Fugitive Prince

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavor of mortality in lies--which is exactly what I hate and detest of the world--what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do...

Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams... No, it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We life as we dream--alone...

The others might have been asleep, but I was awake. I listened, I listened on the watch for the sentence, for the word, that would give me the clue to the faint uneasiness inspired by this narrative that seemed to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night-air of the river."

Heart of Darkness

, Joseph Conrad

Chapter XVI

He was angry and everyone around him knew it, consciously or not. His anger was radiated not in some blast of fiery heat, but in a chilling of temperature. When he walked by, it seemed like the bright September afternoon had dropped a few degrees. And whether they cleared a way for him or not, he didn't care; he stalked through the middle of the Hogwarts crowd, ignoring the students cheerfully waiting for the Express to take them back to a loved castle and a familiar home. He stalked to the root of his problem, and soon came up against Professor McGonagall as she organized the packing process, supervising over abandoned luggage and bags.

"You knew," Harry declared, "and you didn't tell me."

"Heaven's sake, Potter," McGonagall replied, taken back. "What on earth on you going on about?" Students walking her way to drop off their things paused, interested in overhearing whatever was going on. Rumor had it that Potter could undo any professor, could start a fight even with McGonagall, and from the looks of things, that was where this meeting was headed.

Harry crossed his arms, his eyes saying that the day was only going to get colder. His face looked weather-beaten, tired from stress. "Hermione only mentioned it to me this morning. A magical, binding contact is in place so that if I try to leave Beauxbatons without reason, I'm forced to come back."

McGonagall smiled. "Ah," she murmured with a wise nod, her eyes twinkling merrily, "I take it you tried to go off campus again."

Harry dropped his gaze, but his eyes narrowed and glared at the ground. The grass there cowered. "Why wasn't I warned? Do you know... do you know how badly it hurts to even think about leaving Beauxbatons? I was thinking of wandering through the forest again, just thinking about it... I couldn't step a foot off campus if I wanted to." There was just a faint twinge of desperation in his voice, a whisper that no one caught.

Tied to a piece of land? He'd never been leashed to anything before. With his parents, there was constant activity. He could always explore, get away from it all, escape to whatever pseudo-reality he could find. With Sirius, he could still go through to the forests and stay away for as long as he pleased. There were no real rules, no real responsibilities, no restrictions or limits placed on him. Now... now he felt shackled down with the knowledge that he could not leave this place for the next ten months. It was a mental barrage he was in no way prepared for. Even going to Hogwarts would have been better: no amount of manipulation there could have kept him from sneaking off to the forest-

A sharp pain burst in his temples, and Harry clenched a fist, biting his tongue to keep from crying out as the goblet's binding came into play. Slowly, the pain went away as the thought of sneaking away dulled.

"It's for your own good, Potter," McGonagall answered briskly, annoyingly cheerful as she moved the line of students onward.

Harry wanted to snarl at her, but kept his visible peace and looked away.

"Even if that spell wasn't in place, the Aurors guarding the school would hardly let you out of their sights," the professor went on, "not after two disappearing acts. They, at least, will be glad to do without the worry of you sneaking off at any given moment."

He'd been aware of that fact only a few hours when he stumbled on to an Auror, who'd been guiltily spying on him. A whole set of Aurors had been unleashed, and even now his back itched with the feeling that someone was watching him. He suspected one Auror was even pretending to be a student, perhaps even one of those even now curiously gawking at him.

Harry gave McGonagall one last look, hoping that the professor would reveal some secret loophole for the spell, but she only ignored him as she directed the students to make sure their names were clearly visible on all luggage.

There was another professor that Harry was willing to try, and so he trudged along through the crowds. Where students had finished loading up their things, they idly sprawled around various parts of the gardens. The Hogwarts Express was coming soon, evidenced by the faint railroad tracks that were beginning to appear on the ground. Harry could almost imagine it, high-speeding through the British lands and over the English Channel then down across France until it reached the small speck of a school.

Many other students had already packed off. The Russians had actually left immediately after their school's champion had been announced, and only three students were left from that population of hundreds. The dragons, stored away somewhere, came out again to see Austrians home, riding alongside Greece's flying horses for a moment before branching off in different directions. Even now, cheering could be heard as Bulgaria's flying boat was lifted off by its thousands of fairies, flying high into the air like out of a fairy tale. Hogwarts was certainly not the last school to leave, but it wasn't the first. Somewhere, its dignity from the Quidditch games came to mean nothing.

Harry respectfully walked up to Professor Snape, wondering where the man had been. Snape had disappeared, taking advantage of everyone's preoccupation with Beauxbatons to go off somewhere--presumably, he'd traveled to the same meeting Dumbledore was still missing to. At least, that was the rumor of the place. Dumbledore hadn't returned, though.

Snape, in the midst of a group of Slytherins, gave Harry a blank expression. "What do you want, Potter?" The Slytherins eyed him with disgusted superiority. No doubt they weren't too happy about his making the champions list or representing Hogwarts.

"I've a problem, sir, that I thought you might help me with," Harry began, keeping his eyes away from his fellow students.

The Slytherins snickered. Even Snape looked slightly amused. "Me?" he asked. "Why don't you ask your Head of House? McGonagall is there for that reason."

"I already asked her, sir, but she..." Harry stopped there, swallowing.

"I see." Snape's voice went flat, and with a motion, he dismissed the Slytherins. They had to have been underclassmen, because they left without casting a look Harry's way--a look or a curse. He'd been expecting one of the two, and received neither. "Come along, Potter. Tell me your... problem."

Harry held out his hand wordlessly, showing the eclipse marks left by his nails. One or two were bleeding slightly. When Snape had glanced up from them, Harry tersely explained, "The Goblet of Fire binds me to Beauxbatons. If I even think of leaving..." At first, Snape didn't say anything; he only thoughtfully looked back down on the bleeding half-moons. "Sir, is there anything you can do? I, I can't stay at Beauxbatons all year--maybe last year, one of the champions then-"

"Last year, the bindings were only reinforced by three Headmasters," Snape informed him, "and no Ministers. At most, a champion might have felt a passing headache or a little nausea. Those bindings could have been easily broken."

Harry bit his inside lip and withdrew his hand, letting his arms fall at his sides.

"Why can't you stay at Beauxbatons?" Snape asked slowly, looking semi-interested in the inferred rebellion against the Ministries of Europe. "Are you planning on leaving halfway through the year?"

"No," Harry's answer came slowly, "I mean to stay and participate in all the tasks. But I won't stand to be bound to this school like a house-elf." Harry shook his head. "I need... at least an option available, some way of getting out if I truly need to. If my brother needs me, I don't want to be stuck here, crossing wards with some other students."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You think your brother might need you? Tell me, if he did and if you still were 'bound' to Beauxbatons-"

"If Leo needed me, then even these," and Harry showed his palms again, "wouldn't be able to stop me."

The Potions Master nodded once sharply. "Very well. I'll look into the matter," he stated simply. Then, as he turned to go, he paused and added, "You've picked an interesting array of friends, Potter. It will be interesting to see how they all get along, particularly to see what Draco Malfoy will do when he learns that you've invited those three Gryffindors to stay along. I found him under the impression that he was the only other student continuing at Beauxbatons."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean? I didn't invite anyone."

"Really?" The Potions professor smirked darkly. "I suggest you find out who did. Virginia Weasley was the one who told McGonagall that she, her brother, and Granger were all staying behind. And, of course, no one doubted that Draco was going to remain here." He nodded his head once in farewell and left with a dramatic swirling of his robes, rejoining his students waiting a ways off.

Harry stood where he was, gobsmacked. Hermione? Ron? Ginny? What were they thinking? He stared at nothing, absently taking Snape's vacated seat. He'd have to deal with them, that was for sure. He glared, eyes narrowing at the thought. What were they thinking? And why did they have to bother him?

'Ginny's behind this,' Harry knew. 'What does she want with me?' Obviously, the words passed earlier weren't enough for her. Obviously, she had something else in mind when it came to him. Viciously, he thought, 'I'm not a charity case!'

After a moment, he relaxed and thoughtfully tilted his head back. The situation, Harry decided with cold precision, was not unworkable. He went over the thing in his mind, ruthlessly searching for some greater aspect, anything that would work to his advantage. Having Ginny stay would eliminate a possible threat that Harry tried to avoid thinking about : he could prevent her from spreading his secrets, "accidentally" or otherwise. And Hermione, by all accounts, was a clever witch--Harry could use her intelligence as an ally in this Tournament.

'Ron?' Harry frowned lightly, then gave a mental shrug. As far as Harry could tell, that Gryffindor was only along for the ride. No real advantages popped into Harry's mind as he thought about the boy. Oh well. If nothing else, at least Ron could be someone to play Quidditch with. Since the games, Harry was beginning to really love that sport.

His mind drifted towards the Slytherin who'd taken it upon himself to stay, but Harry stubbornly refused to consider Draco much beyond the fact that Harry would have a constant close contact with Lucius Malfoy. An available line of communication. A probable spy-

Harry stood up and walked out of the gardens, heading towards the clock tower.

Earlier this morning, after he'd talked with Ginny and while his emotions had still been volatile, Harry had been cornered by a group of Aurors and Ministers. The Aurors had said little, content with standing quietly and behaving like resentful spectators as the Ministers rambled on. First were the congratulations and then the real reason for their little visit: rules. This list he'd been slapped with was heavy enough to prompt thoughts of escaping the Tournament, which in turn prompted his first experience with that unexpected pain.

The binding's torture grew stronger with time, Harry realized, and stricter as well. Even now, as he simple brushed memories of those thoughts, he swallowed back as a gasp of pain hit him hard.

'Ouch,' he thought, rubbing his forehead feverishly as if physical solutions could solve magical problems. The pain was a brief mental stab, there then gone as the magic realized that he wasn't really planning on skipping out after all.

Absently, he went over a list of possible solutions, but the real solution could only come through a potent potion.

'The only way to slip through biding spells,' he remembered reading a text book years ago, 'is by finding the ingredients to a physical manifestation of the abstract magic. In other words, by creating a potion that would create the same effects as a worded spell.'

All potions, Harry knew, could be turned into charms or hexes just as all charms or hexes could be turned into potions. For instance, Harry knew of a ridiculously complicated Lumos potion. It would glow for hours. Potions usually were much stronger than spells, but were also simply so much more difficult, often requiring rare and expensive ingredients, that most in the wizarding community preferred the comparatively weaker but immensely easier spell versions.

'And since all potion ingredients have inverse elements,' Harry continued the mental observation, 'it's just a matter of creating a reversal potion of the spell with all those inverse elements of the original potion.'

The procedure sounded so simple, but Harry knew it could possibly take days of labor-intensive research to find or create a potion with the same outcome of the given spell, weeks to acquire all the required ingredients, and some unknown time in actually making the reversal potion. Professor Snape knew all that; it could be a month or two before a solution was found--but then again, Snape wasn't a Potions Master for nothing.

It was quite possible that Snape already knew exactly what potion would solve this, and it was quite possible that Snape had that potion bottled in his storage of random potions produced beforehand. Just as it was perfectly logical to assume that McGonagall, as Transfiguration professor, was an animagus and was in contact with other animagi (legal or not). Just as it was logical to assume that Dumbledore, as a former Transfiguration professor, was an animagus in contact with other animagi (legal or not.) In fact, it was logical to assume that both professors knew every spell, potion, and whatnot that dealt with Transfiguration.

If a student truly thought about the sheer, detailed knowledge their many professor assumable had... professors whose presence at Hogwarts suggested that they were the best of the best... it would be realized that any attempt at defeating a professor in his/her chosen field would be nearly impossible.

But that knowledge had to be extremely concentrated, focused so completely on one single dedication that the professor might as well be blind when it came to other things. Snape could be a genius with potions, but ask how to deal with a dragon or how to properly grow a leech tree, and he'd huff away. He'd be able to answer questions about potion ingredients contributed by the two, but nothing specific about dealings with the actual things.

'If a wizard were proficient at all subjects,' Harry thought idly, 'he'd be a force to reckon with.' He paused to go over his train of thought, amused at where it had gone. 'I hope this doesn't mean I'm unconsciously planning on dueling the professors.'

He reached the clock tower, cynically wondering at how often he visited the place, at how it was becoming his favorite spot. Hedwig had to be upset--the Aurors, in their search for him last night, had forced the owl against her will to go out flying in the hopes that she would be able to find Harry. She'd not been able to, and Harry wondered if that was the reason behind her agitation.

Footsteps sounded. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Harry answered automatically. He turned to acknowledge Draco, though he'd already known; another biding enslaved Harry to this boy doubly strong as the one enslaving him to this school.

Few wizards followed the codes described by the system of wizarding honor. A wizard was supposed to be brave, honorable, courteous, and gallant; he was to treat those weaker then him with respect and benevolence, never attacking them unless provoked and never attacking anyone unarmed. There was a constant emphasis on the fact that he worked only for glory and good principles, not for profit or gain.

The Dumbledores had been one of the families keeping this honor alive, keeping the memory of an honorable wizard tradition alive, but they had not been the only ones. The Malfoys had held to the tradition, as had many other Slytherin and Gryffindor pureblood families like the Marvolos and Potters. In keeping with the system, wizarding families gained a mark of nobility over the other uncivilized families. In time, the collection of virtues described in the system of wizarding honor became associated with aristocrats born to the class and no one else; in time, the collection became associated and corrupted by feelings of superiority when it came to pureblood versus mixed, and then pureblood versus muggle-born.

But for Harry, it was still that collection of values. Be brave, be bold, be loyal, be true. And because he had been raised to keep those values, his magic had become transformed until it came to the point where he couldn't do otherwise. Harry, right now, could not lie to Draco because he'd sworn to tell the truth. He could not turn away from the Death Eaters partly because of the loyalty that still held him from childhood, loyalty that would hold him until death. If he tried to betray himself, then one of two things could happen. He could feel a twinge of pain, and then nothing more as his magic realized that he'd broken the system of honor and left him, or he could feel pain worse than anything Beauxbatons could offer, as his magic realized he'd broken the system and destroyed him in consequence. Powerless or dead, neither were options he wished to explore

Harry looked at Draco, trying to analyze the boy before him before giving up. "I heard," he finally said when it became clear that Draco wasn't in a mood to start up the conversation again, "that you're staying."

The Slytherin shrugged in a half-hearted way. "Did you really think I would go back to Hogwarts when I could not?"

"Then you know about the others," Harry assumed, eyes half-closing in thought. "I didn't-"

"What others?"

"The Gryffindors who've invited themselves to stay along with us." His eyes opened again in question, and Harry silently wondered at the odd expression on Draco's face. It seemed like the boy was having a hard time with something.

"Who?" Draco demanded. As Harry listed off the three names, Draco's face seemed to nearly burst. "And you didn't say they can't, did you?" the Slytherin finally retorted mordantly. "Of course not. You're a bloody Gryffindor, even now. No wonder my father left in such a hurry." He threw his arms into the air. "Don't just stand there--go tell that McGonagall that they weren't invited."

'I could,' Harry replied silently, 'but I've already decided that they can do as they please.' His eyes slid half-close again as he leaned against the building, arms crossed over his chest. Barely, he could hear a great calamity from where the gardens where; the Express was probably pulling in about now.

Draco's eyebrows drew down. "Are you listening? The train'll be here any minute, and then they'll all be gone. This is the only time we have to get rid of them. After the Express leaves, they'll be stuck here until we're gone."

Harry straightened abruptly. "I'm going to go find them," he announced shortly.

"And tell them they're not to be staying-"

"And ask them what they want," he corrected softly.

Draco couldn't miss the hint of steel running through Harry's voice. The Slytherin hurriedly caught up beside Harry's long strides. "What they want?" he was nearly hissing under his breath. "Probably trying to make sure you don't turn, Potter. They'll have heard I'm staying, and all they'll think about is keeping you away from me. Bloody hypocrites, always ready to dash all Slytherins off as training Dark Wizards."

"And is it true?"

"Course it is," Draco answered indignantly, "but that doesn't give them any right to be preaching about it."

*

Dumbledore returned in the late afternoon, not too long before dinner was to be served. Few students saw him, though classes hadn't been in session for a week. He knew a few secret passageways through the castle that only a headmaster could know, and made good use of them to cut the time it took for him to reach his office.

Fawkes managed a weak welcoming chirp. The phoenix, for some reason, had been acting very distracted since the start of the school year, always looking towards the south and always ready to head into the Forbidden Forest.

Smiling slightly, Dumbledore stroke the bird's brilliant feathers. "I wonder about you," he murmured to it, voice carrying no farther than the bird's excellent hearing, "and what you'll do when you don't carry with me. You've been around since the Founders, haven't you?"

Absently, Fawkes trilled out a note before flapping toward the window, eyes glazed over. The little song was beautiful as ever, short though it was.

He felt the same way he always did when he returned to his life after visiting with Aberforth: vaguely dizzy, time-sick almost. Being in his brother's presence was always a shock, a sheer step into the pseudo-reality Seers lived and dreamed in, and spending so much time there had left him light-headed. His brain was struggling to correctly store the week's memory and was undoubtedly fighting a losing battle against the aging effects of time.

Leaving Fawkes where it was, Dumbledore pulled out his Pensieve, wasting no time in pouring his memories out. The silvery wisps dragged through the week, starting a quick replay of everything that'd happened: meeting with Aberforth, seeing through the First Task on that continent, finding out more about Voldemort's present condition... a week full of prophecy and half-hints towards something more.

Dumbledore stirred the resting Pensieve with his wand, a light frown replacing his smile. Something had been gnawing at him. Perhaps a little time spent rummaging through the week again, this time without Aberforth's confusing presence--

"Ah," he corrected himself aloud, standing, "but time is one thing I don't have." Fawkes didn't care to answer that.

He walked slowly through the room, pacing the floor. Objects shined in his passing light, tempting his attention, but he ignored them. His mind was returning to its duty: running through lists of things to be done at the school, students to be watched, professors to be talked to, ghosts and the like that needed his focus. Beauxbatons would have been too long a break for some students. His smile returning, Dumbledore wondered what tricks the Weasley twins would be up to.

A clock chimed softly, informing him of the changing hour.

Dumbledore started, jerked out of his musing. At the same time, another tone went off, this one a warning of visitors.

Hardly a moment later, his office door opened. Already sitting and ready for the witch, Dumbledore smiled and nodded at her. "Minerva, I hope everything went well in my absence?"

She looked the same as she did when he left, which Dumbledore took as a good thing, and she nodded sharply. "More or less, headmaster, with a few surprises." She motioned towards his desk. "Have you read my letter?"

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I've only just-"

"You might want to," she interrupted tersely, body tense. "I think you'd rather know now than later, when Black gets here. I only just beat him to your office, and I've instructed the gargoyle not to open."

Intrigued, Dumbledore looked across his desk, picking out the letter. It was very distinctive; Minerva's handwriting was very refined but she tended to print her words as small as possible, as if she'd been challenged to do so. He opened the letter and began skimming its contents when he noticed she was still standing. "Would you take a seat, Minerva? I'm sure you're not comfortable standing still."

Minerva looked slightly pained. "Please just finish the letter, Albus." Even so, she sat down.

"All right, all right." He waved a hand her way. "I was only wondering-" She cleared her throat and he stopped, eyes twinkling. Minerva was too uptight. For her students, this translated into extreme strictness but--'Read,' he caught himself, eyes returning to the paper, 'and find out what has her so upset.'

It didn't take too long to figure out. The first few paragraphs were on regular student misdemeanors, with particular attention paid to the Weasley twins, and then the pages began to date themselves. Amused, Dumbledore realized that the "letter" was nothing less than a well-detailed account of everything that had transpired during his visit, taking off after breakfast on the first day of the vacation. There were even suggested punishments aligned out in the margins, some crossed out as Minerva probably decided on the best course of action.

He almost put the letter down when the third page caught his attention. There, her handwriting sprawled, swelling out for a few paragraphs, quite possibly in anger. At first, he expected to see some brawl between the houses or some joke played on the other schools' students, but what he found was a minute-to-minute recall of the first night. Harry Potter had gone missing.

And then, Harry Potter had returned with an insolent lip.

Dumbledore's eyebrows drew together in consternation. He glanced up to speak, but Minerva only shook her head. "There's more where that came from," she shot out angrily. "You'd better finish the whole report."

Minerva listed her attempt at drawing Harry in, forcing him to play Quidditch to make sure he wouldn't run off again. She told of how Lucius Malfoy had been there, and there was nearly a page of frantic speculations as to what the wizard was telling Harry. She couldn't interfere when Harry was invited to spend the week at the governor's apartments, and she couldn't guess as to what damage had been done. Another few pages were filled with quick observations, comparisons of Harry's behavior, a search for some clue as to what the Death Eater had said.

Alarmed, Dumbledore sped through the rest of the report, swallowing the facts and opinions and observations, making his own as well. He stopped short when it came to the night of the champions, looking up with a horrified expression. "Please tell me this didn't happen."

She didn't follow the desperate directions. "Harry Potter has been chosen as the champion for Hogwarts," she reaffirmed curtly, obviously as distressed as he was. "He's at Beauxbatons right now with four others."

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore guessed immediately.

Minerva nodded solemnly. "No one would have expected differently. Lucius has obviously extended some influence over Potter--how much, I can't tell--and what better way to keep that influence than to send his son? Draco Malfoy will probably be sending home weekly letters."

He felt tired, and the queasiness from his trip only expanded on his weariness. Clapping a hand over his eyes, Dumbledore tried to think but all things looked rotten. The Death Eaters have Harry. The thought ran through his mind over and over again with quirky comments on the "easier" way to get rid of the problem. 'I'm too much at war,' he noted tiredly, 'and I can't let go of it.'

"The contract is in full force," Minerva stated, her tone an attempt at being reassuring. "Potter tried to breach it just this morning before we left, but it came into effect at breakfast. He can't leave school grounds at all. There's some punishment involved in even thinking about leaving." She sighed and rubbed her own forehead, echoing her thoughts. "They've gotten to him first, even though he's enrolled here."

Dumbledore looked at her crushed expression and felt he needed to do something to lift her spirits. Gently, he said, "They've probably been waiting all this time for him to leave the Black Manor. They've probably had this planned out-"

She snorted at that. "Then we should have been more observant. Of course the Death Eaters would attempt to go after Harry! Through him, they can get to his brother. We should have seen that. They'll do anything to get revenge. Sooner or later, they'll have Harry hating Leonard and thinking it's his own emotion--they'll have one brother kill another. No suspicion on Lucius Malfoy that way, is there?"

"Calm down, Minerva," he advised firmly. He summoned a cup of tea and levitated it over to her. "There's no need for histrionics."

She took a sip and relaxed. Minerva was probably just as wound up as he was, Dumbledore realized belatedly. She had to deal with this a week. The strain was going to get to her--her students, he also realized with a little amusement, were going to be faced with a tired professor, one more than ready to deck house points if annoyed. The upcoming week promised to be subdued.

By chance, his eyes caught on the last page of the report, picking up an obscure and confounding fact that made him relax as well. "Ah," he murmured, "that'll be the good news I've been waiting for."

Minerva looked up, eyes shadowed. "What good news?"

"Those three Gryffindors staying behind," he clarified, picking up his enthusiasm, "might be just what we need."

"He doesn't even talk to them. Potter won't have anything to do with them--and that Malfoy boy won't be pushing for a friendship."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "When there are only four others who speak your language and who practice your culture, you'll be drawn to them no matter what." He sighed in relief. "I couldn't have picked anyone better myself. Maybe this way, we'll be able to bring back both of those boys."

A tone went off, again warning of visitors.

When she began to rise but Dumbledore waved a hand. "Sirius Black," he informed her, picking up the name in the tone.

"I told the gargoyle-"

"He has a Ministry order. That will get him past nearly any legal barrier."

The door opened, with Sirius jumping in. A sheet of Ministry paper floated from his hand, the end where he'd held it crumpled up. Sirius paused, phased at the sight of Minerva sternly staring back at him, then started into the reason for his visit without any preamble. "Is it true, Albus?" the part-time Auror demanded, taking no care of formalities.

"What?" Dumbledore, feigning ignorance. "Is what true, dear boy?" Minerva calmly sipped at her tea, eyes watching the scene unfold. She gave him a reproachful look, and he pretended not to see.

"Harry," Sirius begged. "Please tell me it's not true."

Dumbledore fought the urge to sigh again. He'd done so too many times already. Almost without emotion, he nodded grimly. "Harry is involved in the European Wizarding Tournament-"

He got no further. Immediately, Sirius launched into a round of curses, backing up towards the door. Respectfully, both Hogwarts professors looked away from the frenetic man, and their eyes caught: hers were knowing, cat eyes, observant and catching everything while his were somber, wise, and altogether too tired to be dealing with everything. Minerva nodded once and stood.

"Let's go," she ordered Sirius. "The headmaster needs some rest."

"What about Harry?" Sirius retorted bitterly as he was walked towards the door. "You think he's going to get any rest." He paused by the door, forlorn and miserable. "I knew he shouldn't have come to Hogwarts," he whispered. "He was doing so well, he didn't need any help..."

The worst part, Dumbledore decided as the office door shut behind the two adults, was that he felt the same way. Fawkes hummed a note, curious eyes watching him. For once, the bird's red and gold plumage did not look so brilliant.

Night was falling fast, and through the window he could see the creeping shadows coming out. There was a great deal of noise as students walked floors below to their Great Hall to get their dinner. Dumbledore stood slowly, bones creaking. His office was getting to be rather cold, and his joints were going to suffer for it--Madam Pomfrey would have his head if he did not take better care of himself. There wasn't a potion made yet for all bodily illnesses.

He walked towards the door, paying Fawkes one last look, then walked out. There was business to be done.

*

Rita Skeeter leaned back in her chair, a curling smile on her face as she read the latest information from one of her sources. It was perfect news: controversial, upsetting, and hot.

Absently, she pushed up the bridge of her glasses, then tapped her quill against her cheek. There were only a few ways she could get the scope: one was to sail over to Beauxbatons herself, another was to set up contacts at the school, and the last one was to check out the old school, Hogwarts.

"Beauxbatons," the reporter muttered, her tapping increased. Everyone knew of the school, now, even if they didn't before. The Wizarding Tournament was the top topic. And this latest bit of news was sure to rock the papers--she planned on having it out first. Everyone wanted to know who was going to represent the country, and she was going to reveal that bit of information with habitual style.

'Aurors,' her mind instantly registers, and she frowned. England was loaning a couple of units out for the school's protection. They'd be guarding against any trespassing. "Drat." That ruled out two options, though she was still semi-interested in getting to the school anyway. She could even write an article about the school's security, or lack thereof.

"Hogwarts, then." Rita leaned forward on one elbow, the quill running smoothly on her face. "Now, to get in..."

A wizard walked by, stopping dead-short to stare at her. He watched for a second, then grinned. "Got a story, Rita?"

'Cheeky fellow,' Rita mused, discarding a good story on harassment in the workplace. It was a bloated but very convenient topic--and she hated convenient topics. Let someone else like that Clearwater chick who was still new at all this. Rita paused at this, wondering if she should be initiating the girl, then decided against it. Let the winners win, and the newbies be, well, new.

"The best," she answered condescendingly, "at least, better than some of the work you've been turning out. I heard rumors about the Daily Prophet letting some people go."

"I'm not scared," he answered clearly, smile still intact. "If anything, you should be. That last article you wrote about the Ministry got you in the deep end as far as they're concerned. You got more hate mail over that-"

"I got more fan mail," she corrected loftily, standing up from her station. The quill slipped into her pocket, and she carefully glanced at a floating mirror, puffing up her curls and adjusting her glasses again. "There's a difference. And I got more responses over that one article than you get in a year."

"I'm just saying be careful, you know? The Ministry, they don't like things being said about them. That Fudge guy, he's one proud Minister."

"He's ego needs popping."

He walked her to the apparation point, smile slipping into a casual expression of cheer. "You going to let me picture for you anymore? Me and you, we used to be the best-"

"Skeeter! Messenger just in for you."

"Got it!" she shouted over the noise, catching the fist-sized missive that came flapping her way. Ignoring the wizard, Rita skimmed through the note, a light smile on her face. She looked up and gave him a shrug. "Looks like I've got to go." Stepping over the apparation point, Rita disappeared.

She reappeared in the village of Hogsmeade. It was just after dusk, but the late summer weather kept temperatures up. Without pause, Rita started off towards Hogwarts grounds, only waiting until she was clear of the general population to pop into her animagus form. A beetle buzzing through the warm evening air gave no hint of suspicion.

In less than half the time it would have taken her to walk, she reached the edge of school grounds. In a way, Minerva McGonagall's invitation into Hogwarts was an undisguised blessing. It was a free ride into Hogwarts. But there was still the reason why.

After the war, the Prophet had been the first agency to recover its wits and those wits hadn't been lost since; the fact that only the most bold reporters were hired might have helped with the Prophet's ruthless reputation for hunting out truth from rumor. It was the only organization in the wizarding community that had the nerve to face down Aurors, but that ended in far more arrests than anything else. Half the paper's best reporters spent spare weekends serving time for insolence against the Ministry. Rita herself had been in the can a few times, but she'd been better than most: she had a constant way of escape. Aurors could hardly catch a beetle, even if they knew to look for one.

At the edge of the lake, a tabby cat with square markings around the eyes was waiting impatiently. When Rita came within reach, the cat took a flying leap and swatted at her. Irritated, Rita swerved and changed to human form. Huffing, she glared at the cat.

"What do you want, McGonagall?" she demanded rudely, lifted her chin defiantly.

The cat stared at her for a moment, then almost gracefully transformed into the Transfiguration professor. "A little less cheek will do you wonders."

"I'm not here for manner lessons. Get on with it. I've got a story to do."

"I'd wager it has something to do with Harry Potter."

Face composed, Rita answered in a digging sort of voice, "Harry Potter? Is there something with the boy, aside from his brother?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I've already written enough gushing articles about that Leonard brat. Why would I want to write any more?"

"Don't play the fool with me. You forget who taught you-"

"I could have learned to become an animagus without your help, given time." Rita raised an eyebrow. "Is there a point to all of this?"

"You owe me a favor," McGonagall stated sternly. In the failing light, the professor looked almost tired.

"Since when?"

"Since I can reveal to the Ministry that you're an unregistered animagus, having been so since the war."

If she was a cat, she'd be hissing at the threat. Since cats were the professor's forte, Rita calmly lifted a manicured had to brush back an odd strand of blonde hair. 'And what do I say to that?' Rita wondered to herself, half-amused.

"Professor, all I have to say is that I received my animagus training for war purposes. When everyone finds out that I was a spy, they'll rush to give me a hero's welcome. You, on the other hand, would lose your position as headmistress and professor at Hogwarts when it gets out that you were my teacher. Letting unregistered animagi run about is very dangerous business."

McGonagall's face suddenly relaxed, even allowing a light smile, one that was shadowed by her dark eyes. "I see you haven't lost your edge, Rita. Good. I was afraid working with the Prophet would make you Ministry-sympathetic." The professor seemed to consider a moment, then started. "I have an offer for you."

Rita bit back a grin and some silly retort like, 'Is it better than your last one?'

Immediately after graduating from Hogwarts and about the time the Dark Lord began his rise, she'd been approached by the professor with a very nice offer: animagus training. McGonagall had needed spies--"information collectors," she called them--and becoming an animagus looked like a promising deal. A few years of tracking certain wizards, eavesdropping certain conversations, and relaying certain letters, and Rita was home free. After the war, her strings of obligation were firmly cut from Hogwarts, and she'd gone on as the rest of the world had, living day by day until terror subsided into logic, into reason, and into progression. She'd even begun to hope that McGonagall had completely forgotten about the training.

"I need a spy."

"Very funny," Rita cut in. "That's what you said last time." She bit her lip as McGonagall's expression stormed over. Maybe it wasn't just a trick of the light--maybe the professor really was tired.

The deputy headmistress closed her eyes, looking like she was praying for patience, and answered, "I know you know about Harry Potter and the Wizarding Tournament--and don't lie to me. I happen to know the Auror you're blackmailing, and you're not his only contact. They're trying to keep the whole thing hushed up until the Ministry knows what to do, which will be in about two days."

Rita nervously adjusted her glasses, hands nearly shaking with energy. She needed to get back to the newsroom to write up her story before someone else did!

"What I need you to do is to watch Harry."

"What!" Rita shouted out before she really thought about it. She touched her cheek in amazement. Here she was, thinking about getting onto Hogwarts, and McGonagall invites her to. Here she was, thinking about getting onto Beauxbatons, and McGonagall orders her to. Could the day get any better? Hopefully, Rita thought about winning the Owl Jackpot or hitting the next big story.

McGonagall motioned her hand. "It'll be risky, but I need someone to be watching the boy. There's no way that he'll be able to get through this competition, especially with the rumors I'm hearing."

"How exactly am I supposed to get on campus?" Rita demanded, trying to curb her enthusiasm. "I know about the Aurors-

"They're reducing the guards to a minimum force, especially since the contract went into effect--no one can leave and no one can enter. The contract prevents any champion from just walking away. The forests are as dangerous as Hogwarts', and the mountains are just as bad. Only a few guards to watch the main entrances, a dozen or so. And Beauxbatons doesn't have the same animagus-detection as Hogwarts does."

Rita could almost kiss the lady. This was a year-long supply of breaking news--the press had been forbidden from dallying near the Tournament about a week ago, much to everyone's distress. And now...

"What do you want?" she asked, carefully hiding her interest.

McGonagall answered after a short pause. "I want you to make sure that Potter doesn't get himself into any trouble. Make sure he doesn't get hurt when you can prevent it."

'Sounds fair enough,' she decided, especially liking the "when you can prevent it" clause. There were bound to be many times when she couldn't help the boy out. Pretending to think about the deal, Skeeter nodded slowly. "I'll do it, on a few conditions. I'll need at least a month to get some vacation time set up, since I don't want to risk getting caught transmuting to the Daily Prophet every day. I also want some guaranteed interviews when the year's over, with the staff at Hogwarts and some students--and Potter. I want a long interview with him, no limits."

"Agreed."

*

By the time dinner came around, most of the group's differences were worked out, meaning that either the oppositions had argued until both were willing to quit, or both sides had tactfully agreed to just let things settle down and ignore the problems for now. It was obvious to see, though, the two sides in the group: Draco was constantly whispering in Harry's ear as the two walked slightly ahead of the others, and the three Gryffindors glared.

"Sodding-"

"Don't curse, Ron."

"But--he-" Ron gestured inarticulately, face dark with anger.

"Who knows what he's saying," Hermione continued calmly, but her hands were wringing white. "For all we know, Malfoy might be explaining-"

"How to become a bloody Death Eater," Ginny cut in with a growl, her face mirroring her brother's. Eyes narrowed, her glare was the worst of them. "Why he got to stay-"

"Ginny!" Hermione looked scandalized. "I can't believe you just said that!" The other girl's face flushed, but her expression stayed the same. Hermione glanced forward and gave a defeated sigh. "You're right, you know," she admitted. "Malfoy's only here because of his father." All three went quiet at that thought.

Ron grunted, shaking his head. "The whole stinking family, what do they want with Harry? I'm surprised the mum isn't here trying to stuff poisoned cookies down Harry's throat."

Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Could you image? I remember her from the Quidditch Cup last year and I don't think she's ever baked a single thing in her life."

"She's probably never seen a kitchen before." Voice high-pitched, Ginny threw her head around with her nose sticking up in the air. "'What's this room? What's that square thing? An oven? Is there anything in it? Let me just crawl in and see.'" Hermione and Ron broke down in laughter, ginning at her.

Ahead, Harry glanced back at them. He looked over at Draco, who shrugged disinterestedly. "You really want to know what they're talking about?" the Slytherin asked dryly. "It's likely some twisted Gryffindor humor."

Harry shrugged and replied, "I don't really care."

Sneering, Draco glared back at the Gryffindors. "Listen to them. It's embarrassing, you know, walking around like that. And that laugh!" He winced in time with Ron's loud chuckles, and shook his head. "But what else can you expect."

Harry's face went blank, and he said, "I thought you said you didn't care whether they stayed."

"I said, 'It's too bloody late to do anything about it because you were being a sodding idiot,' not, 'Oh, I'm flippin' giddy over the prospect of spending a year in close contact with the worst of the Gryffindor bunch.'" Draco shook his head. "You haven't been to Hogwarts with them long enough to know what they're like. Think the rules are below them, that lot in particular."

"And breaking the rules isn't a Slytherin quality?"

"Of course it is. But they're Gryffindors--when they break the rules, they do it for some good purpose, and they always get caught at it. They're trying to mimic us, and they screw it all up. It's insulting."

A brief smile lit Harry's face, gone before Draco even saw it, and then the group reached the front doors to the Great Hall. They waited for Ron, Hermione and Ginny to catch up, then slid into the mainstream of students coming in for dinner.

As soon as Harry walked in, he was stopped by Minister Fudge, who was grinning insanely. "Harry!" the Minister greeted, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. "My boy, it's been ages since I last saw you, but I saw your brother just last week. He's having a splendid time with you here at school--I bet he'll be excited to hear what's happened. The press isn't to know for a few days, but we'll make an exception for him."

Harry stiffly took his hand back, managing a brittle "Minister" before starting off. Once his hands were back to himself, they clenched into fists hidden by the sleeves of his robes. Of course Leo was having a splendid time-

Fudge grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. "Back here, Harry," he said jovially. "You're to be eating with the rest of the champions tonight. It's a special honor." The Minister pointed to a long table at the front of the room already filling up with older students. "Just run up there. No time to waste, dinner's almost started. You're friends will catch on as soon as they see you."

The other Hogwarts students had already disappeared in the crowd, and Harry spent a second looking around for them, then Fudge gave him a shove and he nearly tripped starting forward to the long table. Brushing his robes off, Harry stiffly started walking, determined not to seem affected whatsoever by the Minister.

The noise was overwhelming, and he understood none of it. Walking through the middle of the room was like walking into a furnace, where traces of sweat mingled with dozens of perfumes, and Harry trudged through as fast as he could.

Most of the middle section had been filled, the other champions claiming the most-visible seats first, which suited Harry just fine. He settled on one of the edge seats, looking around just in time to catch a glimpse of Ron. The fifth-year waved, and Harry nodded back, eyes scanning nearby the pick up the others. They'd sat near the door. From where Harry sat, they seemed a long ways off.

A Minister stood, tapping on his wineglass to gather the attention of the room. As his words drifted along, Harry realized he was speaking in French. Most of the champions were watching with complete interest, obviously understanding exactly what was being said. With a shake of his head, Harry settled back in the chair to wait out the speech.

It didn't last too long. One minute the Minister was talking, and the next he'd sat down as food began appearing along the middle of the long table.

Champions were speaking to each other, and the girl on Harry's right tried to get him to talk. He couldn't understand a word she was saying and stared at her a moment before going to the food, only slightly hungry.

The girl gave him a look and tried again, this time in English. "Yeh tha' Potter boy?"

Harry turned to look at her, eyebrows lowering. "What of it?"

The girl beamed and let go of her fork to shake hands. "Good ta meet yeh," she declared. "Harry, right?" She grabbed his hand, shaking almost violently. "I'm Eachna, from Irelan'."

He pulled his hand back, weakly flexing the digits.

"They're sayin' yer brother had sommat to do with you here, ya know. Issit true?"

"No," Harry deadpanned, and turned away, hoping she'd get the message. He started piling some food onto his plate.

The girl nodded wisely. "I diden think so, but it's betta to ask than to guess, I say. Say, yer not goin' ta eat all'o tha', are you?"

Minister Fudge was walking rounds along the table, and stopped to speak with the girl, giving Harry a needed break. With him, however, was the French Minster who stopped beside Harry. "'Arry Potter, it iz good to see you 'ere. We were worried tha' you'd been lost." He patted Harry's shoulder. "I 'ope you are hungry. 'Ere in France, eating more iz like a compliment." Harry nodded, annoyed, and waited for the man to leave.

Fudge made a stop at his seat, too, and beamed down condescendingly. "So, Harry, how's the food? I haven't gotten the chance to sit down yet."

"This is my second helping," Harry lied as he pushed his seat back and stood up, facing eye-to-eye with the Ministers, "but I think I'm getting too full to eat anymore."

For some reason, the two only smiled at him. "As long as you've gotten something to eat," Fudge replied with a nod of his head. "We don't want you too full to participate in the Tournament."

The French Minister leaned over to talk with the Irish student, and Harry slipped away from them. Everyone was still eating--dinner had just started. He really wasn't hungry, and if he was then he could always find food somewhere else. Harry walked along the sides of the hall, slipping out the front doors and stepping outside to get a breath of air.

Hedwig came hurtling down from nowhere, screeching angrily and nipping his ear. She must have thought he was in the Great Hall like everyone else. Harry stroked her feathers, calming her down, and again bearing nothing on her leg. Feeling slightly cheated, he ran his hand through her wings, trying not to think pessimistically, trying to assure himself that nothing was wrong. And if anything was, then Draco would get his father to look into the matter. Harry tried to ignore the relief he felt in that realization.

Hedwig caught a bit of his ear between her beak before taking off, flying back up to the tower. Harry watched her leave and was too distracted to notice the other presence before Dumbledore appeared before him.

"And what are you doing out here, Harry?"

"Headmaster!" Harry took a startled step back, eyes widening in surprise. He looked around. "What are you doing here? I thought that Hogwarts had returned to the castle."

Dumbledore nodded. "They have," he admitted, "but I thought it would be careless of me to leave a student alone here without any sort of advice. And I'm afraid that my traveling has prevented me from speaking to you earlier. I am sorry about that. I wouldn't want you to think that I'd forgotten about you altogether."

Harry didn't reply. He had a suspicious that the headmaster knew something--why wouldn't he? McGonagall was probably at his door the minute he got back from wherever, ready to spill on all of Harry's faults. The stars flickered into existence, suddenly bright without the sun's overwhelming light outshining them.

"Harry," Dumbledore broke the silence, "I want you to know that I have some knowledge of what has happened while I was away--your professors were very diligent about keeping an eye on you, and from what I know it was more than warranted. However... I would also like you to know that what has happened here is very unusually, and you are at no way to blame for this."

Harry looked up, green eyes reflecting his confusion. Blame for what? What was unusual?

"The Age Lines preventing younger students from entering were reinforced several times over, by several different Ministers," Dumbledore explained. At Harry's defensive look, the headmaster smiled faintly. "I'm not accusing you simply because I don't believe you could pass those lines, nor do I believe you had any incentive to do so. But others don't believe you're innocent."

Harry merely looked on to the sky. "I'm not really bothered by that," he conceded. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect, professor, what they say doesn't hurt me."

"I can see that." Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking weary. Or maybe, not so suddenly; the headmaster was behaving as though his shoulders were being weighed down by something. "You're parents raised you well, Harry, and your godfather is doing his best in their absence."

Harry wanted to frown, to react to that statement, but it was as if, hearing Dumbledore say it, he knew the words were true.

"I want you to know that if you ever need an adult to talk to, you need only contact me," the headmaster continued, looking into Harry's eyes sincerely. "I promise you, Harry, that I will do anything I can, anything that's in my power." He put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and, for a moment, Harry realized that this man's presence, guidance, was something he had missed out on, something his four years away from Hogwarts had left him without. Dumbledore's mentoring was one of the irrevocable losses his subservience to Leo had caused.

And, in that moment, Harry wondered if his unthinking loyalty to Leo was worth the cost.

Dumbledore, unaware of the thoughts he was sparking, left Harry alone, walking back towards the Great Hall and unknowingly cutting the link that would have caused a great alliance between the two, for as he walked away, Harry schooled his thoughts back. As Dumbledore walked away, as he left Harry alone with his tumultuous thoughts, Harry threw away that moment's doubt. Leo was his brother, his last connection to the two dead parents who still drove his thoughts. If loneliness itself was the cost such a connection, Harry was willing to pay the price and be alone.

*

"What are we going to be doing for the year?" Ron asked, lazily sprawled across the floor in the main room of their guest dormitory. The building, once large enough to fit the entire population of Hogwarts, had magically shrunk to accommodate the five students perfectly and had even come with a miniature kitchen for midnight snacking. It was the perfect apartment, and Hermione had even added little touches: a plant there, a hanging picture there. The entire room was very cozy.

At least, Ron thought so. Hermione was very proud of it, and Ginny liked it as well, but from the looks of the Slytherin sitting back-straight on a cushioned couch, this was a disaster area. Not that Ron cared in the least. Oh no, anything that bothered Malfoy was a good thing in Ron's books. Ron would rather have the room a complete mess than have Malfoy happy with it.

Ginny stuck her head beneath the half-wall separating the main room from the kitchen, using the slit that was supposed to be for serving food. "Did you say anything?"

Ron waved her head away. "No, go back to whatever you were doing." She frowned, trying to work that out, then pulled her head away.

Hermione walked into the room, pulling the lasts of her hair up in a bun. A few strands evaded her, escaping to curl around her neck. It looked very pretty. She smiled at him then settled to the closest chair, snuggling into it. "What are you talking about? I heard your voice from my bedroom."

Ron shrugged, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "Nothing, really, just wondering about what'll be going on." He grinned quickly. "You heard what they said last night? All champions are to devote themselves to preparing for the Tournament, and can forget about classes."

"It's stupid," Hermione clipped out at him, expression cooling rapidly. "If they go to class, then maybe they'll be more prepared."

Ron's grin widened. "You'll have to ask Harry that when he gets out here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling so softly that Ron knew she was biting her tongue to keep back a full-out grin. His good mood dampened when she hesitantly glanced over to Malfoy, who hadn't moved or said a word since sitting down nearly ten minutes before. "Good morning," she greeted stiffly.

She got no answer. Ron's grin disappeared and he frowned. "Hey, Malfoy, Hermione's trying to talk to you."

"Ron!" she hissed, twisting her neck to glare at him. Her eyes were saying, 'You're not helping, so shut your mouth.'

Malfoy slowly twisted in the chair, movements like a soul being reanimated. His upper body revolved until he was turned to stare at Ron. "I heard what the mudblood said, Weasley," the Slytherin drawled disdainfully, "you don't need to butt your comments in."

He could feel the tips of his ears burning, but Ron was determined to be civil. Harry had said a few days ago something about how the five of them were stuck together for almost a year, and fighting all the time wasn't going to make that year go any faster. "Then why didn't you answer her?" he asked, jaw clenched. His words came out half-mangled.

With a single deliberate motion that gave Ron the feeling Malfoy was trying to save his energy (didn't think it was worth spending on a pair of Gryffindors, huh?), Malfoy shrugged a single shoulder. "It's called mediation, perhaps you've heard of it. Then again," he eyed Ron's clothing, "maybe not."

"I've heard of it," Hermione volunteered a little too quickly. Her cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment--probably, Ron realized with a little shame, she was feeling embarrassed because of the way he was acting. She swallowed and continued in a strong voice, "It's supposed to help focus your magic, isn't it? I've tried to meditate once or twice, but I'm always getting interrupted."

"That's a pathetic excuse," Malfoy shot back ruthlessly, turning to glare at her. "If you've got enough control, nothing can interrupt you."

The slight tremble of Hermione's bottom lip might have been mistaken for distress, but Ron quickly recognized the sign of his girlfriend losing control of her temper, and didn't blame her at all.

"I suppose you don't allow anything to interrupt you then, do you Malfoy?" she asked sarcastically.

"I've got a fair bit more control than you do," the Slytherin answered haughtily, "or ever will."

"You've also got more practice. But tell me, if you don't allow anything to interrupt you, then what was Ron a second ago? Didn't he cut into your meditations? And you stopped meditating to answer him. If that's not an interruption-"

"Just because I have more control doesn't mean I can endure that blasting voice," Malfoy cut in coolly, chin rising. "Besides, I chose to answer the Weasel. I could have ignored him if I wanted to."

Hermione raised an eyebrow unbelievingly. "Right. You chose to let Ron interrupt you."

"I merely thought that it would be better to get the argument over with before Potter got out here. He doesn't want to see us fighting, so we'd be done before he saw us." Malfoy stood up in a single motion. "Well, Weasley?"

"Anytime," Ron answered immediately, standing to his feet as well. He was more than ready to teach the teen a lesson--had done so already not too long ago. A repeat performance would be more than welcome. Ron pulled out his wand. "Well-"

His wand flew out of his hands. Shocked, Ron could only stare as it floated over to Malfoy.

Malfoy's face looked pale, but he smiled nastily as he snatched Ron's wand out of the air. Twirling the stick between his fingers, he gave Ron a smug look. "Meditation, remember?"

Hermione stood up, face lit up with excitement. "Can you do it again?" she asked Malfoy, completely disregarding the fact that they were in the middle of an unofficial duel. Her face looked puzzled as she watched the two of them, and she came to some conclusion. "Or not? It looks very draining."

"Can it, Granger, I'm trying to beat up your boyfriend."

Hermione smiled, snapping her fingers. "It is extremely draining! I remember reading about it--oh, you can't beat up Ron now. He could knock you over with a tap. And you're probably too drained to even get a spell out." She looked at him, seeming to examine everything. "I wonder--you've probably been at this since you were a child, right Malfoy?"

Ron leaned on the back of his heels, a slow smile coming to his face. She was simply incredible, but always right on the dot. Ron could see it now: Malfoy looked just about ready to tip over. "Probably," he answered for the teen, taking distinct pleasure from the look of indignity on the Slytherin's face. "Most pureblood families do."

Hermione nodded her thanks, then kept up her speculations. "If that's all you can manage, then meditation isn't really all that fine. It's more like reharnessing the wandless magic everyone does when they're children, or the spots of wandless magic you can do when you're really emotional--that all stops when you grow up and start gaining control over yourself, one instance at least where control is damaging. Anyway," she waved a hand, disinterested, "if that's all you can do before you exhaust yourself, then I guess it's really not all that important."

Malfoy sat back down in his seat, almost managing his previous grace but his movements jarred a little. "How do you know I'm exhausted?" he demanded angrily. "I could hex you both back to Hogwarts if I wanted to."

Hermione took out her own wand and summoned Ron's back, throwing it over to him. Appropriately, Malfoy shut up and leaned back in his chair to sulk.

Ginny walked in, an apron wrapping around her proclaiming her "World's Wickedest Witch". She came bearing gifts of warm cookies. "They're done," she sung, carrying the hot pan with thick mittens, "and they're good, too."

Hermione took in a deep breath and smiled. "They smell delicious."

"My mum's recipe," Ginny supplied. "I wanted to try it out, but there's no real opportunity to cook at Hogwarts."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, picking a cookie up but only weighing it from hand to hand.

As Ginny listed the ingredients off, then started with the directions, Ron impatiently reached over and snatched one off the hot sheet. It was only slightly warm, cool enough to eat without burning his mouth. He opened his mouth and took a bite.

And then nearly gagged, trying to spit the stuff out. As he coughed, the two girls broke up into giggles, Hermione reaching over to shove him to the floor. "Ron," she gasped between breaths, "that was priceless!"

Ginny smiled sweetly over to the Slytherin. "I suppose I should have offered you one first, but maybe you'll want one still." She held the pan his way.

His face looked insulted. "Take that garbage out of here."

And then Harry walked in. Ron was facing the other way, just about to come up with some clever insult to throw back at Malfoy's face, but he didn't need to be watching to know who entered the room. Ginny had this funny little way of acting whenever she was around Harry, like she was suddenly half-timid and half-bold. Malfoy would instantly straighten up, a smug expression constantly on his face. And Hermione would look more confused than she ever did. Ron wondered what he looked like, how his body reacted to the other teen. Really, there was no helping it. How else could a person act in the presence of the brother of Leonard Potter? Ron practically grew up hearing stories about Leonard's exploits, and here was the brother of that Boy-Who-Lived. It was like being in the presence of a legend, or as close to one as you could get.

Ron turned around to see Harry's eyebrows draw down a bit. "Something going on?" the teenager asked, glancing towards the three drawn wands that hadn't been put away yet.

Ron scrambled to slip his wand back into his robes. "N-nothing, Harry." Hermione didn't answer; she looked downward at the cookie in her hands.

"The Weasel and his girlfriend tried to hex me," Malfoy announced clearly, motioning towards Ron. "I was going to protect myself."

Harry's face darkened, but the expression was gone instantly, leaving a near-emotionless face behind. "I thought we agreed not to fight."

For some reason, Ron felt completely ashamed and found himself trying to explain. "It wasn't like that at all, Harry-"

"You weren't trying to duel Draco, then?"

"Well, I was, but see-"

Harry shook his head and wordlessly walked over to one of the remaining seats open. There was one for everyone, all arranged around a small table in the center of the room. Not surprisingly, Harry sat next to Draco, who shot Ron a smirk.

Ginny was what was surprising. She, with a determined set to her shoulders, walked over to Harry and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Aren't you even going to listen to my brother? He has a side to the story, too."

Hermione, who'd looked ready to talk to Harry, exchanged a look with Ron and settled back in her chair, fully content with watching the scene play out. So was Malfoy, who had half-leaned forward and was looking at Ginny distastefully. That expression made Ron want to stand up and sock the prat.

Harry looked back at her blandly. "What's to know? They were going to duel, even though they said they wouldn't."

"And have you ever broken a promise, Harry?" Ginny demanded shortly. "Haven't you-"

"No," Harry cut in shortly, "I haven't."

That stopped Ginny short. Whatever tirade she'd come up with wasn't standing up against his icy angry. Ron frowned, looking at Harry. Never broken a promise? That was likely.

Harry stood up, and Malfoy stood with him. "I'm going for a walk," the Gryffindor announced in a low tone, straightening his robes to avoid looking them in the eye.

"Let's get going, then," Malfoy added, obviously ignoring the rest of them. "It's getting stuffy in here."

"I'm coming with you," Ginny started, but Malfoy stared at her.

"No you're not."

The redhead girl tilted her head. "Are you going to stop me?"

"If I have to."

Ron nudged Hermione's foot and she nodded, the two of them standing up. While Malfoy and Ginny were busy arguing, Harry had started towards the door and now Ron and Hermione followed him. He gave them a look, then seemed to shrug to himself, not stopping on his way out. The argument inside had reached near-shouting proportions by the time the door shut behind the three of them.

It was cool outside, enough to make Ron realize that temperatures were dropping. Not cold yet, not even close, but much cooler compared to the baking summer. Hermione had come back at the start of school with muggle forecasts of early fall and early winter, though Ron couldn't for the life of him understand how muggles knew the future weather patterns.

The fresh air was nice, Malfoy had been right about the room getting stuffy--when Ron got back, he'd open a window or something to air it out. A few other students were out, walking the grounds, but it was mid-morning and most of the French underclassmen were still in class.

Ron took in a deep breath and let it out, making a loud groaning sound. "I am so happy we don't have to go to class."

Harry only glanced at him, then went back to looking ahead, but Hermione smiled a little. "I thought we covered that already."

"Remind me to thank you one of these days, Harry," Ron stated happily. "This is going to be my favorite year. It'll go down in the history books as the 'year of no class,' and everyone will hate me for it."

Harry made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and kept walking. Ron took that to mean "keep talking, buddy." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's still a few good hours 'til lunch--hey! Do you know what I just remembered? After you left dinner last night, Harry, Dumbledore dropped by. Isn't that something? You must have just missed him-"

"If you're bored, then you can always find something to do," Harry said suddenly, breaking in so easily that it was likely he hadn't been listening to a word Ron had been saying. Ron frowned, then mentally shrugged. At least Harry was talking now. That was the main thing.

"I thought that's what we were doing," said Ron, "looking for something to do."

Harry shook his head slightly. "I'm out here walking. Who knows what you two are doing."

"We're out walking with you," Hermione informed him promptly.

"I don't need a sitter."

Ron couldn't resist biting out, "Well, Malfoy sure figures you do." Hermione gave him a dark look. "It's true. He's always following you around, watching you..."

Harry sighed and looked at them. His green eyes were entirely captivating, enough so that Ron, for a moment, jerked back in surprise. Who had eyes that color? "It's obvious then, isn't it?" the boy stated wearily. He stopped to rub at his forehead, hand disrupting long black bangs enough to show a peek at a jagged lightening scar.

Ron was abruptly reminded of Harry's strange illness back at Hogwarts. That night, when Harry's hair had been matted down with sweat, that scar had strangely stuck out as if it was actively jutting from his forehead. Now, though, it looked relatively peaceful, like a birthmark.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "He is following you around a lot, Harry. I'm sure he has a reason to." Her voice was strained, like she was trying her best to be pacifying.

"And I'm sure you've already worked that reason out," Harry answered bitterly. "It's not to hard to put everything together, and you're supposed to be a clever witch." His tone turned self-depreciating. "I sure you've already decided that Lucius Malfoy must be trying to turn me, must be trying to use me to get to my brother. Harry Potter, the boy who doesn't know anything, who's never been to Hogwarts before. He must be totally naïve."

His face darkened with a sneer. "Would it surprise you to know that Draco's already figured out why you three are here, too? And he managed to get to me first so, logically, I should believe him."

"I wouldn't trust anything Malfoy said," Ron counseled seriously, feeling a tinge bit nervous at this mood Harry was in. Personally, he thought that Malfoy was trying to use Harry exactly like that, but from the way Harry was acting, it wouldn't be too wise to say that.

"Funny, he said the same thing about you."

"What is he saying about us?" Hermione asked, trying to diffuse the situation. "Malfoy doesn't really like us, so I-"

"He said the same thing about you," Harry broke in, "and warned me that you'd try to make him out to be all-evil."

"Well, he is!"

Harry shook his head, looking away, green eyes departing. "So maybe it's true," he mused, almost to himself. "Maybe the only reason you three wanted to stay was to make sure I stayed away from Draco." His eyes glinted. "You should talk to Sirius, see what happens when he tries to make me do something."

He started walking again, and Ron looked at Hermione with a confused expression. "Sirius?"

She thought about it for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Sirius Black! He's godfather and legal guardian."

"Well, that sounded a little ominous to me."

"Think about it, Ron. It's just typical teenager behavior. If your mom tells you to do something you don't like, what do you do?"

"I do it, of course," he answered haughtily. "I may not like it, but she's my mum and-"

"Ron, you go to your room and sulk," Hermione corrected, starting to walk again. Ron's mouth dropped open, and he hurried up to her side.

"I do not!"

Hermione snorted. "Of course not. Remember, I was there that time you got in a fight because you didn't think you had to de-gnome the garden--it lasted for a couple days." She shrugged daintily. "Harry's just trying to scare us off. Let's just get back over there and see if he's cooled down any." She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should ask him to teach you some Quidditch moves. It's an icebreaker and I know Harry likes to fly. It'll give us something to talk about."

*

"You guys aren't going to play Quidditch again, are you?" Hermione asked, sounding pained. "You spent the last two days out there flying. Can't you think of something else?" Ginny walked into the room holding a broom, and Hermione groaned. "Not you, too, Ginny."

"You suggested it, Hermione," Ginny pointed out with a grin, switching her broom from hand to hand. "Ron told me all about how this was your idea to start with."

Ron looked up with a panicked look. "I did not!" he immediately denied. As Hermione stared at him, he flushed and slowly admitted, "Well, maybe I did... but honestly, Hermione, what else is there to do?"

Draco watched from the doorway as the scene played out between the two fifth-years started at it. They never really gave each other a rest--he had no idea how any relationship between the two could work out. And he had no idea why anyone would even care. Draco looked over at Harry. "Explain to me again what I'm doing."

Harry secured his wrist guard and looked up seriously. "Ron wants to some Quidditch. Since there's four of us who play, we can have even teams of two each."

Draco glanced back into the room, and frowned. "I hope you don't expect me to play with either of those Gryffindors."

Shrugged, Harry replied, "Then you can play on your own team, and Ginny will shout at you."

"Why are you playing on the Weasel's side?"

"He asked to play first." He brushed some hair out of his face, and continued, "Besides, I've been spending the last few days showing Ron some better broom techniques--while you hid in your room and refused to talk to anyone." He adjusted his gloves, and added, "I'd like to see if he remembered anything, or at the very least correct him when he makes a mistake. It's only fair."

Draco snorted. "Slytherins never play fair," he warned, "and we don't like to lose."

For once, Harry smiled softly. Finished putting all his equipment on, the Gryffindor looked squarely at the Slytherin. "You better learn to like it soon, because I like losing much less."

The Quidditch pitch, seeing as it was very near noon, was empty. There had been a class going on earlier, but lunch was coming around. That left the entire area clear for the four to do as they pleased. Hermione followed with a sulking expression on her face--she'd been enthusiastic enough when Harry had agreed to teach Ron some new moves, but that had been days ago and the witch wasn't interested enough to pretend she could excuse their obsession with the game.

She sat down near the edge of the pitch, conjuring herself up a deep-backed chair to rest in, and dragged out a book from somewhere, immediately immersing herself in it. Ron glanced towards her guilty, then mounted up on his broom, looking determined. "All right," he declared loudly, "I'm ready."

"It's a good thing we were all waiting for you, Weasley," Draco muttered, hovering a foot in the air on his broom. To himself, he murmured, "I don't know why I'm doing this."

Ginny flew up behind him, expression cool. "You can always leave, Malfoy," she informed him curtly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Harry ended the upcoming argument by flying into the air gracefully, floating a few lengths above the rest of them. He pulled out a Galleon and causally transfigured in into a Quaffle. Looking at the others, who'd risen eagerly to play, Harry said, "First to a hundred wins?" Then he threw the Quaffle high in the air.

Draco was there first. His hand clenched around the biggish red ball, he headed immediately towards the end of the field directly above where Hermione was sitting. She didn't even blink as he passed by, the wind rushing in his wake. Her robes jerked back, her book's pages fluttered wildly, and she only continued reading.

Ginny was shouting something, but he was resolved to win this game by himself. And if she did manage to get the Quaffle anytime, he'd take it from her.

The goal was close enough, Draco judged, and he tossed the Quaffle through the air, turning upwards sharply. Gloating, Draco turned to survey his score--only to see Harry's robes zooming towards the other side of the pitch, Quaffle loosely caught up in one hand.

"Harry was right behind you," Ginny shouted, cupping one hand to her mouth as she tried to get ahead of the opposing side. "You should have looked!"

"Play the game," Draco snarled at her, but she was too far away to hear and had already turned to concentrate fully on the other two. Harry easily passed the Quaffle to Ron, who scored with a whoop. The Quaffle fell a few feet before Ginny was there, scooping it up and swiftly speeding towards the other side.

Draco was now in a perfect position to see the play: Harry, shouting something to Ron, zoomed to one side of the girl, coming close enough to fly neck-and-neck, coming close enough to intimidate. Ginny struggled to speed up, but Harry was right beside her the whole time. One second, then Ginny dropped a dozen yards, coming to a close halt in an attempt to lose him--and then, Ron fly by and plucked the ball out of her tense hands, flipping in the air to head back to his own goal.

Twenty-nothing, and Draco narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to catch onto something--what? not quite sure--and flew slowly to catch the Quaffle, thoughtfully watching as the other side drew back to half the pitch's length. He motioned for Ginny to hurry up, and the girl flew to him, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

Shaking his head, Draco answered, "No, but I'm catching on to Potter's." He motioned to Ron. "Potter's only letting Weasley score."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything at all-"

"It means that if we focus on Weasley, we'll be able to get the Quaffle back."

"HEY!" Ron called out. "ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO PLAY ANY TIME SOON?"

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. "It's good enough for a try." She looked between their brooms, slowly rising in the air. "Yours is faster, so why don't you chase after Harry and try to get him to pass it to Ron. I'll block Ron, then."

When Draco started up again, Harry and Ron were quietly talking to each other and then drew apart. The two came at him on different sides, looking like a double-faced monster. Draco zoomed higher in the air, counting on the thinness to speed him up, and grabbed his robes closer together as he shot off through the sky. Harry flew up beside him almost instantly, violently plowing into Draco's side.

"Shove off," Draco bit after the Gryffindor, drifting higher. He was at half-field length and getting closer, so he pressed his broom to go faster.

Harry pulled back, spacing it so that a broom could have fit between the two of them. They flew on, Draco trying to get faster and higher and Harry right beside him. At once, Harry sped up going fast enough that his robes looked ready to be stretched off of him into the wind. He pulled up in front of Draco and slowed down to almost a complete stop.

"BLOODY-" Draco shot down, barely missing the Gryffindor. He spun around vertically on his broom, glaring at Harry a moment before he zoomed onward upside down, the Quaffle still clenched between his fingers. His hands formed a knot to keep him to the broom, and his knees locked around the wooded shaft.

Before Draco started going fast, Harry had stood up on his broom and, in a single movement, leaped through the air to land on Draco's broom. Shocked, Draco's legs came undone and he hung in the air from his hands along, clinging to the broom desperately. There was a goodly distance from his height to the ground, and he had no intention of experiencing it. Calmly, Harry leaned over and plucked the Quaffle from Draco's fingers, then pulled himself up to his hovering broom.

When he turned to toss the Quaffle to Ron, Ginny was there and intercepted the pass. So close to the goals, she grinned and rushed to score.

Twenty--ten-

No one saw how Harry managed to throw himself in front of the Quidditch hoop before the Quaffle passed through the make a goal, but one moment it was a sure score and the next Harry was flying back to the other side, Ron staring a second before snapping out of it and smiling as he followed.

Draco pulled himself up and cursed, glaring at their backs. He called Ginny over again, determined to win the game. Thirty-zero? 'It's time,' he decided as the girl floated over, 'to play like a Slytherin.'

*

Hermione left as the game started getting violent. The score hadn't changed--Ron was still winning by fifty points, and Ginny was still losing with no points--the score hadn't changed in almost an hour. She'd been worried at first when Ron had fallen nearly ten feet, spraining his wrist, and then she'd been annoyed when no one else seemed to care. Ginny was practically as violent as Malfoy, purposely colliding with Ron. The strange thing was that no one was really paying any attention to Harry. From what Hermione could see, Harry was the real problem for Ginny: he'd get the Quaffle, get to the point where he could score, and then he'd always make the mistake of trying to get Ron to make the goal.

Maybe that's why they weren't worried, Hermione thought to herself as she got back into the apartments. She'd passed a few students; lunch was almost over and they were probably rushing about to get to their classes except for the other champions. Those had been conspicuously absent. There had been a rumor Hermione barely understood that the champions were catching sick by the doves, all of them coming down with some variation of the flu. She didn't believe it. She thought they were just getting out of preparing for the Tournament.

Did they think that they, too, didn't have to study whatsoever, like Ron thought? They didn't, technically, but honestly, everyone was acting too immature.

Irritated, Hermione slammed the door to the apartment behind her and wandered over to the kitchen, absently pulling out a sandwich.

As she walked back to the largest room there, chewing thoughtfully on her lunch, Hermione began to pull out the schoolbooks she'd bought at the beginning of the year. Whatever they'd left at Hogwarts had been sent to them a few days ago, and Hermione was extremely grateful for the distraction.

She flipped open a random book and began to drift through it, recognizing concepts she'd already learned and trying to understand things she didn't quite get.

By the time the others came back, she'd gone through two books and was on her third, scraps of parchment thrown hazardously around her and filled with her handwriting. There was a brief noting in her newest Transfiguration book about animagi, some hint that the fifth year was when students might actually begin seriously thinking about becoming one, and the door opened in time with her regretful sigh.

She touched the book ruefully. "I almost wish I was still at Hogwarts."

"Hermione?"

She shrieked and jumped up, wand clenched to her chest. Turning, and it was only Ron with a bemused expression on his... bruised face. "Sorry," he apologized with a grin, "I didn't mean to startle you or anything."

"Ron..." breathed Hermione, "you're bleeding."

He touched his cut lip and shrugged. "It's nothing," he dismissed, waving a hand carelessly. He dropped a load of Quidditch equipment to the floor with a loud thud, and then peeled off his grass and sweat-stained robes, tossing them to the ground as well. His clothing beneath was stuck to him with sweat, discolored with the liquid. "Besides, you should've seen the other guy."

Hermione shook her head, holding back the urge to massage her forehead. With a sharp look, she asked, "What exactly are you going to do with those clothes?" And then she waited a moment before adding, "They stink like a rotten-"

The door opened again, and Ginny walked in with a bright grin. Hermione's eyes widened and she took an involuntary step forward, catching Ginny's face and staring unbelievingly. The girl's face was as bad as Ron's, and it looked like she had a swollen eye. "Ginny Weasley," Hermione began slowly, her voice rising with every word, "what in the world were you thinking?!"

"Hermione," Ron tried to cut in, sounding pained.

"Stay out of this, Ron," Hermione snapped, not turning away from the paling girl. "If you want to go around and get yourself beat up, that's fine. But Ginny... your mother, she told me I have to watch out for you! Playing Quidditch is fine, but this, whatever this is, it isn't fine." Hermione pulled back and nervously wrung her hands together. "You're mom's going to be furious at me if she finds out. She told me that she trusted me-"

"Hermione, calm down," Ginny ordered, stepping back and looking irritated. "It's not like I've never played Quidditch before, or gotten hurt before. I can take care of myself."

The door shut, bringing attention to the last two boys. Malfoy was just as bad (which helped calm Hermione down a little, even if she would never admit it) but Harry looked just fine, almost the same as he did when he left in the first place that morning. Harry glanced at Hermione for a moment, then walked on past the whole group and to his own rooms. A second later, water for the shower began running.

"Prat," Malfoy said softly to himself, but loud enough that it carried to everyone else, "leave me with them, will you?"

Hermione took a deep breath and threw her hands in the air, walking back to where she'd been reading. With a determined air, she sat back down and pulled her book up, almost glaring at the words before her. Malfoy waited only a few more seconds, shifting from foot to foot with a forced expression on unconcern, and then he also took off towards the back bedrooms.

Ginny stripped off just like her brother, and her clothing was just as stained. She stood and stared at Hermione, arms crossed over her chest. "Is there anything else you want to add, Hermione?" she asked scathingly. "Maybe you're going to insist that I keep up on my reading like any other good girl."

"Be quiet, Ginny," Ron commanded, slipping wearily in the chair next to Hermione.

Hermione pulled the book down with a jerk and watched the younger girl coolly. "You know," she commented lightly, "I think that's an excellent idea. I'm sure Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind sending us some learning material to keep up on our studies this year-"

"I was only kidding," Ginny cut in, eyebrows lowering in worry. When Hermione made an indifferent sound and went back to her book, Ginny paused and then stalked to her bedroom.

Ron waited until she was out of earshot, and then he sighed deeply, stretching his arms out and closing his eyes, trying to relax. But his eyes popped open again and he looked at Hermione warily. She was ignoring him, pretending to read her book but her eyes were almost glued to some single word, never moving. Deciding to take his chances, Ron tried to casually ask, "Er, what else did my mom tell you?"

Hermione slammed her book down violently and glared at it. Ron jerked back in surprise, mouth dropping open. "Geez, Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Ron, I've been under a lot of stress lately," Hermione started in a low tone, "and most of it seems to be coming from your family."

"If you mean those pranks the twins pulled on you over the summer, I want you to know they do that to everyone, not just you-"

"It's not that, Ron. It's this." She made a gesture to include the room. "The whole tournament thing. I've really been thinking about it hard, and I can't make any sense of it whatsoever." She gently closed the book, laying her hand on it and looking at Ron with thoughtful eyes. "Harry doesn't seem to care about it at all, so someone has to-"

"That's not true," Ron interrupted, his face screwing up in an expression.

"It is true. Harry's not even thinking about what the tasks might be, but he's supposed to be spending his time preparing for the--not playing Quidditch."

"You did-"

"I only suggested you get something to talk about between the two of you. I thought you'd only be flying for an hour or so, not since the beginning of the week. And you've dragged Ginny into it-" She held up a hand, stopping herself. "What I'm saying is that I'm just really worried that the tasks are going to come, and Harry's not going to be prepared at all. Remember last year, how everyone else was ready for the dragons but Cedric didn't have a clue? It cost us everything."

Ron looked almost angry. "I think it'd be better for Harry to be out relaxing instead of worry. Haven't you seen how much easier he is with us? When he first tried teaching me some new things, he didn't even want to fly to show me. Now... now he's kicking Malfoy from one end of the pitch to the other. He's loosening up, Hermione, and isn't that what you wanted in the first place?"

She looked torn and glanced down, toying with the book's cover. "I guess so, but-"

"But?"

"But I still think..." she trailed off, thinking about it. "I still think that Harry should be spending at least a little time getting ready. We have no idea what we'll be facing."

"I say that if Harry isn't concerned, we shouldn't be."

"Somebody has to be," Hermione repeated, "and if it ends up that I'm the only one, then I'm probably going to pull apart at the stems. You saw what just happened." She sunk her face into her hands. "Ah... Ginny's going to be so angry... I didn't even really have a reason to yell at her, but I needed something to blow up at."

Harry stepped away from the hallway, having heard all he wanted to hear. Ron was beginning to try and soothe the witch, and Harry didn't need to stick around for that.

Clean and fresh, Harry walked thoughtfully back to his rooms. He'd chosen first, the one furthest away from the front door, and he'd chosen it because its ceiling arched towards the west, leaving a huge sunroof towards the eastern sky open. The sun was at the top of its rise, with only a long and gradual collapse coming up that would cut the light off from Harry's room in the upcoming hours. With his sloping windows, his room was the first to be the first cut off when the sun failed, but it was also the first to catch a glimpse of the stars that bloomed in the sun's blazing death-trail. And it was also the first, after those stars were pushed to the background when a brighter light appeared, to see the rebirth of the sun in the morning.

His hair was still wet. Water dripped to his shirt, wetting the shoulders like a cold hand.

Harry walked over to his bed, laying down and pressing his hair into his pillow, hoping the material would soak up any more moisture. The game had left his muscles tensed and his magic ready, like a warm-up that promised further exercise only to end early. Even his damp hair tingled with waiting magic.

The showers ran continually, and since Draco was moving around in the room adjacent to Harry's, Harry could only guess that Ginny was trying to drown herself in an incessant down-pouring of hot water. If she spent too long, he'd get up and ask her what was wrong, even though he knew, but she would probably feel better talking about it-

The water shut off abruptly, and that train of thought went with it.

Closing his eyes, Harry relaxed. Hermione's idea was a good one--and the Hogwarts professors would probably send any book from their library if Harry asked for it "in preparation for the Tournament." Hermione would be too happy to pick up her role as mock-professor; she was probably ahead enough to actually teach the others something. Ginny would like it, too, once she realized that Hermione would be teaching her advanced subjects, getting her a year ahead of her peers. Draco would object and so would Ron, one saying that he refused to be taught by an uncertified teenager and the other merely being lazy, but Harry was sure a few words could turn both of them.

Vaguely, he wondered what Lucius was doing, wondered if the wizard was planning anything. His thoughts drifted to Leo, and he fell asleep.

*

>>"This is getting to be too much,"<< she complained heartily, plump hand curled up in an impressive fist. She motioned to all the sickbeds in her hospital wing, each one filled with more makeshift ones in every available space. >>"How am I supposed to be caring for each of these students? Especially when I am told I cannot?" <<

>>"Madam, we never said you cannot care for them,"~ the Minister corrected in a pained voice. >>"We only said-"<<

>>"I know what is going on." << The fist uncurled and became an accusing finger, shaking right under his nose. >>"Don't think I cannot see!" <<

>>"Madam, control yourself!" <<

She let out a huff of breath, sounding like an angry bull ready to charge. >>"Control myself? I am being controlled! I refuse to stand for it--it goes against every medical upbringing I've ever had, every principle I've ever been taught." <<

>>"Will if comfort you to know-"<<

>>"Nothing will comfort me." <<

>>"-that no one will be hurt? Please, madam, believe when I tell you that everything has been taken care of." << His patience sounded ready to run out, and he firmly said, >>"Now, you have two choices. You may either continue on this pointless protest or you may continue with your job. The latter will insure that you keep your position as nurse of this school, the former will not." << Putting his hat on his head, he gave her one sharp look. >>"Make your choice wisely." <<

>>"Wisely?"<< She snorted as soon as he was gone from the room. It was full of the sounds of moans and aches and pains, and she was pained to hear it. Determined, she went to the least sick of the bunch, an Irish girl. >>"Do you understand me?"<< The girl nodded weakly, but at least she was able to nod at all. >>"I want you to get along the school and warn everyone to stay away from the other champions, do you understand? You are all sick, and the only way to fix anything is to make sure that no one else catches it until a solution shows itself. Do you understand?"<<

Another weak nod. The girl got up and managed to get out of the door. How long before she collapsed and was brought back was anyone's guess. In consideration, the whole exercise was turning out to be pointless. What were those men thinking to prove by this? Constant vigilance? Or was this the first gloating right?

*

There was such a thing as going too far: cutting off someone's hand for stealing a piece of fruit was one of the more extreme examples. Sirius Black, however, did not believe in such a thing as going too far. Not where his godson was concerned. He had spent years taking care of the boy, through the war and after, and while he hadn't been the best godfather, he'd been Harry's only one. And he'd be damned to hell before he let Harry get into intentional danger.

Besides, he'd waited a week since attempting to get answers out Dumbledore. He considered that more than reasonably, and since no answers were forthcoming it was more than time to take things into his own hands.

Dusk had fallen, the darkness having laid claim to the land for nearly an hour, by the time Sirius was able to convince Minister Fudge to sign a special permission slip giving Sirius full rights to Beauxbatons campus. It wouldn't have taken so long if Fudge hadn't been buried neck-deep in week-old papers that needed signing, but even the relatively short waiting had left Sirius in a terribly bad mood; Fudge would be sweating bullets for weeks.

There were only a few Aurors on duty, and they all recognized both him and the Ministry paper clenched in his hand, giving him no more than respectful salutes as he walked by. Normally, Sirius wouldn't mind at all. Now, with his godson's safety at stake, he glared daggers at the men, forcing the Aurors to abruptly stiffen up, expressions vaguely worried.

He stopped the chief Auror at the door to the Great Hall, where he could hear students conversing as dinner got underway, and grumbled, "You're men are slacking. I'm going to be running inspections after dinner. You better have fixed that."

The Auror saluted smartly. "Yes, sir."

Sirius tuned the reply out and stood in front of the doors for a moment, gathering up his thoughts and courage, then he walked into the room.

Hundreds and hundreds of students were everything, all talking avidly and all making such a racket that his entrance into the hall was hardly noticed. Those who saw him passed him off as nothing more than another professor walking in late, and dismissed him.

The Great Hall at Beauxbatons was a beautiful place. Long elegant tables stretched from one end to the other, long enough to accommodate everyone with space left over. The walls were enchanted the same as the ceiling of Hogwarts: pristine glass that reflected through the outside, making the hall seem nothing more than a ceiling and floor. From the outside, the building looked solid; from the inside, it didn't look like a building at all.

Sirius carefully walked around the room, trying to pick out his godson from the racket but unable to do so. There was seemingly no order to the seating arrangements, and no obvious table where the champions would sit. Only one table was arranged differently, and that was the Headmasters' table, where all the professors sat and talked and ate while keeping an eye out on their students.

The doors opened and closed over and over again as students came and left, then returned. Sirius leaned against a wall, trained against the wall's magical illusion, and started to orderly scan through the tables one by one. The doors opened, and annoyed, Sirius looked over to tell someone to just leave the blasted things open, and his breath caught.

Harry walked in. He looked different--he looked tired and unhappy and ready to collapse.

Taking no notice of the four people walking in with Harry, Sirius stormed over to his godson. "Harry!" The teenager looked up, face going white in surprise, and Sirius snatched his arm, dragging him outside. The Aurors respectfully shut the door behind them.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, jerking his arm back. The boy looked around completely shell-shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get you pulled out," Sirius answered brashly, grabbing Harry's arm again and turning. "Where's that Minister? Was he in there?"

"The Ministers all left the same day the governors did," the teenager answered, tone a bit chilled.

Sirius turned around quickly, staring at Harry. "The governors were here? Lucius Malfoy was here?" Sirius let go of Harry's arm and instead clenched the boy's shoulders. Almost desperately, he asked, "Did he say anything to you, Harry, anything at all? Did he try to come near you anytime?"

There was some sort of disgust on Harry's face, and Sirius relaxed his grip. The mere thought of a Death Eater being anywhere near him was probably sickening to the teenager--"He did," came the answer, this time with unmistakable frigidness. "In fact, Mr. Malfoy allowed be to stay at the governor's apartments while he was there."

Sirius's eyes widened.

Harry jerked back and took a step away, eyes never losing their disgust. 'Is that...' Sirius wondered dazedly. 'Could that possibly be directed at me?'

"Harry," his voice cracked, and he swallowed before continuing. "Harry, you don't understand. Lucius Malfoy-"

"I thought all charges were dropped against him."

"Don't be an idiot," Sirius snapped, trying to keep his hands from shaking. The idea that Lucius Malfoy had had Harry for a week... He couldn't keep his hands from shaking. "Don't you remember anything I've told you over the years about how a lot of Death Eaters kept out of Azkaban?"

"Yes, and I also remember all your descriptions of Azkaban," Harry calmly shot back. "The way I see it, I'll excuse anyone who doesn't want to go there."

"Even someone who's done what they've done?!" he nearly shouted back. Swallowing again, Sirius clenched his hands into fists.

Harry's eyes had narrowed, the green color staring back at him with vivid accusation. "What they're rumored to have committed," his teenager godson answered again with chilling legality, "and many of those allegations were dismissed because those witches and wizards were more than likely forced against their will. How can you condemn someone who had no choice in the matter?"

"The hell they didn't!" Sirius exploded, his memories of the war and those mock trials still haunting him. He had been there the time Lucius Malfoy slipped through the law, had seen the man's gloating expression as he walked free from his crimes. Hands shaking worse--body beginning to shake--Sirius tried to focus again on what he'd come here to do.

'After this,' he silently promised Harry with a voice dripping of venom, 'we're going to have a long talk about the Death Eaters, and you're going to finally understand just how evil they were.'

"Fine," Sirius responded, voice ready to break, "but that doesn't change the matter. I'm still pulling you out. I've already had your attendance dropped at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Harry's face went white in disbelief. There was a glimmer of something in the boy's eyes, something like homesickness, and Sirius almost felt a little better. Then his godson's face darkened, unbelief growing stronger. "Really?" he repeated, sounding completely cynical. "And I suppose this is supposed to make me happy?"

Sirius felt a bubble of anger rise up, and he ruthlessly squashed it. As reasonably as he could, he answered, "I thought you didn't want to go to Hogwarts. Aren't you happy at being able to leave?"

"Oh yes," he godson replied sarcastically. Harry motioned abruptly with his arms. "It's a good thing I'm still at Hogwarts. It's a good thing I'm not bound by a magical contract to this Tournament-"

"What?" It felt like his breath was knocked out of his lungs. Harry literally not being able to leave?

His godson's lips turned up in a vicious smirk. "No one told you? Even thinking-" He cut off with a quick breath, emerald eyes glazing over for a second. Harry swallowed, and then he laughed hollowly. "Even thinking about leaving comes with a punishment."

Harry shoved out his hands. On the palm of each hand, nail marks dug in deeply. When Sirius looked up, Harry's face was void of any expression. "Hurts worse than anything I've felt before," his godson remarked dryly, drawing his hands back, "and now, two people know."

Sirius reached out to grab those hands, examine the wounds a bit more, stunned so that he could hardly think.

"Wasn't it you who wanted to send me here in the first place?" Harry went on in his same dry voice, body not resisting at all as Sirius almost violently pulled his hand back. "Make friends, have fun, learn something." He laughed again, that same hollow sound. "Looks like I'm about to do it all. The good part is that Hermione said nobody died last year--someone came near enough on the first task, but didn't actually die. The bad part is that, while they only had three tasks, I have ten."

Sirius looked up at Harry, horrified.

His godson looked back calmly. "That's like three times the chance at dying, isn't it?"

It felt like someone was repeatedly pounding on his body. He could hardly breath. Shakily, Sirius reached up to touch Harry's forehead, fingers barely scrapping on his godson's scar. "Harry... oh Merlin, Harry..."

His godson was only a child. Harry couldn't handle this--they were going to kill him. Sirius could see it now, Harry flying in the face of some dragon, those sharp jaws clenching down--and, of course, sending him to Hogwarts was his idea in the first place. His own words came back to haunt him mockingly: Harry's missing out on his friends and his adventures. Harry gets lonely here sometimes. Harry just needs to get away. You see how he is here: he's always quiet and he's always sad. You don't want Harry to be sad, do you?

And of course, being sad was so much worse than being dead.

Harry's expression, as Sirius's fingers grazed his scar, contorted and he suddenly was glaring down with vindictive anger. "Don't touch me," he snapped, pulling away jerkily. "Don't ever touch me again. All you wanted was to get me away, get me out of the house. Now you have it--I might never come back. I hope you happy."

"I'm your godfather," Sirius started with broken-heart slowness. "Harry, I would never want anything to happen to you. I'd do anything to keep you safe--I'm going to do everything in my power." 'Magical contract?' his mind screamed, pulling out of its depression and already working to recall anything he could about the subject.

Harry's eyes narrowed again, green slits that were almost burning with rage. "Godfather? I'm surprised you even know my name. The only time you cared about me was when the mood suited you, when you had time. Before my parents were murdered, you couldn't be bothered to spend any time with your godson."

Sirius winced at that, body physically reacting to the statement. "Harry, your parents were wanted by the Ministry. Even if I knew where to find you, visiting would only lead Aurors there-"

"And you couldn't find a way around it?" Harry snarled, drawing back further. "Not you, the highest-ranking Auror before the war ended?" He spoke the honor like it was a crime.

"You think the Ministry just allowed anyone free reign? It was a war, Harry!" Sirius tried to escape his memories of that time, knowing that yes the Ministry had no power whatsoever over the Aurors, that yes he could have visited if he'd really tried. But it was a war, and he'd been the best at what he'd been doing and more people needed his protection than his old friends whose names were beginning to look shady and who Sirius knew he couldn't help and who he couldn't find anyway-

"Don't try to let them take the blame," Harry shot back cuttingly. "Don't think I don't know why you never came. You were too busy in the war, weren't you? Torturing innocent people on my birthday no doubt. Likely bombing family homes at night while they sleep unaware, which is probably the best way to go when you're concerned."

Those were memories Sirius had never wanted.

By the time Sirius could even respond, Harry disappeared into the night. His godson had been backing up continuously until only a voice surfaced from the dark. When Sirius realized his godson was gone, he didn't know whether it would be better to collapse in relief or go searching, go explain and show him what really was going on, get him to understand that he had to, that he had no choice, that he didn't want to, that he was still haunted...

There was a movement in the darkness, and Sirius jumped from his skin. Memories from the war clouding his thinking, he shot first before given any sound to announce his presence by. There were three different cries as his capturing web ensnared the spies, and Sirius was on to them by the time his mind started working again.

There were four different teenagers huddled behind a tree, obviously having heard some part of Sirius's conversation. He saw one of them, and nearly went for a spell again before he caught himself and let the Malfoy boy alone.

"Who are you?" Sirius demanded hoarsely. "What are you doing?" He raised his wand threateningly. "What did you hear?"

"One question at a time, Black," the Malfoy child replied with his father's disdain. "If we answered them all at the same time, you'd probably forget what you asked in the first place."

Sirius willed his magical web to tighten around the Slytherin, and took cruel satisfaction from the boy's soft gasp. Impudent pup, learned it from his father, would grow up to be his father, Lucius Malfoy, Harry-

"Just answer the questions," Sirius ordered tightly, trying to hold reign over his thoughts.

"Black?" one of the girls gasped, the redheaded one. "Auror Black?"

The boy beside her, also redheaded, looked similar enough that Sirius made the connection immediately. "Weasleys?" She nodded frantically. "What are you doing here? I thought all Hogwarts students were sent home."

"Idiot, I tell you," Malfoy breathed out. It sounded like it pained him enough to say it that Sirius ignored the temptation to further tighten his bonds.

"Harry invited us to stay," the other girl responded nervously, shooting worried glances at Malfoy. "Even Malfoy, here. We were out looking for him--we didn't realize that it was you who'd taken him at dinner. The Auror wouldn't let us out at first because he knew we wanted to follow you, so we really didn't hear anything."

"Not much," the Weasley boy agreed enthusiastically, his eyes frantically switching from the two girls to Sirius. 'Not much,' his eyes told Sirius, 'but enough.' There was fear in his eyes. Was everyone so afraid of Aurors?

Sirius waited a moment longer before reluctantly dispelling the magical web. The four all relaxed, Malfoy taking in a breath of shaky air. The Slytherin stood, dusting off his robes, and stared accusingly at Sirius. "I hope you know that I can report you for that," the boy shot out indignantly. "Harassment, they call it."

"Shove it, Malfoy," the Weasley boy got out before Sirius could, giving Malfoy a dirty look. "I don't think anyone would really care what you report. Straight to the garbage shoot with that." Then he nervously looked back to Sirius. "Um, thank you, sir. Now, we really ought to be going-"

"Where's Potter?" Malfoy demanded, ignoring the other's comment remarkably well. "I'm not going to let you intimidate me-"

"That'll do, Mister Malfoy," Sirius interrupted coolly, having had enough to deal with. His mind felt like it was going to explode--what did they hear?--and he was getting tired of dealing with adolescent boys. Without another word, he turned around and left. If he couldn't get Harry off of Beauxbatons now, then he'd make sure nothing would happen to Harry until the solution showed itself. He was going to make his inspection of the Aurors the toughest one he ever made.