A/N: First, I want to thank both Zyloch and Hydelloon for giving me, or offering to give me, White Night. I have now read the book (I loved it, but poor Lash) but apart from Molly's abilities, there's not much to add into the story. Still, it was a great book.

It seems that the Dresden Files in getting very popular over at the DLP IRC. We have a new HP/DF story up and running. Harry Potter: Abjuration by Surarrin. I know the bloke and I've been chatting to him about the story, so if you're a fan of those types, go and have a look at his name. Also, for the reviewer who wanted a separate HP and DF world, I recommend to you Demon's Feign, Merlin's Pain by Nuhuh.

I hope I've shown you exactly how Harry was bound into the tournament. As far as I know, it's unique, so I can't be risking into a cliché. Off to the story.

Harry walked briskly back to the castle, the last remnants of both Hellfire and adrenaline leaving his body as the warm glow in the pit of his stomach disappeared. He repressed a shiver as the icy wind cut into him but ignored it as he reached the cobble-stoned pathway and turned around, waiting for Molly.

The tall, blonde girl was panting and huffing as she slowly dragged herself up the path. Her blue eyes glared at him furiously, as if she were daring him to make a joke about it. Naturally, Harry obliged.

“Don't tell me that that one little fight wore you out?” He asked incredulously, a satisfied smile curving his lips as he shook his head in mock-pity. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. And you were telling me that you could take care of yourself.”

“Shut up,” Molly growled angrily as she reached him, her hand clutching her blasting rod with whitened knuckles.

“You're not really used to hurling around those types of magics, are you?” Harry asked in genuine curiosity.

“No, not really,” Molly admitted between pants. “My teacher told me that I was better at the subtle stuff rather than the power-heavy stuff. You know, stuff like veils and…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Harry interrupted loudly, waving Molly off. “I was just making conversation since you were taking your time.”

Molly glared at him irritably but he had already turned away, shaking his head in amusement as he entered Hogwarts and stepped into the castle.

Harry entered the Great Hall with a small skip in his step and a satisfied smile on his face, but it faltered as the entire hall swivelled around to stare at him and he stopped. Confusion, disbelief, annoyance and even anger blazed towards him. Dumbledore was standing at the other end of the hall, a piece of paper clutched in his gnarled hands as he stared at Harry with a mixture of curiosity and speculation. There were many other similar expressions at the head table, although a few people he didn't know, including a white haired man with dark blue eyes and thick, heavy-set woman, far taller than even Dumbledore, were regarding him with the first stirrings of anger.

It was at that moment that Snape arose from the table, his cheeks flushed and his obsidian eyes burning with anger as he glared at Harry, although Harry felt a flash of satisfaction as the man refused to meet his eyes.

“Potter!” He hissed coldly. “Why am I not…”

Harry quickly cut him off as he raised a placating hand, silencing the sallow-faced man as he walked forward with a beaming smile. He let out a fake laugh of modesty as he shook his head and gestured to himself grandly as he addressed the entire hall.

“I know I'm a hero, people, and I normally don't allow people to talk in my presence,” He said charmingly and winked at Snape, who was shuddering as if anger was taking over him. “But in this case I'll allow it. Please continue, Severus.”

Snape opened his mouth, his bone fingers clutching into the head table, but Dumbledore interrupted him in a quiet voice as he stared at Harry carefully, slowly stroking a beard with one hand.

“Mr Potter, I believe you have some explaining to do,” He said quietly.

“Yeah, I've thought about it and I found out that I really don't think I have to explain anything,” Harry said, nodding his head wisely and stopped, peering forward with a look of concern. “Unless this is about the age thing, because I know your eyesight's giving out on you so if you wanted me to read those retirement home pamphlets for you, I will.”

“No, Mr Potter, I don't think I've reached that point quite yet,” remarked Dumbledore, almost dryly as he peered at Harry over his half-moon glasses.

Harry shrugged and then turned to Amanda over at the Gryffindor table

“Debts over, brat,” He said cheerfully, jerking his hand back at Molly, who had just entered the hall and was watching the proceedings in puzzlement. “I guess I'll be seeing you never again. I'd say I had fun, but then I'd be a liar.”

“The debt's over?” Amanda asked in surprise and looks at both Molly and Harry closely, noting her sister's weary posture. “You mean, just now…?”

“Yep,” Harry answered cheerfully.

“Potter, get over here!” growled on one of the Professors and Harry turned to face him, blinking in shock as he took in the man's full appearance.

The man had obviously been in some fights and had been on the receiving end of a few well-placed curses. There were faded scars all over the man's face - a piece of his nose seemed to have been cut off. The man had a battered wooden leg and gnarled, twisted fingers as he rubbed his grizzled face agitatedly. One of his eyes was normal but the other had been replaced by a brightly-glowing blue orb, which spun around in the socket as the man limped from the head table, taking a position near Dumbledore.

“Whoa,” Harry said quietly, peering at the man carefully. “Somebody really hacked the crap through you.”

“Mr Potter, if you could step this way,” Dumbledore said and gestured at a door on the other side of the Great Hall.

“Nah, I can't. My room's the other way,” Harry said as he slowly shook his head, the normal jeering tone in his voice disappearing. Something was off in the room. Perhaps it was the way that everybody was looking at him, but Harry was certain that they all knew something that he didn't. He hated that feeling.

'Don't we all, beloved.' Meciel said, sounding quite amused, but Harry ignored her as he let a frown come over his face.

“Mr Potter, I believe that you may want to do this in some relative privacy,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry was suddenly feeling very wary as he glanced around the hall, his hand casually slipping into his robes as he gripped his wand. He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at Dumbledore carefully; tightening his grip on his wand as he mentally prepared himself for the worst. He knew he shouldn't have come here, even if he was trying to remove his debt!

Dumbledore must have seen something on his face because he raised his hands in a placating gesture, his blue eyes softening as he regarded Harry openly.

“I give you my word I do not mean you harm,” He said quietly and sincerely. “But we need to talk.”

Harry picked up an intense look in the blue gaze, a glint of knowledge, and he frowned as he sensed something deeper than the words. Apparently Dumbledore knew what a promise like that meant to somebody who followed the Old Rules like Meciel.

'The man seems to have an understanding of Old World rules,' Meciel said quietly.

'Do I go in?'

'He does seem worried and I do not believe he will try anything with so many children nearby.' Meciel answered carefully, a tinge of worry in her voice. 'Still, be wary, beloved. My powers are at your disposal, should you find yourself in need.'

Without taking his eyes off Dumbledore, Harry gave a short nod and strode across the hall without another word, opening the door and disappearing into the small antechamber.

Harry opened the door and entered a small room, lined with moving portraits of wizards and witches. On the opposite side of the room in a small fireplace blazed a brightly lit fire. Standing around the fire were four people, all who looked up as he came in.

There was a rough, burly boy in Durmstrang robes who looked as if he had been struck across the face several times with a blunt instrument. He had a rugged athletic appearance and stared into the flames, his dark east-European eyes distant. Standing next to that boy was a tall, beautiful girl with shimmering pale hair and an aura of splendour and beauty around her. Her blue eyes swivelled over him and disdain showed on her prim, proper face as she dismissed him as quickly as she had assessed him.

Representing Salem in the small group was a tall boy with dark-brown hair, dark eyes and a flat forehead- the same boy that had directed Harry to Molly at the entrance of the Great Hall no less than half-an-hour ago. Finally, the last boy was a tall, seventh-year in Hogwarts robes with light-brown hair and dark grey eyes, and he stared curiously at Harry with a polite and open expression on his face.

“Do they want us back inside?” He asked curiously.

“Don't know, don't care,” Harry said flatly as he stalked across the room, choosing a spot underneath a fat, dark-haired witch and eying the door carefully as Dumbledore and an assorted company of people walked in, including both Professor McGonagall and Snape.

A blonde-haired man was the first one to speak, his blue eyes sparkling with something like excitement. He had baby-faced cheeks, a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once and faint remnants of a previous peak physical condition, which had been driven away by good living.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the fifth champion of the Triwizard tournament, Harry Potter!” The man cried out exuberantly.

“This is outrageous, Bagman!” One of the other men said. He had snowy-white hair, cold blue eyes and a faint aristocratic face, which was twisted up into anger at the present moment. “Hogwarts cannot have two champions? Rest assured that I will be filing an official protest with your government over this travesty!”

“Madame Maxine,” The beautiful girl by the fireplace asked with a heavily accented French voice. “What are zey saying? Is zis a joke?”

“The Goblet of Fire has chosen this boy as a champion, Fleur,” replied an extremely tall- twice as big as Harry was at least- woman said. She had short-cropped black hair and dark eyes and she frowned at Harry with both confusion and disdain.

“That's impossible!” The brooding Durmstrang champion said thickly, his gruff voice filled with surprise. His eyes flew to Harry and his gaze darkened sourly.

“It seems that it's not so impossible, Krum,” Karkaroff said darkly, switching his angry glare from both Bagman, who shrugged it off with casual ease, and Harry.

Harry stared back, unimpressed, and loudly cleared his throat.  But he was ignored as Karkaroff switched his gaze to a greying man with a stern demeanour. He had dark eyes and a wearied expression on his severe face as he stared into the fire, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“Crouch, you are the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation!” Karkaroff protested loudly, his voice ringing within the room. “After months of negotiation, surely you cannot allow this to continue!”

The man frowned, still gazing into the fire. When he opened his mouth, his voice was soft and quiet, yet held a tone as if he was used to being obeyed.

“The rules say that whoever is chosen by the Goblet of Fire must participate in the tournament.”

Karkaroff let off a low growl at the exact moment that Harry let out a loud sigh of annoyance.

“Clears throat!” He said loudly, halting the conversation and drawing the entire room's attention onto himself as he stepped forward, an annoyed expression on his face. “Somebody mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

“Don't give us any of that, Potter,” Snape hissed coldly, his expression dark and foreboding as he glared down at Harry. “You know very well what we are referring to! Did you honestly think you could get away with it?”

“Yeah, you'll have to forgive me for not wanting to put up with any of your bullshit, Snape,” Harry snapped back in irritation. “It's been a long tiring night involving a pack of deformed dogs trying to rip me apart. Get to the point.”

“Dogs?” The seventh-year Hogwarts boy mouthed quietly. Dumbledore also had a small frown creasing his face but it cleared as he answered Harry's question quietly, regarding him with a mixture of suspicion and even wariness.

“The Goblet of Fire has chosen you to be a champion of the Triwizard tournament,” He answered quietly.

“That's the little school competition you've got going, right?” Harry asked slowly, a puzzled frown on his face.

“The Triwizard tournament is a greatly revered event!” Karkaroff snapped at him, looking almost wounded by Harry's flippant question. “To be chosen is a great honour and responsibility! Many apply but only one student from each school is chosen! Can you see the problem now?”

“Whatever,” Harry remarked uncaringly. “You can stop making a fuss because I really can't be stuffed participating in a stupid little tournament.”

His words sent the entire room into a stunned silence. Karkaroff, Bagman, Crouch and Madame Maxine stared at him in bewilderment while the French girl, Fleur, visibly started as she stared at him with wide eyes. Bagman was the first to recover as a blinding smile washed over his face.

“You don't understand, Harry,” He said jovially. “When you're chosen by the Goblet of Fire, you're bound into an ancient magical contract. You have to participate. The Goblet of Fire ensures it.”

“No, what I have to do is see how much fire this goblet can hold before it explodes,” Harry said slowly, shaking his head. “I'll say it again. No.”

“Harry…” Bagman began.

“Make me,” Harry interrupted bluntly, a defiant expression on his face as he folded his arms over his chest.

“The general purpose of a magical contract is to ensure that the parties fulfil their duties,” Crouch remarked dryly. “The contract will make you participate.”

“If you don't want to be in the tournament, then why did you put in your name?” The Hogwarts boy asked in confusion, staring at Harry with a befuddled expression on his face.

“I didn't,” Harry said with gritted teeth.

“How did you get past the age-line?” McGonagall asked sharply.

“'E is clearly not of ze right age,” Fleur protested sharply.

“What a spectacular piece of detective work, Sherlock,” Harry snapped at her, and she huffed, glaring at him with beautiful crystal-blue eyes as the questions continued.

“Did somebody help you put your name in?” Madame Maxine asked shrewdly. “A Hogwarts Professor, perhaps?”

“I didn't put my name in!” Harry growled at her angrily as both his irritation and his anger rose.

“Then why were you chosen?” Karkaroff pressed, his eyes glinting angrily.

“How the fuck should I know!” Harry snarled, ignoring McGonagall's shocked exclamation of 'language!' and the look Dumbledore gave him at the vehement response. “I just got here! I don't know what the fuck is going on!”

The room was silent as Harry glared at the group in front of him with blazing green eyes. Distantly, beneath his anger, he felt a twitch of amusement and satisfaction as several of the people, including Maxine and Bagman, avoided his eyes uncomfortably.

“One has to agree that this is all a little suspicious,” Snape remarked quietly into the silence, his dark eyes glinting with enjoyment at Harry's anger. “You conveniently arrive at Hogwarts just a day before the Goblet of Fire is to choose names for the tournament and now you have been chosen.”

'The man is right, beloved.' Meciel said soothingly, her warm glow burning away his anger as Harry abruptly calmed down. 'Calm yourself. At this moment, anger will do you no good.'

“Despite the fact that you're a dirty piece of grease, you're right,” Harry said slowly, the anger in his voice gone. “Nobody knew I was coming here, so why would somebody want me in the tournament unless…..”

Harry suddenly stiffened as he swung his gaze at Dumbledore, anger building up in his eyes as the room fell silent.

“Unless somebody wanted me to stay at Hogwarts, to keep me here,” He concluded softly.

Karkaroff shifted his eyes over towards Dumbledore, suspicion paramount on his face but Dumbledore was already shaking his aged head, his eyes serious.

“I promise you thrice-bound that I did not put your name in the Goblet of Fire,” the old wizard said sincerely, making Harry blink. “I also promise you that I do not know who placed your name in the Goblet.”

'A Faerie promise,' Meciel mused softly. 'How…interesting. It seems Dumbledore here knows quite a bit about our rules.'

'Your rules,' Harry corrected absently, before he shook his head and let out an annoyed sigh. “Whatever. Look, I'm not playing in your stupid game and you can't make me. I know how these things work and I know I didn't put my name in this Goblet of yours. I also know that I have a thing about writing down my full name, so, if I haven't spelt the name out then I'm not bound. Case closed, end of the story, jury dismissed and all that crap.”

“If he's telling the truth, then he's right,” Karkaroff murmured. “Show us the parchment, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore lifted up his hand and showed the small ripped piece of parchment in his hands. Harry could see that his full name, Harry James Potter, had been written down in a curvy feminine slant and frowned.

Suddenly, McGonagall gasped and her eyes widened as her hand flew up to her chest, clutching her heart. Everybody turned to stare at the greying Transfiguration teacher as she slowly extended her arm and took the piece of parchment from Dumbledore's hand, staring at it carefully.

“I know who wrote this,” She murmured. “I saw them write it.”

“Who was it, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

McGonagall turned her eyes towards Harry, both surprise and grief in her eyes as she stared at him sadly.

“It was Lily Potter, just a few days after Harry here was born,” She said quietly. “She wrote it in the Hogwarts Book of Names, registering her son's position at Hogwarts. I recognised the writing and the paper.”

Most of the people in the room frowned incomprehensibly but Dumbledore stared at the paper with something akin to understanding, exhaling loudly as he absently stroked his beard. At the same time, within Harry's head, Meciel also let out a small flash of comprehension.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked both of them, his irritated voicing shattering the silence in the room.

'It means that this contract is magically binding,' Meciel answered him.

“Lily and James Potter named you, Harry,” Dumbledore answered softly. “One of the greatest gifts a parent can give to their child is a name, an identity and uniqueness. You and I know that names hold a certain power to both the person it belongs to and to those who know it. At that time, so soon after your birth, Lily would have been in the brief stage where her use of your name would have the true, for lack of a better word, pronunciation. This piece of writing here is the closest thing to your name than anything else, save if you told somebody what your name was.”

“So…” Harry trailed off as realisation flooded his features.

“So you are bound to this contract,” Dumbledore finished and frowned speculatively. “Whoever did this had a very fine understanding of the nature of magical contracts.”

“You have got to be shitting me,” Harry swore softly as anger burned in his veins, his eyes blazing furiously. “This has to be some kind of sick joke! I was just about to leave, for fuck's sake!”

“You really didn't put your name in, did you?” The Hogwarts boy asked, frowning in puzzlement.

“Actually,  I did,” Harry deadpanned, turning his angry gaze towards the boy as a note of mockery filled his voice. “Ever since I was born, I dreamt and dreamt that one day, I could play in the marvellous and oh-so wonderful triblizzard game.”

“It's Triwizard,” The boy coughed nervously, ducking his eyes away from Harry.

“Whatever,” Harry snapped impatiently.

“Zen if you deedn't do it, zen somebody else did, “Fleur said slowly.

“Again, I marvel at your skills of logic and deduction,” Harry said flatly. “Tell me, did you win any ribbons in primary school?”

Fleur stared at him flatly, clearly not impressed with his manner as she sniffed haughtily.

“It is more probable zat you did it, no?” She said snootily. “Becoming ze champion, it is a great 'onour.”

“Lady, I'm a hero,” Harry said and flashed a triumphant look at Snape, who gritted his teeth angrily but remained silent. “I don't need to play in this game to become a champion. I'm already a champion.”

“So, the prospect of one-thousand gold galleons doesn't interest you?” The Hogwarts boy asked mildly, making Harry blink.

“A thousand, you say?” Harry asked carefully. “And was that gold you mentioned?”

“Perhaps you made a deal with somebody,” The Salem boy, Richard, speculated thoughtfully. “In exchange for them putting your name in the Goblet, you'll give them half the money if you win.”

“Unlikely,” Harry snorted. “Nobody knows me that well enough to make that kind of deal and those that do know that I'd stab them in the back the first chance I got.”

Richard blinked at Harry's frank statement and opened his mouth to respond, but somebody beat him to it as the grizzled cripple with the one leg walked forward with a limp, leaning heavily on his cane.

“The tournament's a dangerous event,” The man growled. “How many participants have died in the past, Crouch?”

Harry caught the undertone and frowned, a glimmer of worry appearing in his eyes.

“You think somebody might be trying to kill me?” He asked the cripple carefully, frowning in thought. It was a reasonable assumption; goodness knows Harry had his share of enemies. There was Nicodemus and his lot, the other factions from the Order of the Blackened Denarius, the Knights of the Cross (even if he did save one of their families, Harry made no assumptions that they would be any friendlier to him) and even the unknown party who had summoned and sent a demon after him a few days ago.

“Anything's possible,” The cripple said, his one eye gleaming with something like fanaticism. His blue eye swivelled in it socket as the man limped forward, eying Harry carefully. “And as you said, you're a hero. There are a lot of people who would want to see you hurt.”

“Zat is impossible,” Fleur said flatly. “Nobody would do zat.”

“You haven't met my enemies, so I'll forgive you for underestimating their great hatred of me,” Harry said mockingly as he dismissed the French girl, turning to the crippled man in front of him. “Still, the enemies I have aren't exactly subtle. They're more “jump in and rip apart anything in our way” than “plant a dagger in an old Roman geezer's back.””

“Hmm,” The crippled man muttered, his face twisting up into a horrible distortion of scars and damaged tissue as he frowned.

“Besides, they didn't know that I was here,” Harry said.

“Then it was a crime of opportunity,” The man said slowly, suspicion building in his voice as he continued, his eyes burning with fervour. “Somebody heard you were here today and improvised a plan to trap you.”

Harry was silent as the man's fake eye swivelled around to the other side of his skull and he somehow knew that the man could see Karkaroff standing behind him.

“It was somebody who had access to goblet, somebody who has skills in powerful dark magic, somebody who has a grudge against Potter here for old defeats,” The man continued, his voice turning into a hiss of accusation as Karkaroff paled, his eyes darting around nervously.

“You think I did this?” The Headmaster of Durmstrang exclaimed. “I truly regret that part of my life, Moody, but it is over! I have been able to move on and I can see that you have not!”

“Once a dark wizard, always a dark wizard,” The crippled man, Moody, snarled with anger, and Karkaroff paled, his cold eyes glittering brightly.

“Alastror, Igor! That is enough!” Dumbledore intervened, his powerful voice halting both men in their tracks. “This will lead us nowhere.”

“You're right about that,” Harry said loudly, an angry scowl on his face as he turned away from the group. “I'm sick of this stupid soap-opera drama and I'm sick of being bound by debts I don't want to fulfil. I'm not playing in your stupid little game, so you can all go to hell, and yes Dumbledore, I know the irony of that statement, but do you know what? I really couldn't help myself.”

He turned for the door, ignoring the sudden hisses and mutters from the small group as he briskly strode across the room. Suddenly, he stumbled as a blazing streak of agony sliced into his heart. He let out a cry of pain as the piercing streak of pain slammed into his mind, driving out all of his anger, irritation and any other present emotion as his entire world went white.

Distantly, he felt himself fall to the ground, his body thumping on the wood as his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his face contorted in pain. In the back of his mind, he could vaguely hear the distant words of Meciel but her warmth was useless against the pain as he twisted and flailed. Suddenly, the agony fled as quickly as it had come and Harry panted in relief, letting out a pained cough as he looked up, fury stirring in his eyes.

“W-what the hell are you d-doing to me?” Harry gasped out, reaching into his robes and whipping out his wand in a flash. The tip of the slim wooden stick flared in a burning dark light, but Dumbledore moved far quicker than an old man his age should and Harry felt his wand get ripped from his grasp the instant he had pulled it out.

“It is the magical contract sensing that you are breaking it!” Crouch said quickly, faint traces of concern on his face as he bent down next to Harry.

“T-then make it stop!”

“We can't,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Only you can.”

Harry let a snarl curl his lips but the shudders running through his body combined with Meciel's presence, which seemed to be in as much pain as he was, left him no other choice.

“F-Fine!” He snarled. “I'll p-play in your stupid fucking game!”

The flaring heat of agony, which had just started building up again, dissipated instantly as Harry lay back down on the ground, his eyes pained but furious as he pondered his next move, almost unaware of Dumbledore helping him up and leading him to the hospital wing. Somebody was going to pay for this; that Harry was sure of.

Moody watched as the boy fell to the ground, surprise twisting through his features. He barely noticed the shrieks of panic from the female contestant, that stupid French bint or that fool Bagman letting out a startled cry of surprise as Potter fell to the ground, his face twisted up into agony. For a second, Moody blinked, another face that had looked much like that over thirteen years ago flashing through his mind, but he drove it away with his impeccable Occlumency and replaced it with the real Moody's memories and feelings.

Both Crouch and Dumbledore rushed for the boy as Moody stayed back, hovering just at earshot as Dumbledore crouched down. The boy was flailing about, his entire body shuddering and Moody could tell that the only reason he wasn't screaming was because he couldn't get his vocal cords to work. He had both been on the receiving end of such a curse and had caused feelings like that in others.

Moody watched as the boy reluctantly agreed to participate and let a frown pierce his face as he glared at Karkaroff, very real hate bubbling inside of him as he stared at the traitor, who shifted uncomfortably away from the supposed Auror. But mingled in with that hate was a coil of joy and elation, such that Moody almost sighed in pleasure as it swept through him.

Originally, his Lord had sent him here to trap the most powerful, young burgeoning wizard from all four major schools of magic to use in the ritual. But when Potter had come along, Moody had decided that it was too great of an opportunity to pass over and with a quick trip through McGonagall's office and the Hogwarts Book of Names and half-an-hour alone with the Goblet of Fire, Moody had managed to fool the artefact into accepting Potter as a champion- the only champion for the 'fifth' school.

A feral grin threatened to sweep over Moody's scarred face as he pondered the future. Potter certainly didn't seem like a weak-willed or pathetic mudblood wizard and Moody had sensed a darker power surrounding the teen. With his blood in his Lord and the second part of the revival ceremony described to him by those new cultist freaks, when his Lord arose again, there would be no stronger wizard in the world!

But for the moment, he had to remain hidden, especially with Dumbledore, Karkaroff and his father, Crouch, here. He had to be patient if he was going to get Potter to the cup first. It was patience that had allowed him to escape his father's Imperius. He could do this. He was Barty Crouch Jr; the Dark Lord's most faithful!