3/4

"There's no such thing as a boring year at Hogwarts, especially for Harry. And Merlin only knows what Gaara's been through in the years before now. We've only seen and heard the tip of the iceberg. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that, but that makes it even more important that they get at least one year without nearly being killed, Moony!"

"I'm not exactly on Death's side here, but what I'm saying is that it's happening whether we like it or not."

Sirius paused, "…so we need to figure out a way to help them…"

"Exactly. Gaara is incredibly strong but he will need as much help as he can get in terms of magic. And while Harry is powerful, he's also young. They will both need our guidance. Your guidance. With any luck, they'll help each other out a bit too."

Sirius snorted, taking a swig of his third beer, "Fat chance!"

"Well, hopefully at least Gaara won't go out of his way to take Harry out of the running."

"It'll depend on his mood or how he's feeling about Harry that day, I expect."

"You're not wrong there."

Sirius turned off the radio when the press conference was over and Fudge was trying to steal the limelight again. Neither of the men wanted to hear his self-aggrandisement this evening. In the unlikely event that he said anything of worth, they would catch it in tomorrow's paper.

No doubt there would be no shortage of coverage, come the morning.

"This will make the adoption harder, won't it?" Sirius asked, wondering if he could find a cigarette somewhere in the house. He hadn't smoked since before his arrest, since before Lily announced her pregnancy, as a matter of fact, but tonight he could really do with a fag.

"I don't know." Remus said. "If Fudge doesn't hear about it, it should be fine, I think. If you'd waited until after tonight, it probably would have been harder, with their increased notoriety, but nobody can accuse you of chasing fame."

"Fame chased me. I've got the scars to prove it."

"As do the boys."

"You're right there."

"The child services department's been good so far, kept everything confidential. I can't think why they would change that now."

"I hope you're right. Regardless of whether they're legally mine or not, I'll be having words with both of them."

"'Having words', Sirius?" Remus asked, choking on a laugh.

"I thought that was the right way to say it. The adult way of saying I'm gonna give them a right bollocking."

"Did you even start that parenting book I got you?"

"I'm still stuck picking out baby names. I mean, sure, Bandit and Prongslet are good, but I need middle names for them."

"I think they're rather attached to the names they've got."

"You can never have too many names. I've got six. I can't remember two of them and I don't like another one of them but I've got them if I ever needed them."

"The only reason you don't like the name Canopus is because it ruins your S.O.B. joke. And last time you complained about names, you said you only had five."

"Ah, that time I'd honestly forgotten one of them."

"So what are these two other names?"

"I shan't say."

"You shan't?"

"Indeed. Some things are between me and my hairdresser."

Remus saw that Sirius, whose tolerance for alcohol was never as legendary as the man claimed, was descending into silliness. Maybe that was a good thing; a chance for him to blow off some steam before whatever was to happen tomorrow.

With that in mind, Remus climbed to his feet and poured himself a small sherry. As long as he wasn't as hungover as Sirius in the morning, everything would be fine.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Draco sat alone in their room, exhausted but a long way from sleeping.

Gaara, total coward that he was, had disappeared by the time the rest of the student body had been let out of the Great Hall. Where Krum and Delacour had stood their ground and even welcomed the wave of congratulations from the hundreds of teenagers rushing towards them, Gaara was nowhere to be seen and Potter had been seen fleeing up the stairs to his dormitory.

Draco was in no mood to be caught in the midst of the crowd for any longer than he absolutely needed to be, so he headed straight to the Dungeons, knowing that Gaara wouldn't be waiting for him there. Gaara liked to hide in times like these.

Bloody coward.

Draco's dark mood was only worsened by the proxy-congratulations he was given to pass along to his friend. Every Slytherin he passed suddenly seemed thrilled that Gaara was in their House, and wanted him to pass along messages for them. Whether this was because Gaara was nowhere to be seen or because he still intimidated most of Hogwarts would remain to be seen.

There were only a few other Slytherins who were heading straight to the Dungeons, and most of the others were tired firsties in need of sleep. Draco beat them all there and then he rushed to his room, definitely not hoping to find Gaara in the room. He knew there was no hope of that.

He sighed when he opened the door on his dark room and then slammed it shut behind him and settled on his bed. His mind was swimming, his anger growing, and he didn't know what to do with it. He wished he could distract himself with a book or some homework, but three separate and aborted attempts to read his book, and one attempt at going to sleep, told him there was no escape to be found from this feeling tonight.

The only thing that might save him would be letting it all out, but the only target for such a tirade was gone.

He did end up cursing the wall a few times, which made him feel marginally better. His father was right about one thing, curses did make you feel better at times like these. The darker the better.

He only stopped casting because a deep crack had formed in the wall and he did not want to flood the dorms with the Black Lake.

After the blasting had ceased, his room was silent for a while. What little noise might have been caused outside of his room was hushed by the obvious signs of rage within. The first years must have been skittering about in terror at the sounds of battle.

The reverie ended when the bulk of the Slytherin finally returned to the House and the partying could begin. Hogwarts (true) Champions was from their House, so the glory would be theirs.

Despite being just after midnight, music began to play and sounds of dancing and drinking drifted even into the reaches of Draco's room from the Common Room. One person, whose identity would remain unknown, tried to call on Draco (and possibly Gaara) but, after knocking and getting no response, the individual tried to open the door, to which Draco set an overpowered charm to slam it back shut and seal it.

The intruder had not made it even one step into the room but the force sent him flying back and bouncing off of the far wall.

Nobody was entirely sure what was going on with Draco, or Gaara and Draco, but they knew better than to ask by now and left them both alone for the night.

Similar to Sirius' complaints elsewhere, Draco bemoaned that Gaara had lied to him. Betrayed him.

Again.

But why? Gaara pulled stunts all the time, even if this was more serious than his usual nonsense, so why would he lie and say he wouldn't enter. Potter claimed not to enter and even if he was telling the truth, Draco knew Gaara had no such excuse.

During the ceremonies earlier, he had refused to make eye contact with Draco even once. He was ashamed, as he should be.

So why?

Clearly Gaara was still keeping secrets from him, after everything. After everything they had been through. Draco's continuing nightmares about the full moon were testament to that fact.

But what more could Gaara be hiding from him. What could the assassin from another world have left to hide from him?

Remembering that night last month, Draco almost didn't want to know. But he did. He had to know.

Draco's Dreamwalker Potion project would continue. No more secrets. No more lies.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Albus had been hoping to get a full night's sleep tonight. He hadn't hoped for a good night's rest, he hadn't had one of those in many years, but with Gaara entered into the Tournament and the inevitable chaos and destruction at least limited, he might have been able to get a few hours. Instead, this…

Instead of his bed, he was sat in his office again, facing down almost every member of his staff and Henrick Morbidus.

Morbidus had shown up shortly after this meeting was called. He gave no indication of where he had been that evening that was so important he had not been present for the Minister's latest humiliation, nor did he care to mention what Fudge had said to him to get him there so promptly. Henrick had simply appeared and requested to sit in on the meeting and confer with the professors about what they knew of matters.

Apparently, there would be some sort of investigation into the selection of two Champions from Hogwarts. Albus could feel his skin further wrinkling with joy.

The professors, whose contempt for the Tournament that had been forced upon them, were up in arms at this betrayal. It was bad enough that one child had to be taken as a sacrificial lamb to further the Minister's career, but for two of their charges to be taken instead, it was unthinkable.

Henrick stayed back and did not offer any defence on behalf of the Ministry, meaning he was only there to observe and report back on what was said. Even knowing this, as most his learned colleagues surely did, Albus heard almost every one of them say (or shout) mutinous words against the Ministry.

Snape was quieter, as expected, but even he looked angry at this turn of events. Albus wondered, as he often did, what must be running through the young Potions master's head. He had been keeping a much stricter eye on Severus lately, particularly with regard to his treatment of Gaara after he was forced to return to Potions lessons.

Severus' hatred of the boy may only have dimmed slightly, but next to his concern over Harry's welfare, it must have seemed incidental. Snape looked weary, which was saying something considering the weight the young man carried on his shoulders these past fifteen years.

"While I cannot fathom the stupidity that drove him to it, nor how he might have accomplished such a feat with his current level of skill, I have no doubt in my mind that Potter cheated the Goblet and should still be disqualified. Surely if not you alone, the Wizengamot you head must be able to remove him from the Tournament, Headmaster."

"Alas, if only that were the case. In this matter, I'm afraid, there is not higher authority than the Minister. I, like all of you, wish it were not the case, but my hands are well and truly tired and there is nothing I can do to stop either boy from competing, as much as I would dearly like to." Albus said, trying to sound convincing and not as tired with the situation as he felt. These were arguments he'd had with his professors and with himself many times over the past few weeks. The addition of Harry into the equation did not do anything ease his weariness.

"There are many boys and girls, from the older years, much more qualified to take part than Potter." Minerva said. She had been at the front of the protesting staff but by her waning anger, she must have sensed the resignation with which her long-time superior and friend was speaking.

"As I have said, despite that important fact, there is not contravening the Goblet's selection."

"Beyond what has already been done to work around the Tournament's traditions." Severus unhelpfully added.

"Yes, beyond that." Albus noticed, how could he not, that few of the arguments made that evening had been against Gaara's involvement. It was widely known by now that in spite of the 'exchange student's' magical difficulties, he was exceptionally powerful with his sand. It made Albus hopeful that at least that part of his plan might succeed.

It seemed that was the only facet of the plan to succeed. Harry was taking part, Fudge was furious with him and the school because it was apparently Hogwarts' collective fault, and now they would have to endure further scrutiny from Morbidus.

"If we cannot stop this travesty, then we will simply have to prepare the boys for whatever might be thrown at them."

"I'm sorry to say that is also forbidden." Albus said. He really wished he had held one of the straggling Ministry officials back so they could be the bearer of all of this bad news.

"What?" Minerva demanded.

Albus levelled his eyes at her, "As you will recall, we are not allowed to directly interfere with the Champions or offer them special help outside the confine of their regular lessons. Any actions contrary to this will result in dismissal, by order of the Minister and the Board of Governors."

"Then are we supposed to send those boys to their deaths?!" Pomona asked.

"I trust that the educations that we have provided both Harry and Gaara before now and before the first Task will be all they will need to prepare them." That was as close to a hint as Albus could risk with Henrick so close. Truly, there was precious little that could be taught to the boys before the first Task that might help them, but anything that could be slipped into the curriculum between then and now would definitely be worth the effort.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but might I ask, before this goes any further, what were the specific security arrangements surrounding the Goblet of Fire over the twenty-four-hour period it was accepting entrees?" Henrick finally spoke up. The man did not act without purpose, so Albus had to wonder why he chose to speak now. What had he been waiting to hear, or what was he trying to avoid being said?

That would keep Albus up tonight if his staff didn't.

"Yes, I would be more than happy to discuss that with you, Inspector, but I expect that Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout had better check on their respective Houses and enforce Hogwarts' much ignored curfew. It would be best if not everyone shows up to breakfast tomorrow looking as tired as we are all sure to feel. Could you stay behind with us, Septima, Aurora? I'm sure we will be all that are needed to answer any questions."

"Yes, that will be fine. Thank you for humouring me." Humour sounded like an alien concept coming from Henrick Morbidus.

What followed for Albus was an hour of discussing, in extreme detail, the uneventful happenings of the night before, and then two hours of discussing the intricate magics involved in the Goblets and the age line Albus had set up. He envied Aurora and Septima for only have to endure that first hour.

By the end, Albus was acutely feeling his age and would most likely be needing a little something from Poppy tomorrow.

If things had been different, if dark lords had not risen, and foolish tournaments had not been planned, Albus wondered if he might have been retired by now. Sitting in the English countryside, sipping brandy next to whatever friends he still had that had managed to fight off the ravages of time.

That painful thought helped to remind Albus on the mistakes he had made and the price he paid to remedy them, as best he could.

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It had not taken the skills of Sybil Trelawney to predict that the inhabitants of Hogwarts, both foreign and domestic, would show up to breakfast the morning after the selection looking less lively than the castle ghosts. The chatter was still pervasive but the whispered tones came out of teens and preteens fighting to keep their faces out of their porridge

The older students, who were more accustomed to sleep deprivation, were more preoccupied shuffling through the assortment of different newspapers making their way around the Hall. Dozens of copies of the Daily Prophet had been delivered that morning, along with papers from a number of other European magical communities, ordered by Ravenclaws keen on espousing the dangers of getting all of one's news from a single source.

Along with the paper came unheard of amounts of mail from the owls that had been detained by the Ministry for a full day. Most of it was now irrelevant, parents warning their children not to enter the Tournament and other such messages.

One memorable letter came in the form of a howler from Molly Weasley to her twin sons.

Howlers become louder the longer they are ignored and this one had been hidden away by the Ministry for a full twenty-four hours. When they opened it, their usual defiant good cheer turning to cold sweats, the entire Hall could hear Mrs Weasley's screaming at them for entering despite her warnings. It was very embarrassing for all of the Weasleys present in the Hall. It even spared a breath to tell Ginny she was in trouble as well for not telling her about their entry before Ron had.

Ron's smugness lost to his shame as he ducked his head.

After the howler finished promising them punishments the likes of which they had never seen, it tore itself up and the Hall returned to quiet murmurs and the rustling of paper. Ron could be thankful that his teasing would be lessened by the greatly diminished energy of everyone there to witness it.

Harry wanted to put a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder but his best friend had been strangely moody since last night. Granted, Harry hadn't exactly been cheerful after the selection, even with all of the celebrations, but Ron had been off. Still, Harry had to remind himself, he had bigger problems than Ron's family drama or whatever had preceded it.

Ron stormed off when the snickers directed at him didn't dissipate within sixty seconds like Hermione had assured him they would.

Hedwig arrived with a squawk, looking upset with him and acting very demanding (it took almost all of his bacon to get her to stop snapping at him, which she almost never did). Only after he had paid her the appropriate tribute and apologised profusely, drawing some odd looks from his dining companions, that she let him take his letters.

While he stared at the foreboding envelope, Hedwig ate the rest of his breakfast, gave him a disgruntled hoot and took flight. She was evidently giving him the cold shoulder.

She wasn't the only one.

Still, Harry could only hope Sirius' letter wouldn't be like that. He'd rather his godfather rip him a new one with a howler than ignore him or act like he didn't care. He didn't dare to hope that Sirius would believe him, though.

'Prongslet,

I'm sorry I can't be there with you right now. I'm sure it must be difficult but please know that Moony and I are on your side. I spent this morning telling Fudge's assistant what I think of what they are doing to you but I couldn't get to the man himself. I would recount what I told them to tell Fudge but Moony told me not to teach you any more swear words.

I've been asked never to return to the Minister's office so I think my message will be conveyed.

I also sent letters to Fudge, Crouch and Bagman to reiterate my complaints and demanded answers.

Anyway, I believe you. I know you wouldn't enter into that tournament on your own, so I will make sure they find out what went on. If I can prove someone else entered your name, they'll be forced to let you out.

Do you have any idea what happened with Gaara? He didn't deny entering like you did but I can't imagine he would volunteer either. Maybe someone is targeting the two of you. Be careful and don't trust anyone you don't know.

I will get you out of this but Moony says you need to prepare anyway. Might be worth cracking a book between now and the first round.

They still won't let me visit the school but I'll keep at it.

Please write back as soon as you can. Skip your lessons if you need to. It's okay, you have a responsible adult's permission.

I'm going to stop now before Moony reads this.

Your illustrious and spectacularly manly godfather,

Padfoot

P.s. Please try and make contact with Gaara if you can. He never writes back to me and I doubt this will be the exception.'

Normally one of Sirius' letters was enough to alleviate even the worst moods, but this morning it did little to ease his worries.

Harry didn't have much hope that the investigation would get him out of participating in the Tournament, but he appreciated everything that Sirius had said and done. The trust Sirius had in him and the fury with which he defended Harry was a little unfamiliar but it felt good.

Harry also found attached another letter from Sirius from yesterday, probably the reason for Hedwig being turned away and being upset with him.

The second letter meant little to him now, just giving final warnings not to enter the Tournament and to try to enjoy the spectacle in spite of everything.

He dropped the parchment to the table and continued the project he began in his mind the night before – Operation: Get Myself Out of Life-Threatening Trouble.

So far, nothing.

The Minister and professors last night had made it clear that he was powerless to escape this latest threat to his health. His only hope, it seemed, was Sirius.

Sirius who was anything but a crafty political operator. Sirius who, if Professor Lupin was to be believed, had to be kept away from hard liquor for most of the week. Sirius who had woken Harry up half the nights he stayed at Grimmauld Place to make sure he 'didn't need anything like a glass of water or the talk about the birds and the bees'.

No doubt, Sirius would do everything he could to help Harry, but Harry sadly did not believe it would be enough.

Draco had watched the latest Weasley spectacle with a scoff. Even before he had revised parts of his opinions regarding the vital importance of blood purity in their culture (coincidentally after the arrival of Gaara into his life), the Weasleys had been the greatest argument against the virtues of uninterrupted pureblood lines.

Funnily enough, the best thing the Weasleys had done in the last decade to open the eyes of the overwhelmingly racist Slytherin student body was to be themselves. Of course, the other powerful argument against keeping the lines clean was the inbreeding so popular amongst certain families.

That argument had been left unsaid in Slytherin for the past few years after one oblivious Slytherin second year had made a crass joke to the scion of the venerable Malfoy line about the inbred Blacks, and the madness that came with them.

The boy had moved back on to solid food after a week, Draco had been released from detention after a month, Slytherins would know not to disparage any Black (particularly the women) until after Draco left Hogwarts, and his mother would never admit how proud she had been of the distinctly Gryffindorish moment her boy had exhibited in her defence.

After Draco watched Potter first stooge storm out of the Great Hall, his eyes wandered around. He had sat apart from his friends this morning as he was still no in the mood to socialise. Even watching the people around the Hall wasn't diverting his attention the way it usually would. How often would he have the chance to watch Viktor Krum eat breakfast at the same table as him?

Well… the answer was many times over the coming year, but still…

Instead, he ignored the many Durmstrang students, and the Slytherins who suddenly found Draco (and his close association with a Champion) very interesting.

Seeing a fellow platinum blonde walking towards the exit, Draco practically leapt to his feet to catch her before she left the hall and he lost sight of her.

"Lovegood." He said, carefully avoiding any raise in his voice and sounding like he was calling out to her. She turned to him but he continued walking right past her and out of the Hall. Turned around the wrong way and missed him as he passed her. She looked back his speed walking had taken him right past her.

Draco looked to his side, expecting to find she had fallen in step with him. Instead, she was stood at the entrance to the Hall look around her like a simpleton.

For Merlin's sake…

"Lovegood, over here." She finally registered who had addressed her and made her way over at a sedate pace.

"Good morning, Draco. How are you?"

"In no mood for small talk." Draco said.

"That's a pity. Big talk can be a bit hard in the mornings. Too many nargles around." She seemed to be getting lost in her train of thought so Draco had to move quickly before she was gone.

"Did you know he would enter?" There was no need to clarify whom, since there was only one person they had in common.

"No, I was quite surprised. He doesn't seem like the sort to volunteer for that sort of thing."

"No, he doesn't."

"I wondered if he might have been controlled by-"

"I really don't have time to listen your crackpot theories."

"Then why did you start talking to me?" Luna asked with pure curiosity, as if she accepted that her deeply held beliefs were crackpot theories in the eyes of others.

Draco stopped short of saying anything unnecessarily cruel in response. He was working on being less mean to Luna since, as far he could remember, she had never said a word against him. She was still daft and annoying, but that would describe his best friend too.

Draco sighed. "Do you know where he is?"

"Right now? No, I don't. He terribly difficult to pin down." She said. "Sorry."

"Just as well. I'm not sure whether or not I'll hex him when I see him."

"I wouldn't recommend it. Professor Snape didn't fare too well when he tried cursing him."

Draco thought back to that incident last year. Snape had been known to cast spells at his students from time to time, despite directives from the board of governors telling him not to. What had made that instance memorable to those who witnessed it was that the target had been a Slytherin for a change, and unlike every other time it had happened, the target had fought back.

"Yes, well…" Draco wasn't sure how to answer that. Professor Snape was a legendary duellist while Draco's own fighting skills were never worth boasting about. Not that he didn't try.

"I don't think you should try to curse Gaara. It would hurt his feelings."

Draco looked at her for only a moment before he realised, like Gaara, she wouldn't react to his visible bafflement. His glance backward at her did bring to his attention the people closing in. He did not move in the same illustrious circles he once did but he would still prefer not to be seen in Lovegood's company any more than absolutely necessary.

He guided her by the shoulders and dragged her around the corner to a quieter spot. She let out a squeak at the sudden manhandling but went along without any struggle. She understood Draco did not want to be seen with her. It was a common sentiment.

"Have you read this morning's newspapers?" She asked when they were safely secluded.

"I skimmed the Prophet but there wasn't anything worth reading in there."

"They took a lot of creative liberties."

"That's one way of saying they made up half of what they wrote."

"Did you only read the Prophet?"

"Yes, why?"

"There were lots of interesting articles in other papers."