned, pacing to catch up with Potter. "That's not an answer."

"It sounded like one to me."

"You agreed-"

"I answered your question," Potter interrupted. He motioned towards the clock tower. "I'm going away from the clock tower, which is the truth." He half-shrugged. "If you want another answer, ask better questions."

He started walking again, leaving Draco seriously irritated. True, the bargain said nothing about specific answers, but... "Where exactly are you going?" he tried again, keeping his voice from broadcasting his anger.

"I really have no idea," came the answer. Just as Draco narrowed his eyes, the teen added, "But I was thinking that I could spend my last night in France off school grounds."

"Going into the forest again, are you?"

Potter nodded.

Draco thought about this for a moment, then mentally shrugged to himself. Go with Potter, get some answers where no one else will hear. He had no doubt that the group he left waiting outside the tent was looking for him without showing themselves. They'd never think about going into the forest.

"I'm going with you, then."

The Gryffindor nodded again, almost expectantly, and looked around. "I'm going to do something, so they can't track us down in case they realize we're missing."

Draco listened up, interested. "And that is?"

Potter's eyes glittered with something vaguely resembling amusement, the first hint of emotion Draco had seen all evening. "I'd answer you, but a demonstration would be much better."

He'd settle for that, and then drag the full answer out once they were gone. Eyes drifting up to the moon, Draco muttered, "I hope you have something against dark creatures." He didn't need to look at the Gryffindor to see the boy nod again.

*

"Headmasters," the French Minister, who was currently Master of Ceremonies, nodded to the group of wizards and witches all sitting at a special table, "I want to thank you for participating here today, for allowing international relationships to prosper. The Goblet needs only a few more moments."

His words sparkled off tense and nervous energy through the crowds gathered on the Quidditch field, all staring excitedly at the golden chalice. The party had drowned out now that it was nearly midnight, but no one was tired. If anything, everyone was feeling more alive than they had all week. The Quidditch Tournament had rocketed emotions and expectations until it had reached this point: the choosing of the champions.

The goblet, the only source of light now as the sun fully faded hours ago and the thousands of candles lit for the party were hissed out, seemed to hum with power, its blue-white flames licking the air, tasting it and acquiring a fondness for whatever it devoured. As the Minister motioned towards it, the flames turned a sudden red, almost violent compared to the peaceful blue hues before. Its charged flames now spread, reaching higher into the air. For a moment, it seemed that a full-out fire would soon emerge, claiming them all for its victims.

But instead the fires spat out a singed piece of paper before shrinking back to its peaceful blue, as though the parchment had so enraged it.

The Minister reached out a hand and caught the paper, holding it up and scanning it with a tight smile. He looked up and held the paper out. "The champion for the school of Albania is... Sonila-"

"-for France is... Pierre-"

"-Poland is... Tara-"

"-champion for the Ukraine is... Rita Kranstine"

The cheering reached new heights as the Ukrainians jumped up, some cheering, some crying, some holding others back from going out and socking the chosen girl as she smiled and waved. She followed the champions before her onto a platform to be seen by all the students, whether with awe or envy.

The fire died down, turning blue and looking like it was visible struggling to reject the last piece of parchment. Its last few flames were going out and a horrified Lee had voiced the question everyone feared: What if it went out before it got to Hogwarts? But, as the fire struggled, it looked like it just might make it.

Just maybe. Just perhaps. But, just as some extra luck, the Hogwarts students all began to wish their magic into the flame, hoping that their good thoughts would give it the strength to give out one last piece of paper, one last champion.

Another flame went out and now, only a single bit of blue fire yet burned, and from what the stars gave to light the area, it looked like everyone else was anxious to see if Hogwarts would even get a champion this year. Some schools looked as horrified as Hogwarts did, horrified that they might not get the chance to compete against the so-called best school in the world, the school that had already won the Quidditch games. Others looked relieved for that same reason, while others gloated, thinking that perhaps no one was strong enough this year to compete against them, that their school was ultimately better than Hogwarts with all its comfy traditions.

But then... just when they were afraid/eager to see the last flame go out, it turned a pitiful red and spat out the last of the parchments, dying before the minister could see the words on the paper.

The Minister chuckled. "No matter," he said to the darkened Quidditch field, snapping his fingers again and a thousand floating candles relit themselves. There was some nervous laughter and the Minister looked down.

Whatever eagerness or anxiety the Hogwarts students felt at getting their champion, it doubled as the Minister paled and his eyes widened. He swallowed, blinked, and read again but didn't get the desired results for he paled even greater, all blood rushed from his face. He looked up and called out in French to someone. That someone came up and, in front of the whole school, read the parchment and paled just as the minister had done. They began to argue, the other man gesturing angrily to the paper while the Minister pleaded. There was a scramble to the French translators, or to anyone who spoke French, but the argument was too soft to be heard and everyone waited in suspense.

"Don't keep us all waiting," Minister Fudge smiled nervously from his spot and the other Ministers sent out similar comments. "I for one would like to know who my country's champion will be." The governors sitting at a table not too far away looked similarly interested. Lucius Malfoy looked anticipative.

"C'est impossible," the French Minister muttered to himself, loud enough to be heard. His advisor nodded in agreement but whispered something then left, going back to his seat. He cleared his throat and looked to the table the Hogwarts students sat at, scanning their ranks but not seeing what he looked for because his face fell. "Z-ze champion for 'ogwarts iz... iz..." he croaked, voice heavily accented.

"...'arry Potter."

*

"Well, I knew the boy would do something," Minerva sniffed, wrapping her hands around the cup of tea as she looked out into the night sky. "I knew he was bound to cause trouble. I go out of my way to let him on the team, and now this!" She motioned to the group of Ministers, all arguing with spit and insults flying. "I warned Alastor, warned him that first time Potter disappeared that he wasn't to be trusted."

At her side, Severus raised an eyebrow. "Warned him?" he murmured softly, stirring his own cup of tea. "What exactly is it about the boy that you find so threatening?" His students had passed on rumors that Potter had had some sort of confrontation, but Severus doubted a teenage boy could come up with something more than Minerva could handle. Much as he hated to admit it, the grown witch was quite successful about keeping in control of things.

It was late now, with absolutely no sign of the boy everyone was searching for. Severus carefully watched the arguing Ministers. Three had threatened to withdraw, claiming Hogwarts must have cheated to allow a minor to participate. He didn't know why they were bothering, really; had it been him in the situation, he'd be ecstatic at such an advantage. Seventeen-year-olds with seven years of education (or more, depending on the school) facing off against a fifteen-year-old whose only claim to fame was a powerful younger brother. The odds didn't match up, and were falling heavily against Potter.

But he wasn't in that situation. As it were, he was still trying to figure out how Potter had done it. He hadn't even known Potter had wanted to be at Hogwarts, much less become a champion for it.

She looked at him as if wondering why he had to ask. "Really, Severus," she chided, "what else can you expect from a boy who's been living with Sirius Black of all people? Or a boy who cuts the first four years of his education? Or someone who's already proven he holds no respect for anyone?!"

"Oh really? Do you fear the same from Leonard Potter?" he asked, keeping the amusement out of his voice. "He, after all, is also being raised by Sirius Back."

'A respect issue, was it?' he mused to himself, watching the witch. 'Minerva, you're letting something go to your head.'

Minerva started, then stuttered, "Of-of course not." She paused to reflect on the issue. "Leonard Potter won't be stunted in the way Harry has. Sirius Black is under complete Ministry observation, and won't be able to do as he pleases with the world's savior. Besides, Leonard won't have to go through the same things Harry must have had to, living with James and Lily..."

"You seem to have this on good authority." He leaned back in his chair, focusing all his attention on the professor beside him in sudden interest. "I had it believed that the Ministry didn't allow anyone near the Black residence without prior approval." His eyes narrowed the slightest. "And I know that lately they haven't allowed anyone outside the Ministry near the boy."

"What are you getting at, Severus?" Minerva asked in mocking ignorance.

Severus' eyes widened. "Minerva, are you saying that there is someone trespassing on the boy's grounds?"

She smiled lightly, greatly amused herself at knowing something that the former spy didn't, and then looked up in surprise, her eyes focusing on someone behind Severus. "Oh, hello Alastor. I didn't realize you were up." She motioned to her own cup of steaming tea. "Would you like some tea?"

"No," the professor replied gruffly, knocking on the small carton of juice he carried on his hip. "I only drink what I brew."

She flushed the slightest. "Ah, that's right. I'd forgotten."

Alastor took a seat, magical eyes swirling to lock on the arguing ministers, and he let out a deep chuckle. "Still fighting, then? Like cats over spilled milk--they can't figure out if they should be happy or mad."

Severus nodded slowly, letting his own eye drift to the scene again as he decided to question Minerva later about her spy on the Potter boy. "What do you think?" he asked to craggy professor. "What did Potter do to get across the age line?"

Alastor turned to look at him, though his magical eye stayed hung on the ministers, and Severus fought the urge to shudder at the brief look his eyes held. It happened every time: the professor would look at him with the faintest disgust, the faintest hate, then his expression would fade away. It was to be expected, of course. Alastor had been the best Auror the Ministry had ever had, and Aurors never trusted former Death Eaters--even ones turned spy. "It's obvious, and I've said it before" the Auror announced, the many scars on his face standing out in the bad evening light. " Someone's trying to kill the boy."

"Why?" Minerva was the first to react to the blunt statement. Alastor had been sprouting the same outrageous statement the entire night as Aurors searched high and low for the missing boy, and she was completely put off. What a suggestion! Her eyebrows drawn, she asked again, "Why would someone want to kill Potter? You've already said the tasks were difficult, a perfect opportunity... but why would anyone want to harm a student?"

Alastor shrugged, but then replied, "To get to his brother, I think. What better way to get at the Boy Who Lived than going after his brother?"

It did make sense, Severus had to admit to himself in the silence that followed, made sense in a twisted way. But then again, he thought as his lips turned up in a dark grin, twisted ways are the ways of the Death Eater. He allowed himself a last swallow of tea then stood, pushing the cup away.

"Where do you think he is now, Potter I mean?" Minerva asked. "You don't suppose he's gone back into the forest."

And tonight was a full moon, to add to it. With werewolves screaming in the distance and Albus gone, no one could get the Aurors to search through those dark woods.

"Probably somewhere no one can find him," came the cryptic reply. "I heard how he was brought up, always knowing somewhere to run to when it was time to run." The scarred teacher grunted in what could be a laugh. "The question is, then, what was he running from?" But the tone of his voice, to Severus at least, made the question sound already answered. Alastor knew something, that much Severus was sure of.

"Are you saying that Potter disappearing is, in fact, a good thing?" Snape asked, carefully voicing the question.

The Auror shrugged. "Probably picked up the scent of someone following him, and took off."

Snape said his "good evening"s and headed off, carefully keeping one last bit of information to himself. Potter was missing, and so was Draco Malfoy. He didn't think it was a coincidence. Nor did he think it coincidental that Potter's owl couldn't find him. The Aurors had dispatched the creature after it flew back in not an hour ago, but the owl failed just as all magical tracers on Potter failed. Something was keeping the boy from being found, and Severus didn't want to spend too much time dwelling on it.

He was having trouble enough trying to figure out why Lucius Malfoy was completely unconcerned that his only son was missing.

*

They came back the following morning at different times, each agreeing that it'd be less suspicious that way. Harry didn't think that anyone noticed they were missing, but admitted that it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Draco just wanted to be cautious, and so he went in first.

Of course, that all went sky-high at the fuss everyone kicked up when Harry walked in fifteen minutes later. He could do nothing in the face of the celebration that followed the discovery of the missing champion--in fact, he hardly understood what was going on, not until he finally realized what they were shouting. Students cheered him on, patting his back, throwing questions in his face, and dragged him over to a seat where, slowly, the noise died down as everyone else not immediately next to him lost interest. He felt like being sick.

Ron and Hermione, seeing him enter the room, where the quickest to get him to a seat. How they thought they were now his friends was beyond Harry. He stayed silent, examining his hands, waiting for some way of escape to show itself. He couldn't just get up and leave. From the looks of the Aurors waiting by the door, and from the professors glaring down at him a few seats away, and attempt at escape would only land him in deeper water. The only reason they didn't nab him now was because it would be too public.

"It's true, Harry." Hermione picked at her breakfast as the situation calmed, casting side-glances towards Harry, who had gone very white under his tan.

Ron, on his other side, jostled the table as he excitedly repeated Hermione's confirmation. "You should've been there, mate. When they called out your name and everyone realized you were gone... You really know how to make history, don't you?" Ron took a bite of sausage and added, "They'll probably say your little brother had something to do with all this, like he's powering you up or something."

When he speared another sausage, Ron had no idea of knowing that his prediction was true; even as he spoke the words, reporters were clamoring at Sirius' door, asking whether Leo had anything to do with his brother's fortune and demanding answers.

"That's not possible," Hermione countered loftily. "I've read that only an extremely powerful wizard could... well, maybe it's possible for Leo," she conceded as the words from her mouth reached her ears. "He is supposed to be very powerful."

Ron raised an eyebrow as though to say, 'Naw, really?'

Harry looked back down to the plate of food someone had stuffed in front of his face, and his stomach rolled in revulsion, daring him to eat something. Losing even more color, he pushed the plate away.

"What's the problem, Potter?" The drawl came from several seats down where Draco was studying Harry with a blank expression. "Not hungry? Or do you just dislike the food?"

"Ignore him," Hermione advised Harry, though only Ron was affected by the taunt. "After all, he'll be gone by the end of the day."

"The end of the--blimey, I forgot all about that." Ron chewed his food thoughtfully. "We all get shipped back to Hogwarts. Unless you want to invite us to stay, of course." His voice was disinterested, but his eyes were practically begging Harry. "You'll have a bloody good time without that Malfoy git hanging around."

"I don't understand it, really," Hermione admitted after a moment. "He's always been nasty to everyone, making fun of anyone he thinks is lower than him and always flaunting his wealth, but he's gotten much worse."

"Probably you, Harry," Ron observed, sneaking a glance over to the Slytherin. "I mean, everyone knows his dad's a Death Eater-"

"Ron!" Hermione's face paled and she glanced at Draco as if scared he might have heard. "You know that's just a rumor."

Ron shook his head. "No, it's true. My dad told me so, and he works with the Ministry. So Malfoy's angry 'cause your brother killed... well, you know who he killed." Ron glanced back over to the Slytherin and Draco, as if hearing the conversation, slowly turned to stare back at Ron. Ron flushed and ducked his head.

The look on Draco's face was understandable enough for Harry: talk afterwards. He nodded slightly, and Draco looked away, immersing himself in the Slytherin conversation and presumable finding excuses for his disappearance.

"Harry, how did you get past the Age Line?" Hermione asked after a pause in the conversation. "I mean, your brother's not really helping you, is he?"

Harry shook his head, glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. "I don't know. The only time I was near the Goblet was when I ate," he answered truthfully, too shell-shocked to keep up the silence.

"You mean, you didn't put your name in?" Ron asked, taken aback. "Then how?"

"The only way you could get your name entered is if you put your name in or if a professor put it in for you," Hermione informed them. "You don't think a professor put your name in, do you?"

The possibility...

Harry's eyes scanned the Hogwarts professors' faces. All the teachers were immersed in dialogue, paying scant attention to him though he was probably the object of their conversation. Dumbledore wasn't sitting among them, nor was he sitting with the other headmasters.

"I don't think so," Ron answered for him. "They were all surprised-"

"Everyone was surprised," Hermione corrected. "See, the Age Line was supposed to be uncrossable."

"Fred and George couldn't get by it last year," Ron added in agreement. "They tried everything but ended up getting sent to the hospital wing with beards reaching down to the floor."

Hermione's intelligent eyes scanned the room. "I wonder..." She looked back to Harry. "Last night was havoc. When your name came out, a lot of champions complained that you weren't old enough, weren't experienced enough to compete. They acted like having you as the Hogwarts champion was a personal insult to their intelligence. The only reason some of them stayed is because of the contract."

"Contract?" Harry asked, feeling stupidly ignorant. The feeling of being trapped, being manipulated was coming back. "There's a contract?"

Ron nodded. "It's to prevent anyone from running away. That means you're stuck, too."

"That's what McGonagall said," Hermione agreed. "She said that even if the other champions were insulted, they had no choice and neither did you."

Harry placed his elbows where his plate had been and leaned on them, mind racing with possibilities and face taking on a thoughtful expression. "But why would someone enter me?" he asked at last. "This is my first year at Hogwarts. None of the professors would have a reason to cheat, just to put my name in. They don't know me well enough."

"Mad-Eye reckons someone's trying to do you in," Ron told him, taking another bite of breakfast. At Harry's look, the redhead nodded. "Yea, you should've heard him last night. Going on about how dangerous the tasks have to be and how someone's probably out for revenge against Leonard by going through you."

"It's nonsense," Hermione opinioned. "Even if the tasks are dangerous, there are more than enough professors around to protect you, so you don't have to worry."

Harry glanced back to the professors and, to his disturbance, saw Professor Moody staring right back at him. After that, not even the threat of ambushing Aurors could keep him in there. A moment later, Harry got up and walked towards door, ignoring Ron and Hermione's calls. Draco was probably watching him, too.

An Auror blocked his way, the same one that had spoken to him nights ago. "You disappeared again, Potter."

"I did," Harry admitted, falling back against the stone so that other students could walk by. "But I think that's your problem, not mine."

"Come again?"

"What would happen if I told the Ministry that I wanted to test your protection?" Harry proposed. His way through this obstacle had already been carefully planned out, and he knew that the Auror would prove no problem if things went smoothly. "That I was worried at how easily you lost me a few days ago, and that I wanted to see if your security had improved? My godfather will make me up on this. He'll say I'm fully within my own rights."

The Auror tensed up. "You do that, kid, and you'll create a group a vigilantes who want to 'test' the system for themselves."

"Again, not my problem," Harry bit back, not caring whether his hate for Aurors shined through. "You couldn't track me, not even after having faced the situation beforehand. It's a good thing we're living in peaceful times, all the good Aurors have retired." Not that there was such a thing as a good Auror to begin with.

Ginny, coming up behind him, gently touched him on the arm. "I need to talk to you," the Gryffindor witch muttered softly, low enough that no one else heard.

Harry gave the Auror one last look and walked off, silently tensed with the fear that his bluff would be called, and easing up only when he was a good ways away. Ginny was waiting for him, and curiously, Harry walked over to see what she wanted to talk about. They were a ways away from anyone else, almost as if a private bubble had blocked them out from the rest of the world.

'Maybe her brother sent her,' Harry thought darkly, eyeing the girl with suspicion. The only people nowadays who seemed above suspicion were... frighteningly enough, Harry realized that aside from Lucius Malfoy and Leo, he wasn't too prepared to accept what else anyone told him.

She looked unsure of herself, which was odd. Ginny Weasley, as far as Harry could tell, was rarely hesitant. Living with six older brothers and a childhood of war did that to a person. She wasn't overly-bubbly like some girls, overly-forward or brazen, but she wasn't completely timid either. It was like she possessed within herself a self-confidence that was hard to break.

For a while, he just watched her, waiting for her to gather up the courage to speak and counting down an appropriate time limit until he walked off.

Quietly, Ginny finally said, "I've been meaning to talk to you since last night, when you disappeared. It's because I, I just realized something important that you and me have in common, Harry."

That was interesting. Harry tilted his head to the side. "In common? Are your parents dead, Ginny? Have you been completely separated from your family? Are you being pushed into doing things you don't want to do? What exactly do we have in common?"

Flushed, Ginny shook her head. "None of that, I know, but... well, I know how you must be feeling about your brother getting all the spotlight. I mean, I grew up with everything in my life completely centered on how my brothers did in life."

Her voice took on a mocking tone. "It was always, 'Ginny, be like Bill. Everyone likes him, they want to be around him,' or 'Be like Charlie. He's brave, a Gryffindor through and through.' 'Percy's smart and dedicated.' 'The twins...' All right, my mom didn't want me to grow up being like the twins, but then I'd have to be like Ron because Ron's so wonderful in his own way."

She shook her head ruefully. "The point is that I know what it's like being pushed away because everyone's so concerned about your brother and not you. I know how you must feel when everyone thinks that you're never going to measure up to someone else, or else they're always measuring you against that person and you're always coming up short."

She snorted. "I mean, yesterday after the games everyone went on about how awesome Leonard must fly, and this morning everyone was saying that Leonard has to be helping you somehow because you'd never get anywhere on you own."

After she stopped talking, Harry found that he couldn't breath. When he could, his voice came out hoarse and rusty. "That's not the way it is, Ginny."

"It's ok, Harry-"

"No, you don't understand!" He took a step back, glaring at her. "Me, jealous of Leo? How--Why--I could never be! Leo, he's just..." He threw his hands in the air. "Leo isn't like your brothers. He doesn't steal the spotlight, he doesn't make me feel unloved or anything like that."

"I never said my brothers made me feel unloved," Ginny shot back, horrified.

"You don't understand," Harry repeated, feeling like some restraint was coming off. How dare she? How dare she insult Leo, go after him like that? "How could Leo steal the spotlight? He... He is the spotlight. He's the reason I lived at all five years ago. Without him, I wouldn't be anything. If he'd never been born, then I probably wouldn't be alive right now."

His hands swung into fists. "Leo means everything to me. He's better than I'll ever be, and I know that. He's doing things that I'll never do, and I know that. Do you have any idea how much I hate being here? It's because I don't know if Leo is safe, and I don't know if Leo loves me anymore. He... he sent me away! Sirius could be telling him right now that I hate him, and he'd believe it! Why wouldn't he, if I can't tell him otherwise?"

Ginny looked like she just realized her mistake, and her face was going pale. "Harry..."

"You realized that you're not your brothers, right?" Harry demanded. "You've gotten over the fact that you'll never measure up to them in certain areas, right? For me, that was never an issue! I knew that the day he was born, the day my mother told me he was my brother. I knew that the morning I woke up and realized my parents were dead, realized he was all I had left in the world. I knew that he'd be more than I could ever hope to be."

"You'll never measure up to Leo because you can't see that you're beyond him!" Ginny shouted at him. She jabbed a finger against her chest. "It's the same way with me, Harry. Can't you see? I practically worshipped my brothers until I realized they weren't perfect, and I wasn't condemned to be less then them. You need to see that, too!"

She rubbed her forehead. "It's the exact same thing, Harry. I don't know when I realized it, but this morning I woke up and I just knew. You... Merlin, you need to realize that Leo isn't perfect."

"Leo isn't," Harry readily admitted, "but he's more perfect than I'll ever be."

"Harry, it isn't a matter of degrees of perfection. It's a matter of whether you'll ever be able to admit that you're better than him in some things. Just try to admit that. You're practically a decade older than him. You've got knowledge of things Leo couldn't possible comprehend."

"Like death," Harry admitted sarcastically, "and betrayal. What lovely subjects to excel in."

"Like memories of your parents," she reviewed. "You know things about them that Leo, if you tell him, couldn't see the significance of. How many times do you think of your parents? How many times does he? There's a difference. And flying--does Leo-"

"Leo's a child," Harry interrupted. "You're telling me to compare myself to a child." He shook his head. "I'm not egotistic or arrogant. I don't need to put others down to make myself feel better about me. Why would I compare myself to Leo when I know he won't measure up?"

"You see?" she cried triumphantly.

"He won't measure up now," Harry qualified, "but he will surpass me."

"Are you so sure?" Ginny didn't let up. Her eyes begged him to just give in. "Think about yourself, Harry. When you were a child, what could you do? There are things that you could do then that Leo can't now. Differences because of the way you two were brought up."

"What do you want me to say?" Harry nearly snarled. "That I'm stronger magically? You want me to face off against the world's savior, the prophesied second son? I've read the newspaper, too, Ginny, I lived with him his whole life, and I know that I'll stand no chance against him."

"Not even a Boy Who Lived is unapproachable," she vowed. "If you just think about it-"

"So you want me to tell you-"

"You don't have to tell me anything, Harry," she cut in softly. "You just have to tell yourself."

For a moment, Harry glared at her. The nearby area was empty of anyone else, and Harry glared at her. "Will it make you feel better?" he asked, voice unnaturally soft. "Will it make you feel better to know that I was an animagus, even though Leo has no idea what that is? That I was doing second- and third-year spells that Leo couldn't even pronounce? Would you care to know that, when I was six, I spent my nights alone while my parents sneaked around behind Voldemort's back, or that I spent my days alone while my parents sneaked around the Ministry's back? That by six, my only friends were Death Eaters. That I hated Aurors, spent time with werewolves, and hid out from Hit Wizards? Or that by then my parents were on the most-wanted list and we spent our time looking for a new house to live in so that when they caught us, we could take off?"

His voice was still low, but Ginny's face had lost all its color.

"When I was six," Harry went on darkly, "the Ministry cornered my parents at the apartment we were living at. My dad distracted them while my mom tried to get us out, but I was there long enough to hear them throw the Cruticus Curse on him. The only reason he got away was because Death Eaters showed up--not a good thing, when they're the enemy.

"When I was six, I was wondering through the woods alone and was nearly bitten by a vampire, and the only reason I'm still alive is because Death Eaters showed up. I saw an Auror execute a criminal while Death Eaters laughed, because the criminal was really a spy for the Ministry. I saw my mother get harassed by an old friend, who then tried to contact the Ministry. I started learning about the Dark Arts because I despised the Ministry."

His green eyes caught hers and didn't let go. "I don't know about you," he whispered, "but if these are the things I surpass Leo in, I would rather that he never try to compete with me. I would rather take the fall for Leo, then ever see him begin to trip."

"If you do that, Harry," Ginny answered solemnly, "then the only thing you'll ever do in life is sink."

Harry nodded wisely. "It will be enough for me."

The area was completely still, and for some reason Harry's mind continued bringing up the image of the Snidget caught in his hands. Right before it had flown away, Harry had seen how his tight grip had affected the endangered bird: its golden wings were wrinkled, pinched almost to the point of being broken, its eyes were looking at him in betrayal of the game they'd played. The image reminded him of the feeling he kept having, of someone manipulating him. He'd manipulated the bird into believing itself safe, and then nearly crushed it in return.

'Hypocrite,' he steamed at himself.

"It won't be enough for Leo," Ginny murmured. She touched his sleeve. "You have to believe me, Harry. He's going to grow up believing that people are only there for him. He'll be a child forever. He'll always want more from you until it's no longer to take the fall for him, but to stand back and watch him destroy himself. And if you don't show him, no one will because he won't listen to anyone else."

Harry stared at her, horror slowly dawning in his eyes as all the things he'd said repeated themselves in his mind. Roughly, he grabbed her arm, not caring how tight his grip was. "Don't ever say that about Leo," he hissed, "and don't ever tell anyone..." 'tell anyone my secrets.' His mind was in a panic, and he knew that if anyone had been listening in, had heard, then there would be trouble for him, reflecting back on Leo.

Ginny let out a surprised hiss of breath and yanked her arm back. The feeling of manipulation was everywhere--his subconscious had been trying to warn him what she was doing, what she was making him confess.

She looked up, eyes cloudy, and slowly nodded. "I swear, Harry."

"I don't trust you," he told her blank-faced and turned to leave.

When he was a ways away, she shouted at him, "What happened to you? I remember, I remember that night you were at my house, Harry." Harry froze, completely unable to move. "You weren't like this. Maybe you were becoming so, but you weren't then. You were your own person. Do you remember that?"

"That night was a nightmare," Harry muttered, knowing she'd hear, "and I'd prefer never thinking of it again."

She'd walked up to him while his back was turned, and stood next to him, staring him in the eye. Her confidence was back, her self-assurance, and he knew that no matter what was said, even he couldn't break that. "Everyone had nightmares, Harry," Ginny assured him. "But the goal is to wake up, not to keep dreaming about it."