Disclaimer: Story based on characters and plot owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
My thanks go to beta readers ParseltonguePhoenix and Fenraellis. And the crew at DLP, for their comments on an early draft. "Cedric," Harry calls, jogging to catch up with the photogenic, seventh-year Hufflepuff.
Cedric Diggory turns around slowly and smirks at Harry, his demeanor much colder than the affable Quidditch captain Harry had known before the champions were selected.
"Potter. My congratulations on your being selected as the second Hogwarts champion." He makes a show of shaking Harry's hand formally and Harry misses neither the emphasis placed on the word, “second,” nor the arrogant smirk. The students in Cedric's entourage turn to stare at Harry, their expressions a mixture of disgust and distrust. Harry notices with annoyance that they all wear animated "Potter Stinks" badges, a recent invention of Draco Malfoy's. Cedric has two.
"I was wondering if I could speak to you for a bit, alone."
The older champion scoffs. "I don't think so, Potter. How do I know you're not going to try to put me out of commission before the first task." A young, attractive Asian witch on Cedric's arm gives Harry a cold glare. He recognizes her as Cho Chang, seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, a girl whom Harry had fancied in the past. He's more than a bit put out to see that she also wears two "Potter Stinks!" badges.
"Look, Cedric, I'll give you my wand while we talk. And you can hold yours on me if you're still nervous. I just have a few things to say and then if you want, you never have to speak to me again."
"Fine.” He asks his companions to leave them and the two walk to a seldom-used side corridor where Harry hands over his wand.
"Look, I had nothing to do with my name being entered. I'll swear it if you want."
"Prove it." He tosses Harry's wand back to him. Harry swears an oath and the wand tip glows bright blue. He starts to hand his wand back to Cedric, but the older boy waves him off. "I believe you, Potter, but why would someone enter you?" Harry notices that Cedric keeps his wand drawn.
"Dumbledore suspects it's someone who wants me killed. Who it is isn't important. That they are trying to is. I just wanted to warn you to watch out in case the tasks are sabotaged in order to get to me. I've already told Fleur and Viktor."
"Noted.” He swallows. “And thanks, Potter." He looks around, then lowers his voice, "Speaking of tasks, do you have any idea what the first one is?"
Harry weighs the advantage he holds over his competitor against the disadvantage that if Cedric realizes that Harry knows what the task is, he'll lose any chance at building trust with the older Hufflepuff. He opts to help him. "Yeah, it's dragons. They're guarding something and we have to get it from them."
"Dragons? Should I ask how you know? Privileges of apprenticeship?" He scowls again.
Harry shrugs. "You wouldn't believe me if I say 'no,' so why bother. Contrary to popular opinion, Albus didn't set this tournament up just so I could win. Quite the contrary, given that someone wants to do me in...."
Cedric raises an eyebrow and gives Harry a long look. He notices that Harry is watching the antics of his animated “Potter Stinks” badges. The older champion shifts uncomfortably and gestures to the badges, "Sorry about this."
Harry shrugs. "I've got too much on my plate to worry over that. Good luck in the tournament, Diggory.”
“You insufferable prat!” Hermione's voice is shrill and brings the Great Hall to silence at the spectacle.
“Fine, then. We're through.” Ron waves his hand dismissively and turns to shovel a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Hermione grabs her bag and rushes from the Great Hall in tears. Harry watches the scene and picks up his own bag to follow her. He catches up to the crying witch just outside the library. “Hermione, wait up!”
“Harry. This is not a good time.” She turns away, but Harry has wrapped his hand gently around her upper arm to prevent her from escaping to the stacks.
“Come here.” He pulls her close to him and she leans into him as she sobs on his shoulder.
“Ron is such a git.” The two stay this way for several minutes as Hermione takes solace in his embrace. He strokes her hair gently.
“Hermione, if there's anything I can do...”
“Harry, it's not you, it's Ron. And me, for ever feeling anything for the git.” The two are late for their charms class, but somehow Harry can't bring himself to care.
After several more minutes, she wipes her eyes, and uses her wand to dry the front of his robes. “Thanks, Harry. I just needed a good cry.” She kisses him on the cheek and walks away.
Harry brings his hand to his face where Hermione's lips had touched him.
Today is the happiest day of Rolf von Lüstrow's nine years of life. Not only did he get to see dragons up close, his most favorite magical animal, and see his father work with the creatures, but also he got to see Harry Potter.
Years ago, a blood feud had driven Rolf's family from their ancestral home on the Continent to England with little more than the clothing on their backs. His father, Manuel, was forced to take a low-paying job at the Ministry of Magic to support his family, a far cry from his leadership of the family mercantile empire. Rolf, a stocky, blond boy with characteristic von Lüstrow wide nose and grey eyes, had discovered early what matters in life: family, hard work, pride. He didn't have much by way of possessions--his classmates all had nice clothing, new toys, candy. Rolf had his pride.
He worked hard, driven to learn language and culture. He learned of the divide between the pureblood community in Britain and those of mixed ancestry. He learned firsthand of the bigotry and intolerance among his classmates, few of whom, he was shocked to discover, recognized the von Lüstrow name as one of the proud, old families.
But he also heard tales of another boy, one who too had lost everything, including his own family. A boy who had fought evil and injustice even as a baby. A boy who, it was whispered, had grown up even more impoverished than Rolf's family.
“Harry Potter will be great someday,” Rolf heard his father announce at dinner one evening after it was learned of his apprenticeship to the great Albus Dumbledore. Rolf's father had actually met Harry Potter that day at the Ministry and the normally dour man wore a wide smile as he told of how Harry Potter was soft-spoken and courteous and, much to his father's gratification, must have recognized and respected the older man's heritage because he took the time to shake his hand and look him in the eye as an equal.
When his birthday arrived, Rolf didn't lament the lack of presents. His mother made him a cake--chocolate, his favorite--and his little sister and he had played together all morning. But then his father Flooed home at lunch and announced that he would be taking Rolf to see something special that afternoon.
And it was glorious!
Rolf's father, as the lowest ranking Minstry official in Crouch's department, was tasked to work with the Romanian handlers to help manage the dragons for the Tournament. Rolf was placed in the stands near the front row where he could watch the competition and see his father. He was told not to leave until his father came for him, no matter what.
The dragons were even larger and more ferocious than he had expected. And the champions were incredible! School children who could defeat dragons! The best was watching Harry Potter, of course. The boy had held his wand high and summoned to him his broom, a Firebolt! He had flown aerobatics that Rolf could only dream of in retrieving the egg.
Rolf sits back in the stands with a wide smile, his hands raw from clapping, his voice hoarse from cheering on his hero.
Harry trudges toward the tunnel, a large, golden egg in one hand, his racing broom in the other. Though the crowd is cheering, he can only see them, not hear them, as a thick, transparent barrier has been conjured between the stands of the Quidditch stadium and the pitch, where the champions face the dragon. The barrier, as he and the other champions were told in tedious detail by Bagman before the event, serves to both protect the spectators and avert cheating, as it is warded to prevent entry by all except designated healers. Fortunately, the dragon handlers and kennels were within the barriers when it was erected.
A tremendous roar issues from the other side of the pitch and Harry hears the sound of snapping chains. He turns to see the Horntail crush one of the handlers underfoot and rip him to pieces with its foreclaws. A moment later, three other handlers, who move to restrain the deceptively agile dragon, are breathed upon and reduced to smoldering flesh. A fifth handler, a stocky man with bright red hair whom Harry recognizes as Charlie Weasley, dodges the fire only to be struck by the dragon's tail. Meter-long spikes pierce his legs and he is hurled into the wall, where he collapses into a broken heap.
Harry drops his egg, mounts his Firebolt, and flies toward the dragon, which is advancing on Charlie. Harry streaks near its head and casts a conjunctivits curse on the dragon's large, yellow eyes. He is dismayed to see that, while his aim is true, the charm has no effect--it's as if the dragon were resistant to the spell. Harry turns his broom about and repeats the maneuver, but again without success.
The dragon, noticing Harry, roars mightily and leaps into the air to follow him. After several evasive moves, easier on the broom than for the beast, Harry notes with alarm that the dragon, no longer restrained, has realized that it can escape and attack the crowd by flying over the crystalline walls surrounding the pitch. Seeing it change course to do just that, Harry pivots to fly back toward the beast. He takes aim with his wand as he approaches.
Dodging a short burst of flame, Harry flies over the creature's back. In a flash of inspiration, he launches an abeoconci followed by a bone-breaking hex at one of the dragon's wings. Sorry, Sirius. The hex strikes the wing near where it attaches to the dragon's back and he hears a thunderous “CRACK.” The dragon roars in fury as it falls violently to the earth, but not before grazing Harry's broom with her tail and snapping the shaft near the bristles.
Harry crash-lands into the turf near Charlie, who is immobilized by two badly broken legs. He crawls quickly to the man and, with a grunt, hefts him over his shoulders with a fireman's carry, Harry's small frame looking impossibly frail beneath Charlie's bulk.
“Father?!”
Rolf cries out in disbelief as he sees his beloved father incinerate in dragonfire. Tears fill his eyes as his face blanches in shock. He hears several of those around him scream.
“Father?” he whispers to himself, stunned. The rest of the world ceases to exist as white wisps of smoke rise from the unrecognizable mass.
He is startled by the sudden impact of the dragon's tail with the barrier nearby. The rampaging dragon continues to flail against it, cracking the thick, crystalline wall.
Those around Rolf panic. The woman next to him bolts in terror and dives over him to get away from the beast. She knocks him to the ground, catching his head with her elbow as she passes. Several others trample on the boy in their haste to escape the stands.
Numb with grief and pain, Rolf climbs slowly back to his seat. He notices that his wrist is broken and that his head bleeds freely. He considers leaving with the others, as he is the only one left in the stands, but his father had said not to leave, no matter what. And he would honor the man's last wishes.
He watches, grief stricken yet fascinated, as the dragon continues to assault the barrier, feathering cracks throughout. Then, it ceases its attack and eyes a small, solitary figure on the other side of the pitch.
Rolf wipes tears from his eyes with his good arm as he sees his favorite champion hurl a spell at the dragon. He wishes with all his heart for his hero, Harry Potter, to destroy the beast that took his father from him.
A terrible percussive sound is heard as the enraged dragon bashes its tail repeatedly at the crystalline wall, enraged by the spectators it can now see and even smell. Harry manages several steps. “Charlie, do you think she could break through?”
“Probably,” he winces. “It should have been impossible for her to get free--nobody planned for the walls to take this much bloody abuse.”
“At least she can't fly out any more.”
“Huh?” Charlie looks closely at the dragon for the first time since being struck, having missed Harry's flying in his shock. “Merlin, Harry! How did you?... That should be impossible.”
“Overcharged the spell pretty hard.” he pants, “it's why I'm feeling a bit peaky.”
The two notice a large crack forming in the barrier where the dragon has been striking it. “Oh shit,” Charlie says, eloquently, as the spectators behind the wall panic.
Harry's gait slows and he sets Charlie down. “Sorry, mate. I don't have time to carry you the rest of the way and I don't think we should let it get through. Forgive me--this is probably going to hurt....” Over Charlie's protests, Harry levitates him and banishes him into the safety of the tunnel.
“Oh, Harry!” Fleur stands to watch the youngest champion, her uninjured arm held firmly by her fiancé to ensure she doesn't fall.
“What is he doing?” Robért asks, watching in fascination as the boy turns toward the dragon, his jaw set in determination.
“Harry is going to fight it,” she says, breathless. She scans for Dumbledore and spots him with Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff, the three desperately trying to break a hole in the barrier, apparently unable to enter the stadium because of the wards.
“He is a fool,” Robért mutters, missing the glare Fleur sends him. He pats her arm and says, “It will be an end to the Boy-Who-Lived, my love. A heroic end, a fitting one, perhaps, but an end nonetheless. Nobody can fight a dragon like that.”
Fleur huffs angrily and they watch in tense silence as the boy hurls a bolt of magic at the beast with a staggering amount of power.
Harry turns toward the dragon on the far side of the pitch, where it continues to attack the wall, the spider-web array of cracks growing with each blow. He gathers, takes aim, and unleashes another abeoconci bone-breaker curse, this one delivering much more power than the last. In a fraction of a second, the curse traverses the pitch and strikes its unwary target.
CRACK
The dragon roars in fury as its left foreleg shatters, the abeoconci reducing the imperviousness of its hide enough so that the main spell can penetrate. The creature turns toward him. Absently, Harry notices the fierce pounding in his head and the blood trailing down from his nose as he launches another curse.
CRACK
The dragon's other wing is ruined and hangs limply from its side by skin and sinew. The rampaging beast continues to hobble toward Harry. It gathers to breathe fire as scarlet ruffles of skin around its neck flare outward. Harry hurries a blast at the dragon, the power loss dropping him to his knees.
He sees the burst of dragonfire and, knowing that he is out of position to dodge, throws up a hasty transhield. The weak barrier takes the brunt of the blast before shattering into a spray of superheated stone and dying flames. Struggling to his feet, Harry notices that his own spell had missed its target, striking instead the wall far behind the beast. Bleeding and battered, Harry faces the creature, now only ten meters away, and unleashes another highly overcharged bone-shattering curse.
CRACK
Harry staggers backward and falls to the ground, barely conscious. Blood flows unchecked out of his nose and ears, the pressure in his head from so many overdriven spells, a blinding scream. He feels the earth shake as the dragon collapses onto its chest, its two front legs crippled. The beast whimpers loudly. With a muffled roar, it drives its snout into the ground, forming a tripod with neck and rear legs. It extends its tail fully as a counterbalance and pushes itself upright onto its rear legs. Balancing, the dragon unfurls the skin around its neck as it prepares to breathe fire yet again.
Harry's strength is spent and he forces himself up onto one knee and then slowly stands. He concentrates and prepares a final, overcharged strike, the last he can hope to muster from his depleted reserves.
One of us dies now.
Aiming at the dragon's neck just above its shoulders, he screams the incantation for an abeoconci confringo. His aura flares blindingly as the curse leaps from his wand. It tunnels into the hide.
CRUNCH!
The beast's spine explodes and its neck lolls at an impossible angle with its body. The dying creature falls to the ground in a bloody heap.
Harry's aura flickers and expires as he collapses, boneless, to the turf.
Fleur fumbles at the pale grey curtains to find the opening and she hears two female voices speaking quietly within. As she enters the screened area, her eyes are drawn to Harry, who lies on his back on the steel-framed hospital bed, comatose. His skin is pale, in contrast with violent black bruises and the livid red of his forehead scar. Were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, she could mistake him for dead.
"Why are you here?" Hermione asks, frostily. Ginny Weasley, who sits by Harry's side looks up at Fleur with narrowing eyes.
"Whatever do you mean?" Fleur asks, confused and mildly irritated at their reaction. She straightens her shoulders. "I came to see how he is doing." She pushes past Ginny and strokes Harry's forehead with a level of intimacy that raises the hackles of both human witches.
“And now you've seen him, so go, please," Hermione says quietly, folding her arms and staring at the older witch defiantly.
"I think that 'Arry would want...."
"You don't know anything about Harry, princess!" Ginny's high-pitched voice shrills, in contrast with the dulcet tones of the veela.
Fleur turns to the girl, indignant. "Then enlighten me, child. Tell me what you would have me know of him." Her features rime, her veela aura conveying to the younger a sense of threat--powerful, primal, territorial magic. She whispers, "Or are you are just a besotted little girl with stars in her eyes?" Ginny steps back, stunned.
“There's no need to be insulting,” Hermione says. Among veela, where sexuality is a prominent aspect of life, being called “little girl” after pubescence is a scathing slight. “Harry's story is his to share,” she says, looking shrewdly at the older witch, “but I think that you may have one as well. Those of us who are Harry's real friends can tell that something has been bothering him lately. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?” Hermione puts a hand on Ginny's shoulder to embolden the younger witch.
The veela doesn't miss the emphasis Hermione had placed on the word “real”. “Non, not at all,” she sniffs. She leans down to place a gentle kiss on Harry's forehead as the nurse enters and shoos the witches from the room.
Dark Lord Potter
By Rita Skeeter
Readers of this column will recall my exposé on the youngest Tri-Wizard champion, Harry Potter, and the unusual circumstances of his selection. By now, the tragic events of the first task are well documented: Mr. Potter is reported to have slain an adult dragon and in the process suffered grievous injury. The dragon escaped confinement and killed four of its handlers, Jas Florsan, Manuel Müller, William Macabee, and Raoul Lebouf, and injured a fifth, Charles Weasley.
Your intrepid reporter has discovered that Mr. Potter now clings to life, his broken body comatose in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Hogwarts medical personnel declined to comment on his worsening condition, however, first-hand reports indicate that it's likely Mr. Potter may never fully recover.
One point that has not escaped notice is how Mr. Potter was able to defeat the dragon. Speaking on condition of anonymity, a knowledgeable Ministry official confirmed that the Fudge administration is taking this matter very seriously, saying that "Only magic of the darkest sort could have killed that beast."
Harry Potter is the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, the darkest magic known. He is a known parselmouth and has a history of involvement with dark magic. He was reputed to be the Heir of Slytherin and was implicated in the infamous Hogwarts "Chamber of Secrets" incident two years ago. While it is not known what transpired, Mr. Potter received an award for "Special Services to the School," conferred by none other than his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, who was reinstated shortly thereafter to the post of Headmaster. We would like to know what these "services" entailed and if any involved use of dark magic or rites.
Lucius Malfoy, former member of the Board of Governers at Hogwarts, says, "It is unfortunate that the Chamber of Secrets affair has been closed, as there were several noteworthy irregularities surrounding those unhappy times."
Ronald Weasley, close friend to Harry Potter and brother to the injured handler, was unsurprised at the turn of events. He adds, "[Harry] Potter is a selfish [individual]. " When asked whether he knew if Mr. Potter had participated in any dark magic rituals, he had this to say: "I don't know what he's done, but it's not natural. I wouldn't be surprised if he had [undergone dark rituals]." We remind the readers that You-Know-Who is believed to have participated in dark rituals himself to increase his magical power and reserves.
While we join our readers in wishing Mr. Potter a rapid recovery, we must ask ourselves whether we are trading one powerful Dark Lord for another. Would we not be safer if Mr. Potter, who has the capacity if not the inclination to take You-Know-Who's place, were to remain in his coma?
“Oh Ronnikins,” George calls in a sing-song voice. “Time for a little family chat.” He grabs Ron's arm roughly.
“Yes, oh brother of mine. Time to get ickle brother to spill.” Fred takes the other arm and the two frog march their younger brother to an empty classroom, where a red-faced Ginny awaits.
“Explain, dammit!” She slams a copy of the Daily Prophet onto the desk in front of her youngest brother.
Ron pales at the headline, then fires back, defiantly, “What's the big deal? All I did was sit and talk a bit about Harry with Percy and that Skeeter woman. It's not like anything I said wasn't true....”
Ginny is beside herself in anger. “What do you mean not true? You have Harry sounding like the return of You-Know-Who!” She seethes, “I remind you, your name is on that award too. The one for saving my life, you git!”
“You know, it's rather bad form to accuse your best friend of being a dark wizard,” George says.
“Especially after he just saved your brother's life,” Fred continues.
“Sort of makes you look like a pathetic, sodden tosser.... and I mean that in the nicest possible way--wait, no I don't.”
Ginny interrupts, “Back up. Percy was the 'Ministry official' that Skeeter quoted?”
“Yeah, but he really didn't want his name used. Stuck up git. It would have doubled what she gave him for the interview.”
“Wait, she paid him?” Ginny pales.
“Yeah. He got ten Galleons and I got twenty,” he says proudly.
Fred whistles. “Wonder what Charlie will say when he hears this....”
“Forget Charlie, what about Mum, when she finds out her baby boy is a whore?”