Chapter 17

The feeling of tense anticipation was palpable in the Great Hall, everyone seemed to be wishing that the food would just disappear already so that they go move on to the champion selection.

Harry kept eating. He'd noticed that his appetite was slowing down recently, but he still ate quite a lot. He was significantly more relaxed than most of the people in the Great Hall. Knowing ahead of time who the champions would be had taken most of the excitement out of it for him. The only one that remained unknown to him was Beauxbatons, and even then he had the veela pegged as the likely candidate based on how ordinary all the other students felt. He'd never say it out loud because he knew it was rude and insulting, but they felt like NPCs, background population with nothing really noteworthy about them.

The staff table was more crowded than normal, what with two foreign school heads and two Ministry officials added to it. That one of those officials was that bumbling oaf Bagman was bad enough, much worse was the presence of a familiar pink toad that was apparently still acting as temporary head of the DIMC. He still had no idea why he hated that woman so much. He'd met evil people before, Lucius Malfoy being a good example, but they hadn't evoked this kind of instant hatred from him.

The food finally vanished and the air became even more charged. Dumbledore blew out all the candles so that the only real light came from the blue flames of the Goblet of Fire, then he launched into a short speech that managed to get everyone even more excited even though it was just a glorified set of instructions. Harry wondered if a penchant for the dramatic was a failing of all powerful wizards. Sirius had told him that Voldemort was even worse about it and Grindelwald had been fond of grand gestures and symbolism as well from what he'd read.

Harry winced to himself as he recalled how dramatically he had entered himself into this tournament the other day. He could have just as easily done that at night when there was nobody watching, but he had wanted to prove that he could outsmart Dumbledore.

The old wizard finished with his speech just as the Goblet started burning red and ejected a piece of parchment.

"The Durmstrang champion will be…" He paused, once more being dramatic. "… Viktor Krum!"

The Hall exploded into cheers.

"No surprises there!" Roared Ron Weasley from the Gryffindor table. Harry could only shake his head at the boy's fangirling. The way he went on about the Bulgarian was embarrasing just to watch, even from a distance.

A closer Weasley hooted energetically, apparently also thrilled. Harry looked at Ginny strangely, surprised by how excited she was at Krum being chosen. Eh, maybe it was a quidditch thing? She had tried to start a few conversations about the silly sport back when they had still been friends, but had gotten only polite disinterest. Harry doubted he would ever understand what all the fuss was about.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff boomed so loudly that he was probably using spells to enhance his voice. "I knew you had it in you!"

I'll bet you did. Karkaroff's fawning over his student had been even more nauseating than Weasley's. The loudmouth Gryffindor at least had the excuse of being a teenager.

Much to Harry's amusement, the newly chosen champion seemed to dislike all the attention. Not the typical celebrity attention whore then.

The Goblet flared again and Dumbledore snatched another piece of parchment from the air.

"The Beauxbatons champion will be…" There was that dramatic pause again. "… Fleur Delacour!"

Much to Harry's glee this turned out to be the veela. Excellent. Surely this tournament would give him enough opportunities to be around her that he could take a closer look at her magic. He wouldn't get to test out the reputed instinctual sex magics of the veela thanks to his relationship status, but you can't have everything.

The applause for her was almost as loud as it had been for Krum, though Harry had to give an incredulous look towards two other Beauxbatons girls that had burst into tears at the announcement. Really? I mean, REALLY?

Contrary to Krum, Delacour seemed to soak up the attention like a sponge as she walked off. Huh, go figure, a pretty girl that liked to be the center of attention. That was so cliché that it was almost an anti-cliché. Maybe it was a veela thing? Their succubi ancestors would have had a hard time being sexual predators if they didn't enjoy attention after all.

The Goblet flared again.

"And the Hogwarts champion will be…" Harry resisted the urge to stand before Dumbledore finished his announcement. "… Harry Potter!"

There was a moment of stunned silence before the Hall exploded into cheers again, though there were also a fair few groans from each of the four tables.

"Congratulations, Harry." Luna said serenely, barely heard over the noise even sitting next to him as she was.

"Thanks, Luna." Harry said, smiling at his friend. Her quiet words meant more to him than all the noise from the others.

He walked past the staff table and into the antechamber where the other champions had gone, making note of the teacher's faces as he went by.

Snape looked livid, McGonnagal pinched, Dumbledore and Moody inscrutable, Vector and Babbling surprised but proud, Flitwick excited, Maxime bewildered but clapping politely, Karkaroff unsettled, Bagman about to wet his pants and Umbridge as if someone had injected lemon juice straight into her face.

Heh, quite the spectrum of emotion for a single event.

Behind him, the Goblet of Fire guttered out, its purpose fulfilled.

Draco had, just like most of the school, briefly entertained the notion of entering the Tri-Wizard Tournament himself. The tournament was an ancient tradition with a lot of prestige attached to it, especially now that it was being held again for the first time in centuries. He had decided not to in the end, both because of the danger and because his pride wouldn't let him tolerate the idea that someone was more worthy than him if he didn't get chosen.

Viktor Krum being champion wasn't a surprise. He was a proper pureblood and famous in his own right. If anyone was worthy of representing Durmstrang it was him.

That Beauxbatons would be represented by a non-human creature just showed how far the French had fallen.

But it was the Hogwarts champion that really had Draco fuming.

Dumbledore had snatched the parchment after the Goblet of Fire had spat it out, unraveled it and without a hint of surprise proclaimed Harry Potter as the Hogwarts champion.

There had been curses and groans from some people who were hoping to be chosen, but most of the school cheered.

Draco barely refrained from gnashing his teeth in rage.

It was always Potter this and Potter that. What was so special about that filthy halfblood anyway? Even Dumbledore let him walk all over Hogwarts as if the rules didn't apply to Saint Potter. He could get away with physically assaulting the heir to the Malfoy family like some kind of disgusting muggle, ignore detentions, only go to classes when he felt like it, but nobody dared think of expelling him like he deserved.

Now he'd illegally entered himself into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, violating the Ministry's age restriction and he got applause !

Draco's dislike for Harry Potter had curdled into genuine hatred over the past two months of humiliating pranks. He knew that Potter was behind it even if he never saw him doing anything, the smirks that the freakishly tall bastard sent him were proof enough of that. His fellow Slytherins thought him a joke now rather than someone to be respected. Even his father had told him that he was a disappointment for being unable to handle himself when he'd written home to inform him of Potter's insults to House Malfoy.

He burned with the desire to get back at the halfblood, but he couldn't see any way to do it. Much as he hated to admit it, Potter was too strong for a direct confrontation. There were safeguards preventing him from potioning his food in the Great Hall and sending him anonymous mail would be too suspicious. He couldn't even target that crazy friend of his because she was always either in classes or with Potter.

But he wasn't giving up. Nobody treated a Malfoy like this and got away with it. Draco swore to himself that he would see Potter brought low one day.

Fleur looked up as the door to the antechamber opened, admitting the last of the three Tri-Wizard champions.

He was a tall and lean young man with long black hair and the most incredible green eyes. She remembered him from the welcoming feast the other day, sitting next to a young blonde girl. He had looked at her with sharp-eyed curiousity rather than the glassy stares she received so often, clearly unaffected by her passive Allure.

She had thought him a possible candidate as the Hogwarts champion even then, but had been confused as to why he would sit with the younger years. Learning that this was the fourteen year old Harry Potter had been quite a shock.

The story of the Boy-Who-Lived was known in France, though the prevailing opinion in her homeland was that the boy's mother had done something to protect him rather than it being some innate power of his. The English were obviously too bigoted to admit that someone with no magical ancestry could best their Dark Lord and had heaped all the credit on an infant regardless of how little sense that made.

Truth be told, Fleur hated Britain. She hated the food, she hated the weather and most of all she hated the people who classified her under the same category as they would a dragon or a unicorn. A beast.

She had very nearly decided not to participate in this tournament simply because of the country where it would take place, but her desire to enter and not let Madam Maxime down eventually won over. She was the best that Beauxbatons had to offer and showing these English pigs that a veela was better than them would be worth the irritation.

But she couldn't do that by being churlish, so she stepped up to the Hogwarts champion and introduced herself.

" Bonjour, Fleur Delacour." She said with a subtle challenge in her tone, holding her hand downwards and indicating that he was to kiss it.

To her surprise, he did so without the slightest sign of disgust at showing respect to a veela, even seeming amused by her attitude. "Harry Potter."

That alone did a great deal to take the wind out of her sails and she reconsidered her opinions as the two male champions introduced each other. Perhaps it had been unfair of her to paint him with the same brush as the rest of Britain before even meeting him? At the very least, she now had a cautiously positive opinion of both her fellow champions.

Both were international celebrities, but did not act with the arrogance one might expect of such people. Krum came off as a bit surly but had been polite enough and Potter had been perfectly respecful so far.

What worried her was that she was no longer quite as assured of victory as she had been when she had decided to enter.

Veela had an innate sense for powerful magic, especially the magic of living things. A legacy of their succubi heritage. That sense was telling her that she would not be having an easy time of it if she wanted to win this tournament. She could not take her opponents lightly.

There was more to Krum than just being a star seeker. He felt quite strong and the reputation of Durmstrang meant that he was probably also quite dangerous with a wand.

But it was Potter that was the real surprise. How could a fourteen-year-old be this powerful? It was ridiculous. He felt stronger than most of her teachers. The burn scars on his right hand also told that he had already been involved in something dangerous. Given the effectiveness of magical healing, scars were usually the result of especially nasty magic. He had also proved himself clever with the way he had bypassed Dumbledore's Age Line, it may have been a simple way of doing it but it had still required a considerable amount of knowledge. She had no doubt that he would prove to be stiff opposition.

Moreover, there was something… off about the feel of him. It made her vaguely uncomfortable to be in his presence, almost threatened. This was completely at odds with what she had felt a few hours previously, when she had been almost drawn to him, though there had been enough people around at the time that she could not be certain of anything.

The fact that he didn't look fourteen also bothered her. Even now she could see the shadow of a beard on his face and fourteen-year-olds simply did not grow beards. It could happen for a fourteen-year-old to be that tall, it was rare but not impossible. The adult look and facial hair however, could not simply be attributed to early growth. A few stray chin hairs maybe, but not full beards. If she didn't know about the British prejudice against non-humans and had he been broader in body she would have assumed he had giant blood somewhere in his ancestry. But if it wasn't giant's blood, then what was it?

Just as she was thinking this, she felt an odd… tug on her magic. She'd never felt anything like it and was deeply unnerved. A furtive glance around the room told her that Krum was still staring broodily into the fireplace, so he was unlikely to be the cause.

Potter had his eyes closed in an expression of concentration, as if thinking hard about something. Was it him?

She felt another tug, then a more recognizable sensation of foreign magic intruding in her aura space, easily identifiable as belonging to the green-eyed wizard this time. He still had his eyes closed, apparently expecting her to be oblivious to whatever he was doing.

She felt a swell of irritation at that. Though it was impressive that he was able to control his magic in this manner, he was not only underestimating her but also being quite rude. Touching another's magic like that was a personal thing for veela and about equivalent to copping a feel. Driven by that irritation, she flared her Allure powerfully, expecting him to turn into a stammering wreck. Resisting a veela's passive Allure was one thing, but a deliberate flexing was quite another.

Much to her surprise and further irritation, he merely opened his eyes and smirked at her. Of all the insufferable…

Fleur hated being mocked, but the sound of approaching footsteps halted any thoughts of escalating the situation.

Harry scowled briefly as he realized that his little confrontation with Delacour was being cut short. He'd been having fun playing what was essentially magical footsie with her. Not really what he'd set out to do, but he'd been learning such interesting things about her magic.

For one, he knew that she was much more aware of herself than most wizards and witches, whether it was due to her veela nature or because she was simply better than them he couldn't say.

Two, despite feeling like a miniature sun, he couldn't draw on her Light. That made sense, as the actual Sun wasn't a living being and had no sense of self, whereas she did.

Three, he felt fairly certain that Delacour was especially proficient with offensive magic and certain Charms, but would lag behind with Transfiguration. That she would be good with fire was barely worth mentioning, veela had a thing for fire.

Any more he'd have to learn at a later date, as the three school heads and two British Ministry officials entered the room.

Ludo Bagman came in first, practically bouncing with excitement. "Greetings, gentlemen and lady. I trust you've had enough time to introduce each other?"

The three of them gave muttered confirmations of this.

Bagman seemed a bit put off by the lack of energy in their reply, but rallied quickly. "Well, congratulations on being chosen as champions for your respective schools, I am certain just by looking at you that the Goblet of Fire chose well!"

"Hem, hem."

Harry wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a throat clearing sound or a polite cough, but he knew that he hated it immensely. He hadn't heard anything this fake since Lockhart's bragging. Of course, it was no surprise that he hated it since it was coming from Umbridge. He suspected that he'd be tempted to punch her even if she told him that he'd just won the lottery.

"It was my understanding that only those who were at least seventeen years of age would be allowed to enter. Is Mr. Potter not merely a child of fourteen?" Umbridge said, making his jaw clench at her condescending tone. Harry got the distinct impression that she was still holding a grudge over the fact that he'd wiped his hand after shaking hers at the World Cup.

"Come now, Dolores!" Bagman jumped in. "The Goblet chose him out of all the Hogwarts students that entered their names, so there is hardly any excuse for backing out now."

"Ludo is correct. It is too late for Mr. Potter to withdraw even if he wished to. Once the Goblet chooses a champion, they must see the tournament through to the end or else forfeit their magic to it." Dumbledore added quickly, obviously playing peacekeeper.

Harry ignored Dumbledore's attempts to defuse the situation and started preparing a spell. Umbridge was certainly not the only one that could be resentful and calling him a child merited some payback.

"Then that should be his punishment for breaking the law set down by the Ministry." Umbridge insisted, her saccharine tone not quite managing to hide her glee at the idea. "After all, we wouldn't want this prestigious wizarding event to become any more of a farce than it is already, would we?"

"And what exactly is zat supposed to mean?" The hitherto silent half-giant headmistress of Beauxbatons demanded, obviously catching on to the thinly veiled racism.

"No matter, no matter!" Bagman jumped in, sounding quite desperate to keep Umbridge from opening her mouth again. "We were only supposed to congratulate the champions for being chosen and inform them that the first task would take place on November 24th. As we have now done so, I propose that we retire."

"Excellent idea, Ludo" Dumbledore concurred, throwing his own weight behind the effort.

"So we are to just let this boy get away with breaking the law?" Umbridge demanded, getting a bit shrill in her frustration.

It was at this point that Harry was finished with his spell and placed it on Umbridge, who was going to be finding her next six or so hours very uncomfortable as the Itching Curse made her feel as if she had several dozen ants nibbling at her skin. He knew that it was quite effective from using it on Draco Malfoy last week.

Umbridge twitched and squirmed uncomfortably as the curse took hold, vainly trying to find some relief without outright scratching herself. Not that scratching would really help. Wandless magic was glorious in the way that some of it could be cast right under people's noses if you were careful with the crafting of the spells.

Well, under most people's noses.

He saw Dumbledore glance towards him, so the old man had probably felt him cast that. Unfortunate, but Harry didn't expect to keep his proficiency with wandless magic secret for much longer anyway.

"The rules of the Tri-Wizard Tournament are older than the laws of the Ministry and supercede them." Dumbledore declared with finality, essentially closing the topic.

Umbridge scowled and huffed, but also looked a bit too strained to argue further.

"And vhat will the first task be?" Krum asked.

"It will be a test of daring, so you won't be told what it is." Bagman answered eagerly, happy to move as far away from the awkwardness as possible. "You will be armed only with your wands and will not be permitted to ask for or accept help from your teachers. That is all for now."

"There is one other matter." Harry spoke up, significantly calmer now that he could see Umbridge's face developing a sheen of sweat. Revenge was sweet.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore prompted.

"I read that in past tournaments, champions were entitled to their own quarters in the hosting school. I think I'll take advantage of that. Oh, and I also want unrestricted access to the Restricted Section of the library." It would be nice to be able to read the books in there during the day instead of sneaking into it at night.

"Barely a champion for ten minutes and already making demands?" Karkaroff sneered.

Harry gave the Durmstrang headmaster a stony stare and held it until the man swallowed nervously and looked away. Unlike Dumbledore and Maxime, Karkaroff was a weakling with no conviction. He was dressed in fine robes and had made an effort to look intimidating, but his magic betrayed him for what he truly was.

"I will arrange it." Dumbledore said as though Karkaroff had never spoken. Harry was surprised by how easy that had been. And suspicious too. "Do our other champions have similar wishes?"

"Not ze quarters, but perhaps ze library." Delacour said almost reluctantly, as if unwilling to admit that there was anything in Hogwarts worth bothering with.

Krum looked thoughtful and Harry thought for a moment that the Bulgarian would ask for the quarters, but in the end settled for the same deal as the French veela.

"I will inform Madam Pince that you have free access." Dumbledore said calmly, as if he hadn't just given three teenagers unrestricted access to some rather dangerous literature.

And with that, they all filtered out of the room and went their own ways. Harry smirked as he watched Umbridge speedwalk away on her stubby legs. He had no doubt that she would spend the next few hours scratching herself like a crazed orangutan, only to discover that it gave no relief. There was a chance that she would manage to dispel the curse he put on her, but he doubted it. She didn't give the impression of a skilled witch and a simple Finite Incantatem wouldn't cut it. Especially as he'd modified it to be particularly tenacious.

"It has been some time since these rooms were used, not since my early years as Hogwarts headmaster in fact." Dumbledore said as he opened the door to the rooms in question.

"That's a shame, they're nice rooms." Harry meant it too. While his room in Ravenclaw Tower was nothing to sneer it, it was a bit small. The room he was now in had to be at least four times its size with a rather excessively huge double bed, desk, carpets, couch, armchairs, windows, fireplace and adjoining bathroom. That last part was the best part of this deal, as Ravenclaws still had to share bathrooms like everyone else.

"So they are, but most professors do not care to have their quarters somewhere as out of the way as the sixth floor." Dumbledore said mildly.

That was probably because they didn't know that the Room of Requirement was only one floor up, Harry thought.

"Not even Snape?" He asked pointedly. He knew that the greasy Potions Master was even more reclusive than him.

Dumbledore coughed slightly. "Professor Snape prefers the dungeons."

"Of course he does."

Dumbledore decided to ignore the ambiguous statement. "You have obviously read up on the privileges afforded to Tri-Wizard champions, so you will undoubtedly be aware that you can have visitors or even more permanent company in these rooms."

Harry was indeed aware of that, though Dumbledore's words were carefully chosen to be vague. Permanent company could either be a wife or girlfriend as several past champions had been married already by the time of their choosing. More sinisterly, he was technically allowed to bring over non-magical slaves, though he doubted the Ministry would go for that no matter how obsessed with tradition they were. The magical world had lagged far, far behind its mundane counterpart on the issue of slavery, only being formally abolished some years after the Statute of Secrecy went up. It had been falling out of use for a long time already due to the house elves though, which was probably the reason that the tournament rules still allowed it.

"I'll ask the house elves to move Luna's things in here, save her the trouble of sneaking in." He said, not letting his thoughts show.

"Very well." Dumbledore said, wondering at the relationship between the two. He was reasonably sure that Hary was still in a relationship with Nymphadora Tonks and wasn't entirely sure what to make of the rumors about him and the Lovegood girl. He had tried to take a look at her mind with Legilimency, but had gotten nothing out of it. The girl's thoughts were a baffling combination of scattered and focused, leaving him unable to glean anything useful with a passive scan and he would not stoop to using a full mental attack. He had never done it before and he wouldn't start now. He may not have gotten any useful information from the attempt, but he had at least gotten a chuckle out of the girl's serious contemplation on the nature of radishes.

The old wizard left shortly after that and Harry immediately started sweeping the room for any spying spells. Dumbledore's easy acquiesence made him suspicious. A clever wizard could use quite a few spells to spy on people from a distance.

The desk was clear of any suspicious spells that would copy whatever he wrote down to some other location. There was nothing in the room that would take whatever was said and relay it to a distant Dicta Quill. There were no portraits in the room. The closet only had the standard space expansion charms. The mirror had that annoying enchantment that gave it a faux-sentience and made it give unsolicited commentary on one's appearance - which delayed him for about fifteen minutes as he unraveled it -, but was otherwise clear.

An hour later, Harry had to admit that he probably wasn't being spied upon. How unexpected, he'd been certain that Dumbledore would try it.

Well, whatever. Might as well call Dora and Sirius to tell them that I've been chosen.

The next few days were strange and irritating, but mostly strange.

Harry had acquired fangirls. Fangirls.

He had not anticipated this when he had decided to enter the tournament. They tried to hang around him whenever he showed up in the open. They giggled at everything he said and batted their eyelashes at him. Some made subtle offers to help him relax, others ran their feet over his junk during meal times or deep throated a banana.

Suffice to say, he started eating in the kitchens again or had the house elves bring him food up to the Room of Requirement.

Not that he was turned off by their offers, not at all. If things were different, he'd be happy to shag every single one of them. They were pretty, willing and he was a horny teenager. Some of them thought they could snag a position as his girlfriend, but that was their problem. He might be willing to screw a girl throwing herself at him because of his money or fame, but he'd never date one. If they felt cheap or used by that then they had only themselves to blame.

Of course, this was all a moot point because he had a girlfriend already. Harry suspected that his Animagus form was making it easier to refuse their offers than it would be otherwise. Ravens were monogamous. It wasn't doing anything for his libido however and he was now finding himself making booty calls to the girlfriend in question almost every other day. Though if he was being perfectly honest, he could have probably held out longer, he just liked having sex.

His avoidance of the fangirl phenomenon had made him an even rarer sight around the school than he'd been in past years. The only times that the general school population saw him was when he was moving from one place to another through the halls. The rest of the time he was either in the Room of Requirement, the library, or his new quarters.

At the moment, he was in the library, helping Luna with her Arithmancy.

"Like this, see?" Harry said, pointing out a particular equation. "You have to close the loop, or the enchantment will weaken over time as the magic leaks out of the item."

"That's more of a line." Luna reasoned.

"That's only because the enchantment is so simple." Harry explained. He knew that Luna had chosen Arithmancy because of her mother, who had been highly skilled in the discipline. His friend could not boast the same prodigious skill with it though. She wasn't horrible at it, and they were in fact doing something ahead of the third year curriculum, but her interests lay more in magical creatures, which was her other elective.

"Can you show me a more complicated one then?" Luna asked.

"Alright." Harry agreed and started writing down the formula for a marginally more complex enchantment that would animate an object to move in a set pattern.

He hadn't gotten more than halfway through it when they were interrupted by something even worse than a fangirl. A fan boy .

"Harry?" Colin Creevy said nervously.

"What?" Harry asked flatly. The overly energetic photographer wannabe had been a strain on his patience practically since the day he'd set foot in Hogwarts. Fortunately he'd made enough of a first impression with his foul tempered explosion at the start of second year that the hyperactive Grynffindor left him alone most of the time. Colin still had an annoying tendency to stare at him from a safe distance with starry eyes though.

"Err, they sent me to fetch you." Colin explained nervously. "Mr. Bagman wants you, I think they want to take photographs…"

Harry grimaced in disgust at the poor choice of wording. Obviously this was something to do with the tournament, but he could have done without the mental image of himself having sex with Bagman while someone took pictures. It was right up there with Two Girls One Cup.

"Right." He said, deciding to pretend that Colin hadn't just said something horrible. "I guess we're going to have to finish this later, Luna."

"Alright, Harry." She agreed.

"Lead the way then." Harry said as he stood to follow the small Gryffindor out of the library.

The two of them walked through the school in silence. Colin looked like he was desperate to say something, but Harry was quite deliberately exuding the most forbidding aura he could muster in an attempt to keep the excitable pest from talking.

"Good luck!" Colin squeaked out and fled as soon as they reached the disused classroom where he'd been told to bring Harry.

Harry snorted to himself as he opened the door. Good luck for what? Taking a picture?

He stepped in to see that all the desks and chairs had been pushed to the walls to make room. Bagman was present as Colin had said, talking to a witch in magenta robes that he realized had to be Rita Skeeter. Surely there couldn't be more than one blonde woman using those atrocious glasses that Dora had described to him?

The other two champions were already present, Krum his usual broody self and Delacour her usual haughty self. Fun. This was the first time he'd seen either of them since the champion selection a few days ago because they'd stayed in the Durmstrang ship or Beauxbatons carriages respectively. The only other person there was a pauchy man with a magical camera that was trying and failing to subtly ogle the French veela.

"Ah, here he is! Our last champion!" Bagman exclaimed when he caught sight of Harry, getting up and bounding towards him. "In you come, Harry, in you come… nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"

"Wand weighing?" Harry cut across the man's babble. Why the hell would anyone weigh a wand?

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead." Bagman explained, apparently unruffled by the interruption. Maybe he was used to it. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in question. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…"

"Maybe not that small, Ludo." Skeeter cut in, her eyes glinting as she looked at Harry.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman enthusiastically, only to blanch when he looked at Harry.

The green-eyed wizard was staring down at him with a look of such cold anger that it made him want to flee the room.

"Err, that is, if Harry has no objection?" He finished meekly.

"Don't ever speak for me again, Bagman." Harry said slowly, as if talking to an especially dim child.

"Sorry!" Bagman squeaked, nervous sweat beading on his forehead. He let out an audible exhale of relief when Harry looked away.

Fleur and Viktor both looked at their fellow champion speculatively, reassessing his potential threat level based on his behavior.

"Well, how about that word now?" Skeeter said into the awkward silence that had ensued, getting up and moving towards Harry.

"Why me?" Harry asked.

"Pardon?" Skeeter said, faux-pleasant smile still in place.

"There are three champions, why do you want to talk to me in particular?" Harry elaborated. Of course, he knew already why she wanted to talk to him. She was hoping to write another toxic article, anyone that had ever read one of her 'contributions' to journalism could guess that much.

"Well… because you're the youngest. I wanted to get your unique perspective." Rita said, inwardly quite put off at being questioned like this. Her initial intention had been to manhandle Potter into a more private setting, but after seeing the size of him and how he had handled Ludo decided against it.

"I'm sure we all have unique perspectives." Harry said blandly. This woman was practically boiling with petty viciousness.

"Yes, but surely as the youngest…" Rita insisted. She really wanted to get Harry alone.

"Yes, a whole three years of difference." Harry interrupted sarcastically. "Enough, either you talk to all of us or none of us."

Skeeter's mouth snapped shut audibly and her pleasant facade cracked for a moment into a hateful glare, but she brought herself under control quickly. "If you insist, let's get started then."

With that she reached into her crocodile skin handbag and pulled out an acid green quill.

"I vill not speak to a reporter who uses a Quick-Quotes Quill." Viktor declared flatly, scowling at Skeeter. He'd been warned about reporters like her.

"Neither will I." Fleur added. While she didn't really know what a Quick-Quotes Quill was or why the Bulgarian felt so strongly about this, she knew that this Skeeter woman was unpleasant and that he must have experience with reporters, so she took her cues from him.

Harry merely smirked slightly and started preparing another Itching Curse. Skeeter had already taken one shot at him but he had been willing to let that one go since it wasn't really worth the time it would take to get some revenge on her, but the stupid bitch just didn't know when to quit. A Quick-Quotes Quill was the ultimate tool of a papparazi, taking simple statements and turning them into sensationalist garbage. Actually a fairly impressive bit of enchantment if you ignored its purpose.

"Fine." Skeeter ground out, visibly irritated now as she put away the acid colored quill in favor of a normal one. "So, Harry, why did you decide to enter the tournament?"

"Because of reasons." Was the unhelpful, internet inspired response. The Itching Curse wasn't done yet and he couldn't spare the focus to talk about something else.

"What reasons?" Skeeter pushed.

"Private ones."

"What do you think your parents would think of you entering? Would they be proud? Was that why you entered?" Skeeter fired off rapidly, getting increasingly determined to provoke a response.

She got one too, as Harry finished weaving the curse and placed it on her.

"My parents are dead." He stated flatly. "They aren't capable of feeling anything anymore."

"What about your godfather, Sirius Black?" Skeeter asked next. She would have dearly loved to keep digging into the death of Potter's parents, but even she knew that she had to be careful with so many people present. It wouldn't do to be accused of being heartless. Besides, she'd just developed this extremely irritating itch over her legs and it was getting hard to think.

"What about him?" Harry asked, being deliberately obtuse. He was getting a kick out of seeing the toxic reporter squirming.

"Would he be proud of you?" Skeeter clarified, hunching forward a bit as the itch appeared between her shoulder blades as well, maddeningly just on the edge of being painful.

"You'd have to ask him." Harry shrugged. Of course Sirius was proud of him. The man seemed to think that getting around Dumbledore's Age Line was a great prank. "Anyway, I think you've asked me enough questions already."

"Fine!" The reporter snapped, her composure badly frayed as the unbearable crawling sensation moved towards her crotch. "Ms. Delacour, do you as a veela feel disadvantaged competing against proper wizards?"

Fleur had been feeling a rising sense of disbelief and disgust at this reporter and her questions. Not only was she pushy and rude, but asking about someone's deceased parents was in incredibly poor taste. Potter's obstructive answers had been amusing and she had to give him some credit for keeping his cool despite her irritation at him for the liberties he'd taken at the champion selection.

Then this obnoxious woman had turned to her and asked that blatantly racist question . Veela tended to be quick to anger as a general rule and Fleur was no different in this regard. The implication that she was somehow less because she was veela left only one possible response.

" Va te faire foutre, pétasse. " She spat.

Harry didn't speak French, but he could recognize tonal inflection and was thus reasonably certain that his fellow champion had just said something exceedingly rude. His opinion of her went up several notches.

Any further escalation to this drama was cut off as Dumbledore, Maxime, Karkaroff and Ollivander entered the room.

"Well, it seems you've all been getting along." Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, acting as if he couldn't sense how hostile the air was.

The next several minutes were spent having their wands examined by Ollivander. Nothing too interesting about that, though Harry did finally learn why Fleur's wand felt so strange. She had her grandmother's hair as a core. Interesting that, he had noticed that Fleur's hair seemed to have magical properties in the way that a fully human witch or wizard's wasn't but hadn't thought it could be used as a wand core.

The creepy old wandmaker still gave Harry the same speculative eye that he'd given him years ago when he'd first purchased his wand, but he knew why that was now. His ability to make any wand react back then, however weakly, had betrayed his prior dabbling with magic. And since he'd obviously never held a wand before, that meant that he'd been doing it wandlessly. It was just pure luck on Harry's part that Ollivander didn't make a habit of revealing these things to other people… presumably.

The other bit of entertainment had been watching Skeeter flush, sweat, squirm, fidget, scratch and be generally uncomfortable as the Itching Curse took its course. No wonder people went evil if it felt this good to see your enemies suffer.

Once the wand weighing was done, Dumbledore stood up from where he'd been sitting at the judges' table. "Thank you all. You may go back to your lessons now, or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -"

The silent photographer stood up at that and cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" Bagman quickly backed him up. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita? My word, Rita, are you alright?" The last was said in alarm as Bagman finally noticed how frazzled the reporter was looking.

"Yes, fine." Skeeter said tersely, desperately trying to ignore the sensation of tiny insect pincers biting into her heels.

The photography session that followed was singularly annoying. First they had wasted a good ten minutes trying to get Madam Maxime to fit into the picture before conceding defeat and having her sit down and now they were dealing with smaller issues. Krum kept trying to skulk to the back and hide while Karkaroff kept pushing him forward, Bagman kept changing his mind, Skeeter was getting progressively more snappish due to the curse and the photographer was persistently trying to get Fleur into the front of the shot and using the excuse to touch her.

Harry could practically hear her teeth grinding. He could commiserate, as he was getting pretty pissed himself.

He cast another couple of Itching Curses, this time on Bagman and the photographer. Dumbledore glanced at him disapprovingly, but Harry was past caring.

Fleur's eyebrows rose ever so slightly as the annoying Ministry official and the pig of a photographer showed how uncivilized they truly were by scratching at themselves as if their lives depended on it. She'd noticed that Skeeter had been looking mighty uncomfortable for quite a while and wondered if it was related, perhaps even contagious. She wouldn't put anything past the British.

She glanced at the green-eyed wizard currently standing next to her. He looked impassive, but Fleur could detect a hint of satisfaction from his surprisingly closed off presence.

"What did you do to zem?" She asked quietly.

He looked briefly urprised, but schooled his features quickly and murmured a response. "What did you say to Skeeter?"

While Fleur was irritated at having a question answered with a question, she understood that he was suggesting an exchange of information. Besides, it wasn't as if what she had said was any kind of secret.

"I told 'er to go fuck 'erself." She translated, chin lifted in an unconscious gesture of defiance to the expected disapproval.

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. The idea of the ultra beautiful veela with her refined image being so vulgar really tickled his funny bone.

"Appropriate." He said after a few moments, still sounding amused.

She raised an eyebrow back at him, obviously expecting an answer to her own question.

"Itching Curse." He admitted.

Fleur's lips curled into a slight smirk.

"Appropriate, but 'ow did you cast eet?"

Harry merely smiled mysteriously.

Lucious Malfoy was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted and was willing to go to great lengths to get it.

That he hadn't gotten Sirius Black and Harry Potter into the obituary displeased him greatly, but he supposed that he should have known better. There was a reason that the peons he'd manipulated into attacking the two at the World Cup always had an Inner Circle Death Eater leading them during the war. They would probably find a way to screw up brewing a cup of tea without someone looking over their shoulder and barking instructions.

He had been brooding over a way to kill Potter and Black ever since that failure, but had come up with few viable plans. Potter was at Hogwarts and essentially untouchable under Dumbledore's protection and Black under the wards of Potter Manor. Black was the more vulnerable of the two, but one did not simply assault the manor of an old family. They'd never get the job done in time. Black did leave the manor frequently enough, but that wasn't too helpful as Lucius didn't know that enough in advance to arrange another assassination. The man didn't even attend Wizengamot sessions.

And then out of nowhere came a stroke of such good fortune that Lucius could scarcely believe it.

His wife had heard through a string of gossip that Black had been seen in Diagon Alley, keeping company with the infamous Adrastia 'Black Widow' Zabini. A pureblood from a minor Italian Noble House, Zabini was notorious for the string of dead husbands she'd left all over Europe. Husbands who always died in tragic accidents or suicides shortly after they either ran out of gold to pay for her expensive lifestyle or after they signed it over to her. Anyone with a lick of sense in their heads stayed well away from her.

At first, Lucius couldn't fathom what Black was thinking. The man had a reputation as a womanizer and had never been especially bright, but surely even he would know better? Zabini had come to Britain some years back to put her son in Hogwarts and had left it with another dead husband and impoverished family to her name.

Poor, skeptical Archibald. He never believed anything that he didn't verify himself. Well, he'd verified it alright. As usual there was not a shred of evidence of foul play, but everyone knew that his wife of two days had killed him.

Of course, the explanation was obvious. Black had been in Azkaban since the end of the war, he was out of the loop and wouldn't have heard of Zabini.

While Lucius would be a bit miffed at losing the Black family gold, he was willing to let it go in exchange for having one of his problems solved by a third party without any need to involve himself. Adrastia Zabini cared nothing for politics and wouldn't try to take control of the family even if she married Black and killed him. The Malfoys had enough gold on their own that the much diminished Black vaults weren't of critical importance.

The stroke of good fortune didn't end there though.

Potter had entered himself into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the contest that been cancelled exactly because people had died in it so often. How wonderful it was when your enemies put themselves in mortal peril of their own volition.

He'd started digging around to discover what the tasks would be as soon as he'd heard that bit of news. Why leave Potter's death to chance when he could stack the deck?

The first task was going to be taking a golden egg from nesting dragons. Plenty dangerous enough all by itself, but Lucius was still going to do everything in his power to make it even more so.

"A great spectacle." Lucius was saying to Cornelius Fudge, stroking the man's ego. "Few enough wizards and witches see live dragons, so an event such as this gives the Ministry a lot of good publicity."

"Yes, I thought so too." Fudge blustered. "There were some safety concerns at first, but the best students of the three best wizarding schools in the world are surely up to the challenge."

"No doubt." Lucius agreed. "Though it seems to me that there is room for accusations of favoritism."

"Favoritism?" Fudge echoed blankly.

"The three dragons chosen for the task are not of the same breed, some are more dangerous than others." Lucius explained patiently, well used to dealing with the dimwitted man.

"Oh… oh!" Fudge exclaimed, catching on. "So we should have them all face the same breed of dragon?"

"Yes, and I also believe that none of the breeds chosen are truly appropriate. All of them are fairly tame and may not put up much of a fight." Tame by dragon standards that was, which was not really tame at all.

"Which one do you think we should use then?" Fudge asked.

"The Hungarian Horntail seems like the best balance between speed, strength and firebreath." That it was also the most ill-tempered and violent breed went unsaid.

"The Hungarian Horntail?" Fudge said nervously. "Isn't that a rather dangerous breed?"

Of course it is you idiot, that's the point. Lucius' thoughts didn't show on his face as he gave a smooth reply. "As you said yourself, the champions represent the best that the Wizarding World has to offer. We should not insult them with subpar challenges."

Fudge nodded slowly, in a manner that suggested he was actually capable of thought. "Quite right, Lucius, quite right. It would be a shame to get people excited only to have the champions breezing through the tournament because it was too easy."

"Well said, Cornelius. You always did have a keen sense for what the public wants."

It was too bad about Krum, as the Bulgarian seeker was a proper wizard, but he might also get that halfbreed creature with this scheme. Lucius did so love a bargain.

Adrastia smiled a predator's smile as Sirius groaned under her and discharged his seed. In this unguarded moment when all his defenses were lowered and he gave of himself to her, she wrapped the tendrils of her magic around him and drew him in even further. She had done it before and she would do it again, until his entire world revolved around her.

He opened his eyes and stared up at her adoringly. In this moment, he loved her, but his magic was already disentangling itself from hers and the sensation was fading. That was alright, she was in no hurry. She had a whole year to play with him and it would give her time to decide on an appropriate death. He was young, handsome, strong, rich and not at all bad in bed. A better plaything than most and one that it would be a shame to discard prematurely.

Harry let out a long, content sigh as he released into his girlfriend again.

Lying on her stomach under him, Tonks just groaned softly as her insides tingled with pleasure.

Relaxing into post-coital bliss, Harry spread his magic over hers like a spiritual hug and settled down to enjoy the moment. Feeling her relax and open up to him completely in these moments was every bit as good as the actual sex.

A few minutes later, he felt her breathing even out and her presence become muted as she drifted off to sleep.

Harry sighed in slight disappointment, but smiled all the same, planting a kiss on her neck, getting off her and covering her with sheets they'd kicked off a while ago. He could easily go for another round or two, but Dora had a long day behind her already and he wasn't going to keep her awake. He'd been tiring her out with his frequent visits too.

Besides, he would be back for more soon enough.

Harry loved to fly and would transform into his Animagus form every few days and simply glide over the Forbidden Forest for a few hours. The local ravens and crows would often join him.

Tonight though, they were strangely reluctant to approach the forest and wanted to fly around it in a wide circle.

Animagi usually developed the ability to communicate with animals that were similar to their form after they spent enough time around them. Pettigrew had been able to communicate with other rats easily. Sirius could manage basic communication with other dogs and wolves. Harry was still fairly new at it, but he could manage and it helped that his particular bird species was especailly intelligent.

Predator. Flying. Large. Lizard. Fire. That was the gist of what he could decipher from their cawing and croaking, but it was enough. There was a friggin' dragon in the Forbidden Forest, which made no sense at all. How was the whole forest not on fire yet?

Far too curious to just leave it alone, he flew over the forest in a searching pattern and managed to find the spot easily enough.

Only, there wasn't just one dragon, but three of them. Vicious looking beasts with black scales, bronze horns and equally bronze tail spikes. They mystery of the forest not being in flames was explained by the large team of wizards around them, dragon handlers no doubt.

Harry watched for a few minutes as the dragon handlers struggled to calm the flying lizards down before giving up and launching enough Stunning Spells at each of them to kill a human from the shock. The dragons looked like they would stay awake for a moment before succumbing.

Looks like they intend to have me fight a dragon for the first task. That was rather more extreme than he'd expected, but there was nothing else for it now. He'd have to figure out a strategy.

Fleur was forced to admit - with a great deal of reluctance - that the library in Hogwarts was very impressive. More impressive than the one in Beauxbatons for certain, though she assuaged her pride by reminding herself that Hogwarts had not been sacked by Grindelwald. Even sixty years later, they were still retrieving things that the Dark Lord and his followers had stolen from the ancient school.

She'd come here several times since being chosen as a champion, curiousity compelling her to take a look at the Restricted Section since she had full access. This time she was here with a specific purpose however, she needed to research dragons.

Dragons! Were these English completely insane? Making them take a golden egg from a nesting mother, a Hungarian Horntail of all breeds, was nearly as good as sending them to certain death. Fleur knew that she could use her own unique gifts to lull magical beasts to sleep… in theory. She had never heard of it being done on a dragon and certainly not on the most ornery breed. She needed a backup plan in case it failed, the tournament not allowing forfeits, and backup plans required information.

A few minutes later she had a book on dragons in hand and was looking for a suitable place to read it when she caught sight of Harry Potter doing that very thing. He was alone, so she figured that his little blonde friend must be in class.

The Hogwarts champion was turning out to be quite the mystery and Fleur had always liked a good mystery. Pride had prevented her from seeking him out earlier despite her curiousity, but this was an opportunity - or in other words an excuse - to talk to him without making it look like she was interested in him. The fact that she was actually interested in him was ignored. She couldn't help being interested in powerful wizards, another legacy of the veela's succubi heritage, though one that was thankfully easy enough to ignore.

There were things about Harry Potter that Fleur wanted to know, things that didn't necessarily fall under the topic of keepings tabs on the competition. How was he so powerful? How had he cast those Itching Curses without anyone noticing? What was he like as a person?

Fleur had been at Hogwarts long enough now that a few rumors about Potter had reached her ears via her fellow Beauxbatons students. Powerful, intelligent, private and reclusive to the point of anti-social was the general opinion on Harry Potter. He attended classes according to his own whims and treated the rules as if they only applied to other people. There were also some rumors of him being a womanizer, sleeping around with older girls as well as that young friend of his, but Fleur wasn't sure if she believed those. She'd been the subject of enough rumors herself to know how quickly they diverged from the truth. She'd only slept with a couple of the better looking boys at Beauxbatons, but the jealous bitches of the school would have people believe that she would sleep with anything that walked upright. She wouldn't even have put it past them to claim that she had seduced the Goblet of Fire into choosing her, no matter how little sense that made.

She dithered for just a moment longer before making up her mind and striding determinedly towards his table.

"May I zit wiz you?" She asked politely, showing nothing of the discomfort she felt. It was a new experience to worry about being refused. None of the boys at Beauxbatons would have been able to do so, but this Harry Potter was a much greater wizard than them.

Potter looked up from his book - a book on dragon lore she noticed - with a hint of surprise in his impossibly green eyes. It should be illegal to have eyes like that. Fortunately for her pride, he gestured to one of the free seats and went back to his book.

Fleur fought down a bristling sense of irritation. Veela did not like being ignored. She supposed it was better than glassy-eyed drooling, but it still stung to be so easily dismissed.

"Your 'eadmaster 'as told you about ze dragons as well then?" She asked with a gesture at his book, looking to start a conversation.

To her surprise he snorted, sounding halfway between amused and derisive. "Dumbledore didn't tell me anything."

Fleur hadn't been expecting that. Madam Maxime had taken her aside the other day and explained what the task would be and she had no doubt that Karkaroff had done the same for Krum. That Dumbledore would actually respect the rules had never even crossed her mind.

"'Ow did you find out about ze dragons then?" She asked curiously.

The green-eyed wizard gave her a teasing smile to go along with his equally teasing answer. "It's a secret."

Fleur huffed, amused in spite of herself. She had gotten something of a mixed opinion about Potter so far, but he seemed nice enough.

The amusement quickly vanished when she felt another probing touch slither across her magic.

"Stop zat!" She snapped, glaring at the impertinent wizard. She had just about managed to leave the previous instance of this happening in the past and now he went and did it again.

Potter blinked, brows furrowed slightly in apparent confusion. "Sorry? I was just trying to get a handle on your magic, I've never seen anything like it before."

"Eet eez rude to do zo without conzent." Fleur told him, calming down a bit.

"Ah, I didn't know that." He admitted. "Sorry again."

"Apology accepted." He seemed sincere, so she could let it go. Veela were taught these things by their mothers, but he would not have had anyone to do so for him. That did bring up other questions though. "'Ow did you learn to touch anuzzer's magic like zat?"

He was silent for a moment and Fleur could almost hear him deliberating whether he should tell her or not.

Finally he shrugged and gave her an answer. "I got a book on sex magic as a Christmas gift last year, there was a section on it there."

That would explain it, though Fleur suspected that there was more to it than that. His magic had a baffling flip-flopping feel to it, ominous at some points and soothing at others. It was the latter right now, which had been part of the reason she had decided to talk to him instead of walking away.

"Eez that not illegal in Britain?" Most European Ministries had relaxed their stance on sex magic somewhat in the past few decades, but Britain was definitely not one of them.

"A lot of things are illegal in Britain." He said with a smirk that implied he had done quite a few of those things.

Fleur had come to this country prepared to hate everyone and everything in it, but she was starting to like this boy that was not a boy. He was interesting and spoke to her with the respect one would give to an equal instead of acting superior like she had expected him to. That he didn't seem to have any respect for his own government was also a point in his favor. Perhaps competing against him in this tournament would actually be enjoyable, provided they didn't all get roasted by the dragons. Speaking of which…

"Zo…'ave you zought of a way to get past ze dragon yet?" She asked casually, throwing her silvery blonde hair in a gesture that never failed to distract men. She had her own ideas, but she was not above fishing for information with her life on the line.

"Get past them?" He repeated with a blink, not reacting to her flirty gesture. "I thought we were supposed to kill them?"

Fleur gaped at him. He had seriously been expecting to fight a fully grown dragon all by himself? That was even more insane than taking a fake egg from its nest. A nesting mother would at least not pursue you and abandon its other eggs if you managed to get away, no matter how much they liked shiny objects.

" Non, eet was my understanding zat we are supposed to steal a golden egg from eets nest."

"Huh." He seemed rather nonplussed by that, but also thoughtful. "That changes things… Thank you Ms. Delacour, you've just made things substantially easier for me."

Giving critical information to the competition had certainly not been her intention, but she wasn't sure if letting him go into the first task prepared to kill a dragon would have been any better. "You are welcome Mr. Potter, and please call me Fleur."

"You should call me Harry then." He returned with a smile.

Yes, Fleur could definitely see herself liking at least one thing about Britain. She was not yet ready to contemplate a relationship with the powerful young wizard, but would not turn him down if he continued to be like this. Given the subtle disdain he'd showed for his homeland, she might even be able to convince him to move to France if things went that way.

That night, Harry was in his new quarters, deep in thought.

That had been an interesting conversation he'd just had with Fleur. If he was interpreting the signals correctly(and he was fairly sure that he was), then the French veela had been giving him the green light to make a move on her.

If he wasn't already spoken for, he would be all over that. Alas, he would not - as the Americans say - be tapping that ass. That was a pity, as he was sure that veela must be demons in bed. Succubus pun!

On a more serious note, learning that the first task would not be a battle to the death with a dragon was very important. Perhaps he should not have blown Hagrid off when the half-giant had tried to take him into the forest, no doubt to show him the dragons? He didn't have much of a relationship with their new Care of Magical Creatures professor, the half-giant obviously having drunk far too much of Dumbledore's kool-aid for Harry to want to be around him. Actually now that he thought about it, the whole trip to the Forbidden Forest had probably been one of the old man's schemes. Maxime and Karkaroff might have just straight up told their champions what the task was, but Dumbledore was subtler than that, it made it harder to point any fingers at him if any word of cheating got out.

This new information opened up options, one of which he needed some outside help for.

So he called up Penny.

"Evening." She greeted, eyebrows already raised expectantly. "What do you need, Harry?"

"Nothing too difficult this time." He assured her. "I need you to see if you can buy me a couple of cow carcasses."

Penny blinked. "Could you repeat that? I could swear I heard you say that you need me to buy a couple of cow carcasses."

"That's exactly what I said." Harry nodded.

Penny opened her mouth but seemed to think better of it and just shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask."

Bless that girl, she was a gem. Giving her a job had definitely been one of his better decisions.

"I also need a few plastic bags that can be vacuum sealed."

"That's easier than the cow carcasses at least." Penny muttered.

"Thanks, Penny." Said Harry and cut the connection.

He turned towards his roommate, who was sitting crosslegged on the bed and staring at him with expectant blue eyes, waiting for them to start on the nightly Occlumency sessions that he'd taken to teaching her this year. She knew too many of his secrets to have her mind open. Fortunately, she seemed to have an exceptional knack for the discipline.

"Hey, Luna?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How would you like to help me brew a Draught of Living Death?"

"I would love to."

Breakfast at Potter Manor.

"What's with that stupid grin?" Tonks asked, staring at Sirius suspiciously and wondering if he'd pulled a prank.

"Probably the same reason you look so tired." Sirius chuckled, chewing on some bacon with relish.

"I've seen you the day after you got laid before and you weren't this cheerful." Tonks argued, not bothering to deny that she was tired because of Harry. He'd kept her up until four in the morning when she'd told him that she had the next day off.

"He's been like that for a couple of weeks now." Penny chimed in. "I think he's got himself a proper girlfriend but he's being all mysterious about it."

"Sirius Black in a relationship?" Tonks said in mock horror. "Say it isn't so!"

"Laugh all you want, but this one is special." Sirius huffed.

Two pairs of eyebrows went up as the women exchanged surprised glances. That was definitely weird for Sirius 'bachelor for life' Black.

"So, who is the unfortunate woman that has to put up with your lame puns?" Tonks asked.

"You'll get to meet her at the first task, I'm not telling you before then."

"Fine, keep your secrets." She pouted.

"Speaking of the first task, I could use your help with something." Penny jumped in.

"What?" Sirius and Tonks said together.

"Harry asked me to buy him a couple of cow carcasses and I would appreciate your help with the transport." Arranging that had gotten her so many strange looks, not to mention the problems involved in arranging it all so that it was all above board and that there were no violations to the Statute of Secrecy. Harry had better appreciate this.

"Why would he need a…" Tonks trailed off with a groan as it dawned on her why Harry could possibly need something like that. Really, what other use do whole cow carcasses have other than feeding something big and carnivorous?

"You don't think they're having him fight some big magical beast do you?" Sirius asked nervously, having come to the same conclusion.

"I don't see what else it could be." Tonks replied unhappily. Harry just had to enter himself into this damn tournament didn't he?

"He didn't sound too worried about it when I talked to him." Penny offered, trying to make them feel better. "He seems to have a plan at least."

"I'm still going to smack him one for not telling me about it." Tonks grumbled.

"It sounded like he was busy with more important matters." Sirius said cheekily.

"Shut up, Sirius."