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Chapter Text

Draco is adorable when he sleeps.

It sounds weird, but it’s true! Harry always wakes up first, and if they’re sleeping over, he likes to just sit there for a while watching Draco.

The boy wakes up shortly, though, because of the already growing noise outside the walls of their tent. As usual, he startles when he sees Harry sitting next to him, watching.

“Merlin!” he curses before his brain catches up and recognizes Harry. “Don’t do that! You scare me every time!”

Harry meows at him, grinning as best he can in this form, before leaping off the bed, shifting back into his human self to land on his feet. “But you’re so cute.”

Draco rolls his eyes, then gets up out of bed with a groan.

“Whiskers! Draco! Breakfast’s ready!” Sirius shouts from the small kitchen downstairs.

Excited, the boys quickly change out of their pyjamas and get ready for the day, before running out of their room and down the thin spiral staircase, through the sitting room to the kitchen. They come diving into their seats just as Kreacher is setting out the plates and cutlery.

“Morning! Thanks, Kreacher.”

“Good morning, Sirius. Thank you, Kreacher.”

“The young sirs are very welcome,” the crook-backed elf mumbles as he hurries to the wood stove. “Tea for any of the sirs?”

Harry hums, chewing on a slice of toast, and holds out the cup set before him. Draco nudges his over as well, then continues piling scrambled eggs on his plate. Sirius slumps into his own chair, opposite the teens, offering out his half-full cup.

“Fill ‘er up, will you, please? Mornin’, lads. You excited?”

Harry nods rapidly. “The stadium looks huge even from here, I can’t wait to see it closer.”

Kreacher fills everyone’s cups from the kettle, offering also a small box filled with assorted teas. Harry picks out his and Draco’s favourites, and drops them in the cups.

“Father said it took the Ministry almost a year to build the whole thing,” Draco says, pausing to accept the cup passed to him. “Thank you, and apparently it cost a bloody fortune.”

Sirius smiles, sipping his tea. “You boys planning on exploring before the game?”

“Yeah!” they yell almost in unison.

“I saw a stall selling candy from all over the world!” Draco says excitedly.

“I wanna buy a pair of omnioculars!” Harry chimes in. “Well, two pairs, ‘cause I wanna disassemble one and see how it works.”

“There were those acrobats over on the west side, we have to go see them!”

“And the merch stores, we need to represent properly! Which team do you wanna cheer for?”

“Ireland, obviously! They’ve got to bring it home this year! I mean, it’d just be embarrassing if they lost on their own home-turf!”

“And you think the keeper’s cute,” Harry teases.

Shoving him, Draco laughs. “Stop it! As if you’re not half-mad for that Krum guy!”

“I just think he seems like a really good seeker, from what I’ve heard on the wireless.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that... You’re lucky I’m not jealous.”

Harry spots Sirius just rolling his eyes fondly at their bickering.

“Alright, that’s enough. Just behave yourselves and remember to be back here by six, yeah? We’re meeting Lucius at the gate, all together.”

They continue chatting as they eat, making lists of things they saw on the way through the campgrounds yesterday and want to visit properly now that they have the chance. As soon as both of them have wolfed down their meal, they take off out into the crowd.

Harry can’t believe how many people there are; there must be thousands of them, all here for the World Cup. He can hardly believe he’s here! Sirius tried to get tickets but they sold out so fast he couldn’t manage it; they’re lucky Lucius has connections and could get seats for Harry and Sirius, too. He’ll have to remember to thank Lucius. It’s been over a year and he’s still terrified out of his wits of Harry. Sirius and Draco, and everyone else, think he’s just being awkward but he and Harry both know better. Suffice it to say, Harry has put the floo network to good use whenever they have time off from school, taking a very slight amount of sadistic pleasure in popping in unannounced and scaring the man half to death.

Hand in hand, Harry and Draco explore the campgrounds. It’s quite unlike anything Harry’s seen before. There are all sorts of magic street performers scattered around; people who have put up stalls to sell souvenirs, and others who sell more general stuff; they even spot someone with a whole load of small cages, peddling rare exotic animals of sorts. They find plenty of places selling team merch, buying up scarves in green and white as well as jerseys with player numbers on them. Obviously, Harry has to buy the seeker one, even though he doesn’t know much about Ireland’s team as a whole. Seekers support seekers, and all that. They find that candy booth Draco mentioned, too, where they buy just about one of everything, which they snack on as they explore. Harry makes mental notes on which ones they like best so they can stop by the booth on the way back and buy up a supply for themselves.

Harry buys two pairs of omnioculars for himself as planned, and a third pair which he gives to Draco before the boy can buy his own set. A few rows down from there, where an old witch has stacks of foreign books laid out on a blanket on the ground, Draco offers her a thousand galleons for her whole stock before Harry can even start looking through the titles. Of course, the witch is happy to accept the deal. While Draco writes out a Gringotts Cheque for her, Harry stuffs the laid out books into his mokeskin pouch, then holds it open wide for the witch to transfer more books from her suitcase into the pouch.

“That was totally unnecessary,” Harry laments once they move on. “It was only about a hundred-and-fifty books, you shouldn’t have offered anywhere near that much, Draco… I mean, thank you, obviously, but really? Aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

Draco scoffs out a laugh. “Then it’s my responsibility to be a good boyfriend and give you hugely overpriced gifts sometimes.”

The dark-haired boy feels his cheeks flush. Boyfriend? They’ve never- That’s- They haven’t talked about anything like that before. Draco really thinks of him as his boyfriend? When he glances shyly over at the other boy, it’s obvious to see he definitely said that just to fluster Harry and make him stop arguing.

“You are my boyfriend, though,” the blond says, as if reading Harry’s mind. “For real. Kind of have been for at least a year or so.”

“Yeah. We just…never talked about it.”

“Did we need to?”

“I dunno. Maybe we should? Just…so there’s no misunderstandings and stuff.”

Draco snorts. “Yeah, probably right. You usually are. Mother will want me home right after the game, but maybe you can come over tomorrow? We’ll take a walk and… talk for a bit.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Great. For now, though, where do you wanna go next?”

*

As planned, they make their circuit at a leisurely pace before returning to their tent almost perfectly on time at just before six. Sirius stumbles in only a moment after them, his own arms laden with souvenirs and such. They crowd into the kitchen where Kreacher has a light dinner ready for them. After they eat, Draco packs his small bag up to bring with him, as he will be going directly home with his father after the game, while Kreacher is left to manage the packing up of the tent and such.

The walk to the arena is a bit of an adventure on its own; in the thick crowd, the boys have to cling to either of Sirius’ arms just to keep from getting swept away. Lucius, dressed to impress as always, awaits them at the entry gates.

“Father!” Draco shouts, breaking away from the trio to run up to the man.

With a rare smile, Lucius embraces him for a moment. “Hello, son. Did you have a good time?”

“It was great! You should’ve seen the grounds during the day, father, it was amazing!”

“I’m glad you had fun, my boy. Hello, Sirius, Harry,” he greets when the duo catches up. “Thank you for taking care of Draco, as always. I’m very glad he has such...loyal friends, in both of you.”

Harry smirks, eyes fixed on the man; he tracks a bead of nervous sweat run down his neck from behind his ear. Sirius chuckles and waves Lucius’ compliments off.

“Not at all, Lucius, anything to make the boys happy, right? And we should be thank you, really! Getting extra tickets for us was incredibly generous of you, and much appreciated.”

The blond man hums. “As you said, anything to make the boys happy. Speaking of,” he trails off as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out four silvery tickets, which he hands out between them. “I’ll lead the way to our seats, shall I?”

“Yes, please, Mister Malfoy,” Harry says flatly.

Lucius swallows thickly before turning away to do just that.

The attendant clips their tickets as they enter (Harry makes sure to tuck his and Draco’s away for safe-keeping), and the trek through the guts of the stadium starts. The stadium is absolutely massive to behold; the stairs take them up and up and up, through a series of narrow paths and finally, into what has to be some kind of V.I.P box which hangs above all the other rows upon rows of seats, just opposite the massive blackboard now showing advertisements. The box is draped in lush purple curtains, with gilded trimmings, and the inside is quiet and cool, whereas the rest of the stadium was crushingly loud and had long since grown nearly overheated from the throng of bodies. Harry of course recognizes Fudge and Crouch (though he’s never met the latter, only seen his pictures in the Prophet), and the gaggle of Weasleys, but the others are fresh faces to him. Lucius and Sirius seem content to do the mingling like proper adults, so Draco and Harry seize the opportunity to grab some seats, scooting their plush chairs even closer to the bannister.

Woah... The pitch itself looks small from so high up, as do the goal posts, but they should be at just the perfect height to watch most of the actual play. They get out their omnioculars for a lovely spot of people watching until things get started. Before long, people start taking their seats, as well; Sirius comes to sit on Harry’s other side, while Lucius is at Draco’s, and to Harry’s delight, the seat just passed Sirius, previous marked as reserved, is filled by Fudge.

“Good evening, Minister Fudge,” Harry says politely.

Of course, the Minister gives him a pursed look and a snippy greeting in return. Still a bit crabby about Harry’s book, then. He made very sure to include his and Fudge’s conversation in Dumbledore’s office, and of course, people weren’t very happy with the comments he made, nor his threats to put Harry in Azkaban. The old fool was almost thrown out of office by the public outcry of it all! He only managed to hang on by the skin of his teeth because he gave in to the demands of the public and awarded Harry his Order of Merlin, First Class, in a very public ceremony where he had to spend nearly ten minutes singing Harry praises before pinning the medal on his chest.

Next to Harry, Draco snorts, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“So, Harry,” Sirius cuts in for everyone’s continued health and well-being. “Care to make a prediction? Always get it right when it’s just the wireless, let’s see what you can do in person, ey?”

Harry grins. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to offend our Bulgarian guests,” he says with a glance past Fudge and Crouch to the visitors from the Bulgarian equivalent of the Ministry of Magic.

The nearest of the men chuckles at that. “Not at all, not at all,” he says, his accent quite light. “All in good fun, yes? Why don’t we start things off, Minister? Let the boy see, so he can make his predictions.”

Still huffy but obviously wishing to accommodate the guests, Fudge does just that. He gets up and, using the sonorus charm, addresses the crowd. At his signal, the Irish team enters first. Harry watches their presenting closely, following them with the omnioculars. When the Bulgarian team breaks through for their presentation, his focus switches easily to them.

It’s only moments before Harry has a solid opinion on things.

“Krum is obviously a very talented seeker, very skilled, but the rest of the team just isn’t on his level. They’re individuals trying to figure out how to act like a team, with Krum taking up the majority of the room. The Irish team is a much more cohesive unit. They know each other, they know how to play together and be a team and use each others’ strengths. I’d say...Krum catches the Snitch, but Ireland wins on points alone.”

The Bulgarian official hums, stroking his chin as he considers Harry’s argument. “Very interesting... How do you see our team is not working well together?”

“Well, when the Irish came in, there was a solid half-metre between each player while they moved. No sway, no hesitation, they moved as a unit, trusting each other not to get in one another’s way. The Bulgarians, however, they were swaying and moving all over the place, half of them almost crashed into Krum when he pulled that little stunt of his. They knew their positions in the line-up, but that’s about it. I didn’t see trust. They’re all good players, sure. They just don’t know how to play together.”

Again, the official hums, considering. “Interesting observations. I will pass this on to the coaches. Perhaps they can work on it until the next World Cup, yes?”

Grinning, Harry nods. “Definitely. Just get them trusting each other, and the rest’ll come naturally.”

The Bulgarian leans across Crouch, who appears very offended but says nothing, to offer Harry his hand. Harry quickly stretches back, across an equally disgruntled Fudge, to accept the handshake.

“Apostoli Oblansk.”

“Harry Potter. Pleasure to meet you, Minister.”

The Bulgarian Minister for Magic chuckles as he sits back. “Not many your age would recognize the name, Mister Potter.”

“Suppose I’m not much like many people my age. Let me introduce you. This is Sirius Black, my guardian and godfather. This is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, and over there, that’s his father, Lucius.”

Oblansk greets them with a polite bow of his head. “A pleasure, truly. Perhaps we can speak more later? We are all here to watch the game, after all.”

At the Minister’s request, they return their focus to the recently started game.

It’s fascinating to watch the players move. Harry has watched, and participated in, plenty of games at Hogwarts, but this is definitely a whole other level. Compared to these people, the house teams might as well be a bunch of toddlers in the sandbox. The coordination is incredible, even in the weaker Bulgarian team. The communication between players seems to be almost on a mental level, as if they can read each others’ minds. As expected, the Irish rack up points rapidly. Their numbers on the scoreboard have a steady, and speedy, climb, while Bulgaria only just manage to squeeze a goal in to get a 10 on the board. One-twenty. One-thirty. One-forty. One-fifty. One-sixty, as Lynch, the Irish seeker, seems to spot the Snitch and darts off after it. Krum, however, is close on his tail. Another score bell; one-seventy.

Krum cuts out ahead of Lynch; the siren blares when his fist closes around the Snitch.

Harry exhales. 170 to 160; Krum caught the Snitch but the Irish won on points. Just like Harry said.

Everyone in the Box, and the rest of the stadium, applauds while the Irish take their victory lap. Once applause die down, they all start to get up to stretch their legs and so on.

“A perfect prediction,” Minister Oblansk comment as he approaches Harry and his group. “Very impressive, Mister Potter.”

Harry shakes his hand firmly when it’s offered to him once more. “Thank you, Minister. I do my best to impress.”

Oblansk chuckles. “You manage it very well.” He moves on to shake the hands of the rest of Harry’s company, everyone introducing themselves more properly now that they have the chance. “Please, come over here. I will introduce you to our team.”

Despite his insistence on cheering for Ireland, Draco seems to vibrate somewhat with excitement at the prospect, clinging to Harry’s arm as they follow Oblansk closer to the entrance. The Bulgarian team arrives first; they move down the line, all shaking hands with Crouch and Fudge before doing the same with the Bulgarian officials. Oblansk stays at the end of the line, where the team gathers at his request. He says a few things in Bulgarian to them, then turns to Harry’s group and introduces the four of them. The team shakes their hands politely, and contrary to his insistence during breakfast, Draco is the one who goes a little weak-kneed when shaking Krum’s hand.

The Irish team spills in not many minutes later; they do the same routine down the lines, and Oblansk makes a point to introduce Harry’s group to them as well, before the two teams do their own good sportsmanship handshakes. They all watch and clap as Fudge presents the trophy to the Irish captain, which he quickly brings to his team for them all to cheer over.

“It was a pleasure to meet you all,” Oblansk informs Harry and the group. “May we meet again some day.”

Then, he is raptly dragged away by his officials and the team.

“Well, I guess it’s time we split up too,” Sirius suggests. “Thanks again for the tickets, Lucius, it was very kind of you.”

Lucius waves it off with a minute gesture. “As we said, anything for the boys. Shall we get going, Draco? Your mother is eager to have you home. She wants to see you as much as possible before school starts.”

“Me too, father. Bye, Harry! Bye, Sirius!”

Harry waves, smiling as he watches the two blonds disappear into the crowd beginning to leave the box. Once they’re out of sight, he digs into his pouch.

“So. Boyfriend.”

Sirius laughs when the boy kicks him. Harry pulls their brooms from the pouch; they saddle up and dart out through the box’s curtains, setting off straight home to London as Kreacher will have packed up and headed back already as well.

They stay well above the cloud cover even in the dark. It’s amazing to fly with Sirius. He’s not exactly an expert flyer but he’s decent enough that they can play around without worry. They do loops around each other, and race for a bit, and so on. It’s...

Harry wonders if this is what it would have been like to fly with his dad.

Chapter Text

September 1^st races at them at breakneck speed. It feels like it was just days ago that they were here on the platform last, coming home from their third year, and now they’re suddenly here again, diving right into year four.

“And you’ve got all your books? Cauldron and all that? Severus would come strangle me if I sent you off to his lessons unprepared, especially with your N.E.W.Ts coming up. We bought all your ingredients, right?”

“I have everything, Sirius, don’t worry,” Harry reassures. “I double-checked everything yesterday, and before we left.”

Thankfully, all he has to really handle is Sinestra and her cage; the rest has been packed in the pouch on his hip. Sirius sighs and runs a hand over his face.

“I know, I know, I’m just- You know I hate it when you have to go. I mean, obviously, it’s school and I’d never stop you from going, I just- I miss you, you know?”

Harry’s smile softens. “I know. I miss you too. But I’ll be back for Christmas, and I’ll write all the time, and maybe I’ll even go home over Easter.”

Again, the man sighs. Harry understands. It was only about a year and a half ago that he was locked away in Azkaban, never to see the light of day again. And now, he has a new lease on life and it only makes sense he wants to spend as much of his time with Harry as he can, to make up for lost time and all that. Harry does too; if he could, he’d love to stay home and just keep experiencing what it’s like to have a real family, or as close to it as he’s ever had, anyway. But school is school, and Harry is loathe to compromise when it comes to his education. Hell, he didn’t compromise for the bloody Dark Lord, he’s not about to start compromising now.

Sirius tugs Harry to him by his shoulder, hugging him tight to his chest for a very long time. “I love you, Harry, always know that. Lily loves you, James loves you, and I love you.”

Harry’s heart aches, but it’s the good kind. He hurts with how much he loves and misses his parents, and with how much he loves Sirius and is going to miss him during the school year. “I love you, too, Sirius.”

They part; Sirius cups the boy’s face in his hands, regarding him with soft eyes. “You look just like them. They’d be so damn proud of you, Whiskers. I know I am.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Harry’s head. If it were anyone else (except for Draco), Harry would kick them for getting close to him, but with Sirius, he simply shuts his eyes and imagines it’s his mum and dad kissing him too, even if they have to use Sirius as a conduit.

“Go on, then,” Sirius finally says once he pulls back, a mixed expression of both joy and grief on his face. “Have loads of fun, and take care of yourself, and watch out for Draco, he’s such a gentle boy, he needs someone on his side sometimes, and don’t forget to feed Sama or yourself, and- Uch, I’m turning into an awful mother hen, aren’t I? Just go, Whiskers, before my anxiety has me dragging you back home again!”

Laughing, Harry gives him a last, quick hug, before picking up Sinestra’s cage and hurrying to the closest entry line. Once he’s on the train, Draco flags him down from a compartment down the way. Harry hurries over, greeting him with a brief press of lips before they step inside. They both go to the window and locate their separate families. Harry waves at Sirius like crazy; Sirius waves back, even through his seemingly almost hysterical tears. Harry only just sees a flash of Narcissa hurrying to hug her cousin tight and comfort him, as the train is pulling out of the station.

Once they’re properly out on their way, the boys sink into their seats. Draco slumps against Harry, who wraps his arm around him.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be fourth-years.”

“Me, neither. Can’t believe you’re doing the N.E.W.Ts with the seventh-years. I was sure they’d make you wait.”

“Apparently, Severus was ready to fist-fight the whole Ministry if they didn’t let me. Especially after how my O.W.Ls went.”

Draco snorts. “Well, yeah, you’re only, like, the tenth student to ever take all twelve, and the only one to get Outstandings on all of them.”

“Mh, well, suppose defeating the Dark Lord as a twelve-year-old has its advantages.”

“Did you know my father went to bat for you, too?”

Harry frowns. “He did?”

“Yeah. Said it was the least they could do for you for sparing us all another war.”

“Hm. I had no idea. I’ll have to write him something for it.”

Though the ride is several hours long, it seems to pass in a pleasant haze; they spend the whole time chatting about everything they did over the summer, about what the year will be like, their classes, dreading homework and exams and all that. Sama finally wakes up after a few hours and comes begging for attention, which they both gladly give. They gorge themselves of treats from the trolley, and go over highlights from the World Cup for the hundredth time.

It seems like it’s hardly been any time at all when they pull into the Hogsmeade station and start making their way up to the castle by carriage. None of them know this year will be vastly different than expected until they’re making their way across the Covered Bridge, when someone calls out and points.

Everyone looks, of course.

Even Harry stares in awe as the massive powder blue carriage descends from through the clouds, drawn by a whole dozen of beautiful, pale-coated Abraxans. The carriage bounds across the sky, crossing far above the Bridge and rounding the castle to land somewhere on its front-side. The cogs and gears are spinning wildly in Harry’s brain. Blue carriage? A dozen Abraxans? Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. That’s literally the only organization that prefers that mode of transportation. Loads of people use carriages, loads of people use Abraxans, but none have a powder blue carriage drawn by a dozen Abraxans, except Beauxbatons. What are they doing here? Why would a delegation from Beaubaxtons come to Hogwarts like this? At the very start of the school-year, too.

Someone else in the crowd of curious on-lookers shouts and points, drawing everyone’s attention again. To…the Black Lake? Harry finds the small dingy there, just like everyone else, and is just as confused.

Until the rest of the ship erupts out of the water. It’s a whole galleon ship! But…how did a galleon ship appear out of nowhere in a lake not connected to the ocean? Duh, Harry! Magic, obviously! But why? The ship is almost ghostly in appearance, dark and gloomy with tattered sails, and a nearly skeletal look over the whole thing. Harry can see, even from such a distance, people moving about on the deck doing whatever it is sailors do. The crest on the flag is easily recognized; Durmstrang Institute. And why are they here, too? At the same time as Beauxbatons?

Three magic schools meeting like this… Why?

Hm. Harry has theories.

The crowd starts pushing to move again. Buzzing with brand new excitement, everyone rushes into the castle and split off to their different houses to change into uniform and prepare for the feast. Just like everyone else seems to be, Harry and Draco are quick about it, running to the Great Hall to find good seats. Harry isn’t the only one to notice the extra tables up by the professors, nor the extra seats being filled with Ministry employees. Even Crouch is there. Interesting. They all wait impatiently for the rest of the crowd to trickle in, every single one of them on the edge of their seats.

Things move at lightning speed and a snail’s pace at the same time. It feels like an eternity before Dumbledore steps up to his lectern to speak. “Well, now we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well.” Filch comes running down the centre aisle as Dumbledore speaks. “You see, Hogwarts has been chosen-” Filch runs up next to Dumbledore; the confused students exchanged glances while they whisper for a few moments, before Filch runs back down and out the doors. Dumbledore clears his throat and goes on. “So. Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. The Triwizard Tournament.”

Bingo. That was one of Harry’s theories; one of the far-fetched ones, given how there hasn’t actually been any tournaments since the late 1700’s, but you never know what idiotic ideas the Ministry will cook up.

“For those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear. If chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted. But more on that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress Madame Maxime.”

The doors of the Great Hall are thrown open.

A troop of beautiful young women, all dressed in matching powder blue uniforms and hats, seem to float through the centre aisle. Wordlessly, wandlessly, they conjure beautiful blue butterflies from thin air, that drip in glittering fairy dust as they spread through the Hall. The last girl among them performs lovely pirouettes as she moves after the group, and she is joined by a much younger girl performing light feats of acrobatics alongside her. Very last in line, follows an enormous woman, much taller than even Hagrid, Harry would guess, yet she still exudes an easy elegance, seemingly floating forth just like her students.

The two performers bow at the end of the line; Madame Maxime greets Dumbledore with a warm smile, and he bows to kiss her hand, leading her for a moment to the side of the Hall to make room. Then, he steps up near his lectern to continue, quieting the applause and cheering with a simple gesture.

“And now, our friends from the north. Please greet, the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their high master, Igor Karkaroff.”

Again, the doors of the Great Hall are thrown open. This time, the troop consists of tall, muscular young men (wow, Harry is very gay, look at those muscles), dressed either in uniforms in brown shades, or long coats and furred hats. Each one carries a long staff, which they slam into the ground in time with their almost chanting battle-cries. Everyone seems in awe, when the Durmstrang boys all lay their staves down to instead perform their own short acrobatic routine, which ends with two of them breathing fire! Last in the line is none other than Viktor Krum, straight out of the Bulgarian National Team, followed by the headmaster dressed in a fine white coat to contrast the darker colours of his students.

He and Dumbledore greet each other warmly, as well, with a tight embrace.

Extra tables appear, now that the visitors have all been introduced; one at the Ravenclaw table and the other at their very own Slytherin table. At Dumbledore’s invitation, the headmaster and headmistress join the professors at the head table, while the Beauxbatons girls join the Ravenclaws and the Durmstrang boys join the Slytherins. The first-years must be freaking out being seated so close to their guests. Harry has to snicker at the many blushing eleven-year-olds awing at their new neighbours.

As usual, the feast itself is a wonder of its own, all the food is just as perfect as every other day they’re served. It’s nice, actually, to sit here surrounded by his housemates and all, chatting about their summers and so on. The next highlight of the evening comes towards the end of the meal, however, when four carriers bring out a large gilded and jewelled casket, or case, of sorts, directed into position by Filch.

Again, Dumbledore steps up to speak.

“Your attention, please! I’d like to say a few words. Eternal glory. That’s what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mister Bartemius Crouch.”

As he is being introduced, Crouch makes his way from his seat around to the front, standing up on the podium just in front of the casket.

“After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that, for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament. However, by personal request of both the Bulgarian and French Ministers for Magic, as well as several others, Harry Potter is the only exception to the age restriction. He may enter his name into the Goblet, if that is his personal wish. This decision is final.”

Damn you, Oblansk! Mentally, Harry shakes his fist at the sky, cursing the man’s name.

Of course, no one is too pleased with any part of this announcement. While he hears plenty of booing and complaining, he can also feel a very large number of dagger-like looks cutting into him, even from people of his own House. Delightful. Really just setting him up for victory, here, huh?

The crowd quiets again, thankfully, when Dumbledore vanishes the casket to reveal the Goblet inside. It really is an ugly old thing, isn’t it? Only pretty thing about it is the vibrant blue flames burning from it.

“The Goblet of Fire,” the headmaster goes on. “Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament, need only write their name upon a piece of parchment, and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there’s no turning back. As from this moment, the Triwizard Tournament has begun.”

*

Harry makes a tactical retreat to his dorm as soon as he is able.

Fucking shit, what the hell is he supposed to do?

Should he enter? Should he not? What would cause the least amount of trouble? If he enters, there are two possible outcomes; he is chosen, or he is not chosen.

If he is chosen, he is forced to participate. The school will likely be in somewhat of an uproar that he gets to participate when no one else his age even got the chance for it.

If he is not chosen, people will likely harbour some contempt for him anyway, for being an exception to the rules, requested personally by several foreign Ministers for Magic.

If he doesn’t enter, he’ll still draw contempt for not taking advantage of the opportunity handed to him on a silver-fucking-platter.

There’s no winning this.

Shit. He pulls parchment and quill from his pouch to write to Sirius. He bloody begs for advice on what to do, updating him on this whole insane situation he has somehow tripped face-first into.

“There you are!” Draco says as he enters the room. “How are you? Are you okay?”

Harry sets his quill down, laying the letter to dry on the nightstand so he can send it tomorrow. He throws himself down on his bed with an almighty sigh.

“What am I supposed to do, Draco? What the hell do I do? Already written to Sirius, sending it tomorrow, but he’ll probably tell me it’ll be another fun adventure. If he doesn’t cry himself into dehydration with worry first.”

The blond chuckles. He shuffles over, sits down on the edge of the bed, then lays down almost completely on top of Harry, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder blade. “Who cares what you’re supposed to do? What do you want to do?”

Harry groans into his pillow. “I don’t know! I mean... Maybe it’d be cool, but...”

“You’ve read about the tournament, right?”

“Loads, yeah.”

“Think about all the cool different things the tasks could be! You love a good challenge, right? And you’ll probably get to do loads of sneaking around and scheming, too.”

“Mh. I do like scheming...”

“And wouldn’t it be amazing to remind everyone, including the Ministries of several different nations, how incredible you are? Show ‘em all they can’t ever mess you around?”

“I do like the sound of that... Oblansk probably issued this as a challenge of sorts. Probably wants to see for himself what I’m made of. Might even think I’ll back down...”

“Can’t let him keep thinking that, can you?”

And just like that, Draco has convinced him to throw his name in the Goblet.

“You do realize you could probably talk me into doing just about anything, right?”

Draco hums. “It’s a grave responsibility and I take it very seriously.”

Harry is the first to start laughing, but Draco is only moments behind.

*

Classes start as normal. Interestingly, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs are joining in on some classes with the seventh-years, auditing Hogwarts’ selection during the mornings before retreating to private classrooms to hold their own lessons. Makes sense, to be fair; they will be spending most of the school year here, but it’s not as if they can just skip school completely even if they’re away from their home-schools.

Because of his upcoming N.E.W.Ts, Harry is also in attendance with the seventh-years. He spends most of the classes doing the assigned homework, since he’s already learned most of what’s being taught on his own. Still, the lectures and in-person instruction does come in handy at times, offering new insights not available in textbooks.

Viktor is…weird. Harry has nothing against him for his quiet-and-broody persona, he totally gets it, and the language barrier probably contributes as well, but what makes him weird is that… Well. He seems to insist on sitting next to Harry. If anyone other than Harry takes the seat next to him, he just sort of stares at them until they get creeped out enough to leave. And if Harry sits next to someone else, he stares at them until they leave so he can swoop in and take their seat.

At least he doesn’t talk much. He asks Harry questions now and then, mostly help with understanding a word or a sentence the professor used during their lecture, which is easy enough to help with. Otherwise, he just sort of…sits there. And watches.

It hasn’t even been a week yet and Harry is already on the verge of losing his mind.

On Wednesday morning, when Harry walks determinately up to the Goblet to drop his name in, Viktor is there the moment it becomes very clear Harry is way too short to reach the rim. He gives a slight smile to Harry as he takes the slip of parchment from Harry’s hand and drops it in for him.

Harry might blush. When he sits down next to Draco to eat, Draco stares into his food and doesn’t say anything. Hm, bad morning, maybe?

Chapter Text

Thursday evening.

The crowd in the Great Hall is a thicket of awkward teenagers, all crammed together at their House tables or on the small bleaches nearer to the head table. Harry got there early and got a good seat on the bleachers, as close to the Goblet as possible.

“Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The champion selection.”

With a mere wave of his hand, Dumbledore dims down the braziers lighting the Hall, setting the atmosphere to fit the clear blue glow of the Goblet’s fire. They wait. The tension feels thick enough to cut with a knife.

The blue flames flare red. A smoking piece of parchment is ejected. Dumbledore snatches it quickly out of the air, turning it over to find the name written upon it.

“The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum.”

Durmstrang cheers for their champion, while the rest of them applaud. Viktor steps down from his seat on the bleachers opposite Harry’s, and shakes Dumbledore’s hand firmly before going over to stand with his own headmaster.

Moments later, the flames turn red again. A strip of light blue parchment sails through the air to be caught by Dumbledore.

“The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour.”

Beauxbatons cheers loudest this time, of course, backed by universal applause. She too goes up to shake Dumbledore’s hand, before taking her place beside her headmistress.

For the last time, the Goblet burns with red instead of blue.

“The Hogwarts champion is Harry Potter.”

At least the bloody thing recognizes greatness when it sees it.

He too is hailed with cheering and clapping, Harry shakes Dumbledore’s hand. Severus gestures him over to himself. As the three champions and their headmasters (and Head of House) are escorted out of the Great Hall to a side room filled with innumerable silver trophies of all shapes and sizes, Dumbledore goes on to speak some more but Harry has stopped listening. Within some minutes, though, both Dumbledore and Crouch join them as well. There’s some general talk; champions introducing themselves, going over the rules, and so on, as well as a date and time for when the first trial is to take place.

Before they can be released for the night, however, Harry speaks up. “May I speak with my fellow champions in private?”

After some discussion between headmasters and headmistress, they are left alone in the trophy room. Fleur and Viktor gather closer.

“What did you wish to talk about, ‘arry?” Fleur asks, smiling softly.

Harry clears his throat. “I don’t wanna die,” he states plainly. “I assume that neither do either of you. It’s common knowledge that in these games, most of the time at least one champion dies.”

His fellow champions mirror his own somewhat grim expression, nodding their agreement as he speaks.

“Here’s my suggestion. Alliance. I’m not asking for us all to work together during the tasks or anything, that’s not it. What I’m saying is, let’s keep things fair. If any of us figures something out about the tasks beforehand, let’s share information. Doesn’t have to be all of it, a hint is enough. Just to give all three of us a chance to prepare for the tasks and hopefully, a better chance at surviving.”

“Zis sounds fair to me,” Fleur agrees. “Viktor?”

The boy nods. “Da, is good plan. Fair game is better.”

“Alright, then. Good luck to us all.”

They offer the sentiment in return; all three of them trade handshakes over their agreement and promise of good sportsmanship. After, they join their respective chaperones in the hallway and are excused for the evening.

Harry returns to the Slytherin common room and is greeted by applause. Draco runs across the room to throw himself into Harry’s arms, hugging him tight.

“You did it, Harry! You’re our champion! I can’t believe it, it’s really you! It actually chose you!” he chatters excitedly. “You’re definitely gonna win, I just know it!”

Everyone seems very interested in coming up to shake his hand, wishing him good luck and so on, but Harry withdraws to his bedroom as soon as he spots the opportunity. Once there, he lifts Sama from the pocket of his robes.

“Congratulationsss, Massster! Certainly, Massster will win. The girl isss weak, the boy isss ssslow, Massster isss better.”

Harry chuckles, stroking her scales. “Thank you, Sama. Go invessstigate. Find Crouch first. He will know everything.”

“Yesss, Massster, the sssmelly man will reveal all. Sama will find cluesss.”

Giving her a few kisses and treat pellets, he then sets her down on the floor. She slithers out through the open door and disappears into the evening darkness to search for information on his behalf. In the morning when he gets up, he’ll roam the castle in cat form to see what he can sniff out on his own.

Draco joins him while he’s changing into his sleep clothes. “I spotted Sama sneaking out. Already starting your investigations?”

Harry gets himself tucked into bed as Draco changes. “Yeah. Gonna see what I can sniff out during the morning, too.”

“Just be careful. You know what’ll happen if anyone catches you.”

“I know. You know I’m always careful. Do miss sneaking around London, though. Talking to the strays is a great way to gather information.”

Draco scoffs. “Don’t need to tell me twice. I’ve seen your colony of strays in the backyard at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry grins at the ceiling. Yeah, he misses his cat friends.

“So, uh... How’re classes? Heard Krum usually sits with you.”

At the change of topic, however, Harry sighs. “They’re fine. Already know just about everything so far. Viktor’s...”

“Viktor? You’re on a first-name basis, then?”

“Guess so. He keeps staring at me. It’s weird. And when we shook hands earlier, he held on too long. It was awkward. Smiling all funny, too. Weird guy.”

“Right. Okay. Do you...wanna go to Hogsmeade on Saturday? We could have a nice date. Been weird to be apart all day again, after the summer, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll browse the shops, have a nice lunch at the Three Broomsticks, take a walk. It’ll be great.”

“That sounds really nice. I can’t wait.”

“Me, neither, Draco.”

*

Saturday is the best.

They catch a carriage to Hogsmeade right after breakfast, and spend ages just walking around holding hands and browsing the stores. The proprietor of Tomes and Scrolls is delighted to see the return of one of her best customers; she insists on showing him the stack of books and so on that she’s been saving just for him, which delights Harry to no end. Obviously, he buys every single one. They spend far too long in Honeydukes, and they’re almost completely filled up on just candy when they make it to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Unfortunately, Saturday is also the Slytherin team’s slot on the pitch, and while there are no games planned for this year due to the tournament, Marcus isn’t letting them slack off, meaning their day-date has to end at around two. At least they get a carriage to themselves on the way back so they can make-out undisturbed.

As has become sort of a habit, Draco settles in the stands with his homework, working and watching intermittently. Harry always insists that he doesn’t have to stay, he can go do other stuff if he prefers, but every time, Draco insists he wants to stay, it’s nice to work in the sun while it’s still warm. And well, if Draco wants to do something, there’s very little Harry can do to change his mind.

Harry is surprised when he comes out on the pitch after changing. Viktor and a few others from his school are there with their own brooms at the ready.

“Harry, hey, I asked the guys if they wanted to practice with us,” Marcus explains as Harry joins the larger than usual group of players. “Viktor offered to run some drills with you, if you’re interested.”

Run drills with the seeker of a national team, that was literally just in the World Cup? Sign Harry up!

“Yeah, definitely! I’ll stick with Viktor, then. Give us a shout if you need me.”

Marcus signs off on it with a nod; Harry and Viktor split away from the group.

“Alright, Coach Krum,” Harry says with a smirk. “Tell me what to do.”

Viktor nods. “Take off shirt.”

Wait. What?

“Um...?”

“To see muscle. You...very small. More muscle. I see vhere begin training.”

Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Harry lays his broom down on the grass, lifting the shirt over his head as he stands up. On Viktor’s instruction, he stands up straight and holds his arm out to either side. The other boy considers him for several long moments. Harry turns around when asked, then back again a second later.

“Okay. Arms, too tin. More. Stronger. Small is good for seeker but also need to be strong. Very tin legs. Eh... Like chicken?”

Harry snorts out a loud laugh at the comparison. Okay, so he’s got chicken legs. Good to know.

“Chest and stomach, very good. Back needs more. Strong back, fly more stable. I show you tings to do.”

Guess they won’t be flying much today, then. While Viktor explains the first exercise, Harry’s eyes scan the stands. Wait, where’s Draco? Hm, must have decided to head up to the castle anyway.

*

Harry skulks around on four paws. His ears swivel back and forth, tracking for noises. So far, all he’s been able to find is rats, bugs, hardly and house-elves cleaning. He’s been out and about searching for clues about the first task pretty much ever since he was named only champion. It’s been any use, though. The times he can move around freely is late at night and early in the mornings, which sucks because there’s no one else around at those times. His only other option is shifting his snooping to the daytime, between classes and so on.

Does he dare? With Ministry officials moving around here and there, hundreds of students, professors, and all their visitors on top of that… The risk of getting caught is extremely high.

But at the same time, no one except Draco knows he’s an animagus. He’s never so much as suggested the idea to anyone else here at the school. If people saw a random tabby cat moving around, they would just assume it belonged to a student.

Harry swallows his fears on a dewy Monday morning. He lays low in the bushes in one of the smaller courtyards, waiting until people start going about their days. He spots Fleur. Perfect; if he can learn her scent, he’ll be able to track her should the need arise. He should find Viktor and catch his scent as well. Harry slips out of the bush as Fleur and the small acrobat girl approach, likely heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. The girl stops Fleur, eyes sparkling as she points out the tabby. Fleur smiles. They both crouch down low, each offering a hand out.

Playing the part of the stand-offish feline, Harry sits and regards them as he cleans his front left paw with his coarse tongue. The girls make soft kissy noises, cooing at him, trying to lure him closer. He deigns to show them some interest, standing back up and stretching his body out for a moment. He edges closer. When he gets just close enough, he sniffs them both deeply, memorizing their scents. Fleur smells lovely; a very gentle flowery tinge to it, mint and rosemary. The other girl, she smells similar, though with a slightly stronger vein of mint. Gently, Fleur strokes her fingers over Harry’s head, scratching the space between his ears, right where the markings in his coat resemble his lightning bolt scar. The rumble of a purr emanates from his chest.

Finished with them, Harry darts off. He hears the girls sigh over losing his interest but they’ll get over it. Harry weaves through the throng of legs and feet and swaying black robes in the hallways; a few people watch him with interest but most disregard him. It’s not all that odd to see a pet or five having snuck out of their owner’s common room after all.

Viktor almost steps on him coming around a corner; on reflex, Harry rears back and hisses, claws extending as he bats a paw at the boy’s legs. Viktor says something in Bulgarian that sounds a lot like swearing as he staggers back, while the other Durmstrang boys in his group laugh at him for it. Harry sniffs him quickly then runs off again. Nice scent; very…masculine. Honestly, if Harry wasn’t arse over tits for Draco, he’d probably try to chase after Viktor, but Draco stole his heart first.

Harry freezes, head swivelling. Shit, Professor Moody, he would definitely be the one to see right through Harry’s ‘disguise’. It’s hard to mistake the clomp of the man’s prosthetic leg or the tap of his walking stick; thankfully, with the sharp ears of a cat, that makes for plenty of warning. Harry runs in the other direction as fast as he can. He doesn’t stop until he finds a deserted hallway two floors up. He shifts back to human form, then makes his way back downstairs, grateful he planned ahead and put on his uniform before starting his snooping.

Severus appears near where Harry sits during breakfast. “Mister Potter, once you’re finished, join us in the trophy room, please.”

“May I ask why, sir?”

The professor sighs, shaking his head. “An unpleasant woman from the Daily Prophet is here to interview the champions. Unfortunately, the Ministry insists.”

Oh, God, no… Harry sighs, just like Severus did. “Thank you, professor, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Once the professor is well out of earshot, Harry lets out a miserable groan. He stabs at his fried potatoes as he swears quietly to himself.

Lucian snorts. “What, not ready to be introduced to your adoring fans?”

Harry stabs into a slice of bacon. “I hate interviews. Did a few after my book. Hated it. Bloody obnoxious, is what it is.”

“Aw, poor Harry,” Miles teases. “It’s so hard being super famous, people only ever wanna interview me and take my picture and talk about me!”

The champion rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause if I had a choice, I totally would have chosen to watch my parents be murdered as a toddler, grow up as an orphan in a shitty home, and be prophesized to potentially be murdered myself by the same person who killed my parents. Yup, definitely the most attractive option of the bunch.”

His friends just snort and laugh; thank God he finally knows people who understand his dry humour.

As requested, Harry finishes up his meal at a rapt pace, then excuses himself to the trophy room. Fleur is already there with Madame Maxime; Severus joins within moments to be Harry’s representative, since Dumbledore is more of a host than anything. Harry and Fleur get a chance to chat briefly before Viktor joins. When he does, Harry figures it might as well be the perfect opportunity to check in.

“Any clues yet? Any ideas? I’ve nothing so far.”

Fleur shakes her head. “Zey are very good at ‘iding zese zecrets. I ‘ave nozing.”

Viktor nods to that. “There is… Someting is building. The east, I flew, I saw Ministry people building. I do not know vhat.”

“Alright. Obviously between us, I know the Hogwarts grounds best. I’ll see if I can sneak out some time tonight and check it out. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Finally, a direction! A trail to follow. Sama’s been finding nothing either, and it has been frustrating them both. With this however, they might have somewhere concrete to start the hunt.

Interrupting his lovely train of thought, Rita bloody Skeeter stomps into the trophy room.

Before she can even open her ugly mouth, Harry speaks up. “Mister Crouch, Rita Skeeter can’t interview me.”

The old man frowns; the ‘journalist’ seethes upon seeing him. “Why not, Mister Potter?”

“Because just over a year ago, she wrote an incredibly defamatory article about me for the Prophet, which lead to my godfather and I bringing a case to the Wizengamot against her. We won our case and according to the order issued by the Wizengamot, she’s not allowed to write about me, talk about me, talk to me, or knowingly be within five miles of me.”

“Ah,” is all Crouch says for a few moments. “Then I suppose we will have to find a new journalist to cover the tournament.”

Harry shrugs. “And honestly, she shouldn’t be allowed to write at all. If anyone actually did any amount of fact-checking, they’d find her articles are mainly fiction, lies, and libel. Also, if anyone’s interested, I’ve heard rumours she’s an unregistered animagus.”

*

Interviews postponed for now, the champions are instead shuffled on to the so-called Wand Weighing.

That, in itself, isn’t a problem.

What is a problem, is that their wand-weigher is Garrick bloody Ollivander, who remembers every wand he’s ever sold, and Harry most definitely does not use his old wand anymore. He’s been using the Elder Wand for just about everything since it came into his possession. The wand itself is innocuous enough; looks like a wand, works like a wand, it’s just a wand. But Ollivander is a master wand-maker. If anyone is going to realize Harry is the owner of the Elder Wand, it’s Ollivander.

But it’s not as if he has a choice. No, after Viktor and Fleur, everyone is waiting on him and there’s no way out of this situation. Life may be about to become a bit more complicated.

He takes the wand from the holster he keeps on his left forearm at nearly all times, offering it to Ollivander.

Ollivander hums as he runs his fingers along the wand, studying it closely with the eyes of a master.

Then, his gaze flicks up at Harry. The boy swallows.

“Such a shame, Mister Potter, how your previous wand was damaged.”

Harry exhales in a very controlled way; no one should be able to tell he almost sighed with relief.

“I do hope you have been more cautious with your practise since then, yes? Especially with one of my little experiments, like this one.”

“Yes, Mister Ollivander. It was…tricky. Hard to figure out,” Harry says, drawing on his surface knowledge of wandlore. “Took some work but I’ve got it working well with me.”

“Yes, yes... Elder wood, Thestral tail hair, 15 inches, very firm. The only one like it I’ve made. An experiment, as I said. Do be gentle with it.” To test the function, he conjures a small rose in the palm of his hand, before vanishing it with another flick. “In perfect working order, as expected. If at all possible, Mister Potter, do write to me about your experience with this wand. It would be interesting to learn more of its talents, even if I don’t intend to continue this particular experiment.”

Harry nods rapidly, taking the wand back when it’s offered. “Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to do that.”

Seems Harry is in Ollivander’s debt. How very unexpected.

Chapter Text

“Massster, I have sssomething! Finally, Massster, I have sssomething!” Sama cries as she slithers her way into the dorm.

Just about to sneak out himself, Harry scoops her up for a quick chat first. “What do you have, Sssama?”

“I heard talk, sssomething hidden in the foressst. Took ssso long to go there, Massster. I could not go too clossse, the sssmellsss, sssuch danger, I could not, Massster, Sama isss sssorry.”

“No, that’sss okay, Sssama. You sssaid the foressst?”

“Yesss. From the pumpkinsss, northwessst, into the treesss. Many people, much danger.”

Interesting. Many people, much danger? What does that mean? Instead of wasting time thinking about it, he may as well go find out. He deposits Sama in her pot so she can have plenty of rest after her adventure, offering her an extra mouse for dinner as thanks for her hard work.

Harry shifts his shape just before slipping out of the common room into the dungeon hallways. He moves fast on four paws. It’s not long before he’s leaving the castle entirely. He runs east, like Viktor said. Even much faster in this shape, it still takes him a good while to find his way to the building site.

When he gets there, though, it only takes a brief investigation to figure out what this place is supposed to be. It’s an arena. A barren pitch of sorts, the start of bleachers and stands being built up around it, a judges table. Based on the building plans he finds, it looks like the pitch is going to be covered by rocks of some sort, big scraggly boulders, as if to imitate a rocky, mountainous landscape. Interesting. They’ll definitely be facing at least one of the tasks here, whether it’s the first one or not. There aren’t any real clues to the tasks themselves here, though, so Harry moves on.

The closer he gets to the Forbidden Forest, the clearer it becomes what Sama meant. He can smell the danger, too. Lots of strange people, leather, burning wood and charred dirt, fire. There’s Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, still filled only with smaller pumpkins, and northwest is…this direction. Harry makes his way through the trees. The smell of fire grows ever stronger the further he walks. He can hear raised voices, someone shouting orders, creatures roaring.

That better not be the kind of creature Harry thinks it is.

He finds the source of the smells and the noise. In a clearing, nearly a kilometre into the woods, stands three huge cages, each one filled with a dragon. Dragons. Right. First task: dragons. Great. Awesome. Wonderful. Harry watches from a distance, his eyes all but entranced by the sight of the dragons. He’s never seen an actual dragon before. Not outside a book, at least. He memorizes everything he can see about each of the beasts. If he can look them up in one of the library’s dragonology books, he might be able to find some weaknesses, some known strategies.

Most importantly, he has to show Draco!

*

Passing notes feels childish, but who is Harry to argue, if it produces results?

The passed notes make their way to Fleur and Viktor, allowing them to find him in the library during lunch time, in the section for creatures and beasts.

“’arry, did you find somezing? What are zey building?”

“It’s an arena. And I know sort of what the first task is.”

“Go on, tell us,” Viktor urges.

“Dragons.”

“Dragons?” Fleur repeats in shock, staring at him.

Viktor stares too. Harry nods. “Go down to the hut by the treeline, stand in the pumpkin patch, head northwest for a kilometre. Have a look for yourself if you want. There’s three of them. One each.”

Viktor sighs, cursing softly and running his hand over his shaved head. “You are sure?”

He nods again. “I was close enough to feel the heat of their fire.”

“Mon Dieux,” Fleur whispers to herself.

Clearing his throat, Harry indicates one of the shelves in the closest bookcase. “These are all about dragons. Just...so you know.”

“Merci beaucoup, ‘arry. Zis will be a great ‘elp.”

“Da, blagodarya Vi. I vill prepare.”

“Good luck to us all,” Harry says again, before heading off.

He needs to track down Draco. Feels like he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in ages! He must be busy getting started with preparations for his own O.W.Ls early. Draco won’t be taking them until next year, but it’s far from unheard of for people to start prepping in year four already. With all of Harry’s own stuff going on, the tournament chief among them, they haven’t had much time together in the last few weeks. God, their Hogsmeade date was ages ago now, Harry needs to take his boyfriend out again soon, maybe this weekend? It’ll probably be Hogsmeade again, but they’re not exactly swimming in options, here.

Using the Marauders’ Map, he tracks Draco to the top of the Astronomy Tower. There, he finds the boy sitting on the floor by one of the windows, looking out over the school grounds.

“Draco,” Harry says, smiling, as he sits down opposite the boy at the windowsill. “I was looking for you.”

Draco hums. “You found me.”

“Are you okay? You sound...upset. Did your father do something?”

The blond sighs, shaking his head. “No, I just... It’s fine. What did you want?”

“I missed you. It’s been weird not having any classes together at all. Last year, I at least had a few with you.”

Draco shrugs. “Price of being a genius, I guess.”

“I’d much rather have classes with you.”

At that, he finally draws a small smile out of the other boy. “Thanks. How are things going? Preparing for the first task and all.”

Harry’s grin widens; he scoots closer to Draco, taking his hand. “That’s part of why I wanted to find you. Tonight, be ready to sneak out with me.”

“What? Why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I promise, you’ll love it! It’ll be great, just trust me, okay?”

As if infected by Harry’s own excitement, Draco’s smile grows wider. “Alright, I’ll be ready!”

*

That night, they excitedly await the fall of darkness. Checking the map again, Harry makes sure the common room is clear, before draping them both in the invisibility cloak. Together, they make their way out of the castle, running once they hit the massive spreads of grass leading down to Hagrid’s hut. Hand in hand, Harry leads the way through the forest. Draco holds on tight, staying very, very close. Harry knows the forest has always made him a bit nervous. Harry gladly wraps his arm around his boyfriend to protect him.

Draco grows slowly more anxious when they start hearing the clattering and clanking of the dragons stirring in their cages, the caretakers shouting orders and trying to manage them, the roaring, hissing vocalizations of the beasts. Harry holds him closer to his side.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you,” he promises on a whisper. Next to him, Draco nods jerkily, holding on tight.

When they reach the clearing, however, Harry smiles to himself as he watches the awe spread over the other boy’s face. He stares at the enormous beasts, his face illuminated by the flickering light of columns of fire.

“Woah…”

When he finally breaks his eyes away from the dragons to look at Harry, Harry seizes the opportunity to kiss him.

*

Chinese Fireball, Common Welsh Green, Hungarian Horntail.

These are the three breeds of dragon available. There’s no way of knowing which one will be assigned to which champion. The only fair way to assign them would be a random draw.

The Chinese Fireball is known to be aggressive, but in general, they tend to be more tolerant of their own kind. They’re named for the mushroom-shaped balls of fire they can spout from both mouth and nostrils. Their fire range is one of the shortest known, among dragons. Known to have relatively thin skin, ill-suited for leatherworking, once taken from the body the skin becomes much too fragile for the average craftsman to work with. Makes it easier to penetrate the skin with spells, though. Generally, because of this, they can be subdued by a smaller number of handlers than most dragon breeds require. Sectumsempra might be all he needs, if it’s bolstered as expected by the Elder Wand. It will most likely be able to cut through the skin quite well, even if it takes a few passes with the ‘blade’. Harry slays the dragon; Harry completes the task.

The Common Welsh Green is one of the smaller breeds, averaging only some five to six meters in length for an adult individual. A slight build, and a calm temperament; prefers to keep its distance from humans, unless directly provoked. The long, narrow jets of its flames are a dangerous and precise weapon, but it’s also generally its only weapon. Given its size, it’s not as strong as most other breeds, though it does have some speed on most; it often tries to not get too close to its enemies, avoiding using claws or teeth unless it knows for certain it can overpower the victim. The fire is what makes it a threat. So, remove the fire. Oscausi to seal the mouth shut, and while it’s confused, bombard it with offensive spells until it gets through the skin. Simple enough. Harry slays the dragon; Harry completes the task.

Now, the Hungarian Horntail… One of the largest, most aggressive breeds in the world, with an average length of fifteen metres from nose to tail. Not only can it spit massive plumes of fire further than its body is long, it’s covered in deadly spikes and horns all the way from its head down to the tip of its tail, which they are known to use frequently in battle. And the heat of their fire is known to turn stone red-hot in mere seconds. Great. As if that wasn’t enough, they’re also extremely fast, both in the air and on the ground. Probably oscausi again, to cut out the threat of the fire, but as soon as it realises it can’t roast him, it’ll use the rest of its body as a weapon instead. Harry would need to dispatch the beast as fast as he possibly can. Fiendfyre. If it can destroy a horcrux, it’ll definitely kill a dragon. Harry slays the dragon; Harry completes the task.

Alright, then. Looks like Harry has a plan. Now he just has to wait for the days to pass, and we all know how he feels about waiting.

Fucking hell…

*

“Mister Potter, a word, please?”

Harry frowns. He can’t think of a reason why Professor Moody would want to see him. Well, no use arguing, might as well find out. He packs up his things like the rest of the class, but instead of leaving with them, he follows Moody into his small, cramped office. The man sits down with a sigh, fiddling with his prosthetic for a moment before taking it off and leaning it against the desk.

“Sorry, lad, the old thing’s a pain at times,” he says, gesturing Harry to sit as well.

“I don’t mind, sir. Better you’re comfortable, right?” he says, shrugging as he takes a seat. “What did you want to talk about, professor?”

Moody shakes his head. “Don’t worry, lad, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve been hearing whispers that all you champions’ve figured out part of the first task.”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, I saw the dragons.”

The professor chuckles, relaxing back in his chair. “Good, good. Knew you were a brilliant one. Should’ve expected this, I s’ppose.”

The boy smiles. He’s always liked Moody. He joined the staff last year, in Harry’s third year, and he’s been Harry’s favourite teacher since. His past career as an auror plays no small part in that. Not only is he extremely knowledgeable, but he can also actually speak from experience. He was in the war against Voldemort after all; filled half the cells in Azkaban with his Death Eaters and the like. Having a teacher like that? Well, he’s Harry’s favourite for a reason.

“Just wanted to check in with ye, see if you’ve got a strategy figured out, offer what advice I can if you want it,” Moody goes on.

“No, thank you, sir. I’ve got things figured out. I have a plan for each of the dragons, no matter which one I’m assigned, and I’ve got some back-up plans ready too.”

A grin fills the professor’s scarred face, his false eyes buzzing around on its own. “Very good, very good. You feel confident against your competitors?”

“Yeah. Rumour has it Fleur is gifted but she can be weak in an actual fight, not a born duellist. Quick and intelligent, sure, but in a confrontation? She’s more likely to hesitate. She’ll probably focus on defence and some kind of peaceful subduing, she won’t want a drawn out fight. Viktor is more forceful, and just as intelligent. He’ll go for the offence immediately, even if it isn’t the best course of action. He’ll most likely be the one of us most seriously injured because of it. If he’s unlucky, he might even die because of it.”

“Interesting analysis. And you? What’s your course of action?”

“Attack before being attacked.”

“Hm…. I’ll be interested to watch your turn. You know, with a mind like yours, and your obvious talents and skills, you could make a fine auror after school.”

“And work for the Ministry? My apologies, sir, but I’m not stupid.”

Moody barks out a laugh.

Chapter Text

The day is here at last.

The champions are handed their uniforms and brought down to the recently finished arena. The waiting tent just outside is comfortable enough, offering at least enough privacy with some curtains to let them get changed. Their uniforms reflect their school colours; Viktor is clad in red and gold, Fleur in various shades of blue, while Harry’s is made with black and green. The numbers on their backs represent the order their names were drawn in; Viktor, Fleur, and Harry last.

“Sirius!” Harry cries out when the man staggers through the tent flaps, and behind him, “Draco!”

Obviously, Harry throws himself at Sirius first, hugging the man as tight as he can. Sirius holds him in an equally crushing embrace for several long moments.

“Come on, let’s see you!” he says as he pulls back, his eyes scanning over uniform. “Look at you! How do you feel? Are you nervous?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m ready!”

“Good. Now, you listen to me, Harry, alright, don’t you dare get hurt out there. Don’t you dare. My heart can’t take it, alright?”

“I won’t, Sirius, I promise. I have my strategy figured out.”

“Good, that’s good. How are you, otherwise?”

“I’m okay, Sirius, really. Things are great! I’m studying for the N.E.W.Ts, classes are good, homework is fine. Everything’s fine. How are you? And Kreacher? What about my cats?”

Sirius chuckles fondly. “We’re all alright. Kreacher misses you, of course. He cleans your room almost every day. As for your cats, well, Peaches had her kittens!”

“Really?! How are they?! Is she okay?!”

“She’s doing alright. I brought them inside, so the kittens will be safe for the first few months. There’s six of them, four girls and two boys.”

“Did you name them?”

“Of course I did! Apples, Pears, Berry, Orange, Plums, and Cherry. Kreacher is completely in love with them, he has a nice bed made for them in kitchen near the wood stove, and whenever I can’t find him, it’s pretty much guaranteed he’s in there playing with the babies. I’m sure we’ll end up keeping at least one of them.”

“Aw… I’m so sad I missed it all. You better send me photos, okay?”

“Alright, alright. Go on, go chat with your boyfriend before he explodes.”

Laughing, Harry shifts his focus to Draco, who does indeed look both excited and anxious, bouncing on his heels as he waits his turn. It’s so sweet of him, letting Harry have a moment with Sirius even though he’s clearly anxious in his waiting. Harry hugs him tight.

“It’s okay, Draco, I’ll be fine. I know exactly what to do, there’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Draco clings to him, refusing to let the hug end. “I’m with Sirius. Don’t you dare get hurt. I’ll kick your arse if you do.”

Chuckling, Harry continues to hold him. “I won’t get hurt. Trust me.”

He kisses the other boy softly on his nerve-bitten lips.

A sharp camera flash has them pulling away from each other.

“Sorry! It was too sweet not to capture,” the reporter says with a gentle smile from behind her photographer.

She’s much better than Skeeter (now a resident of Azkaban for the coming two years), but Harry still has little love for journalists in general. A necessary evil, he knows; he just wishes he didn’t have to deal with them.

Harry turns back to both Draco and Sirius. “Go find your seats. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Reluctantly, they both leave, though Draco does need to be lightly herded by Sirius to get him out of the tent.

The journalist, Harry hasn’t even bothered to learn her name, has the champions pose together as well as alone, snapping plenty of photos of them all, while asking pointed questions. Thankfully, though, once Crouch and the headmasters arrive, she and the photographer are pushed out. Thank God. Crouch has the champions gather around him.

“Each of you will draw lots to select which dragon you will face and decide which order you will go in. Inside the arena, your dragon will be guarding a nest. In the nest, there is a golden egg. Your goal is to get past the dragon and collect the golden egg. The egg will contain a clue, which will help you prepare for your next task. Any questions?”

Harry raises his hand somewhat. “Two questions, sir.”

Crouch nods. “Yes, Mister Potter?”

“Any restrictions on what magic we can use?”

“The Unforgivable Curses are prohibited, but there are no other restrictions. Second question?”

“Are we allowed to kill the dragon, if we have to?”

Crouch pauses. He stares at Harry for a brief second. “Yes, that is permitted by the rules.”

“Alright. Thank you, sir.”

“Any other questions? No? Let’s begin, then. Mister Krum.”

Crouch opens the purple satin bag he’s carrying, offering it to Viktor. The boy cautiously reaches his hand inside. He frowns at whatever it is he finds, but pulls it out. In his palm sits a miniature red dragon, looking around somewhat grumpily, with a tag hanging around its neck, which has the number 2 stamped on it.

“The Chinese Fireball. Mister Krum will be the second to challenge. Miss Delacour.”

Swallowing, the girl reaches her hand in. She hisses, flinches at something, then pulls her dragon out.

“The Welsh Green, very good. Miss Delacour will be up first. Which leaves Mister Potter to challenge last. Let’s see what your dragon will be.”

Harry already knows. He pulls out the miniature Horntail, which lets out a light roar in his palm, tail swinging like a cudgel around its body. As expected, it’s tagged with the number 3.

“Miss Delacour, please prepare yourself. You have three minutes until your starting signal.”

Harry walks away and takes a seat on one of the available benches. Carefully, he removes the tag from around the Horntail’s neck. It nips after him, but he manages to be quicker. Hm, he wonders how they made this thing. It’s obviously not a real dragon. Is it just a model brought to life? What kind of model, then? Clay? Wood? Maybe mechanical? Or is it just a transfigured object? Is there a spell to transfigure objects into models of living creatures? Hm. Maybe he can ask Dumbledore. Or maybe Madam Pince would know. McGonagall is always a possibility, when it comes to transfiguration.

A cannon sounds, and Fleur is sent out.

Wonder what she’ll do. Like he told Moody, she’s not great in a confrontation, according to what Harry’s heard. The only peaceful subjugation method Harry can think of that might work on a dragon is some kind of confusion or illusion, maybe sedating it. If she can knock it out with a sleep spell, all she has to do is sneak past it and get to the egg. He’ll have to ask her later and hear about what tactics she used.

The miniature has seemingly calmed down somewhat now, so Harry reaches his hand out to it cautiously. It sniffs him a few times but doesn’t try to bite. Ever careful, Harry touches the little beast. He caresses his fingertips down the underside of the dragon’s neck and scratches its chin. Its tail sways slower. It sits down, glaring up at him but allowing him to continue petting it.

He’s not sure how long it’s been when they hear Dumbledore announce Fleur has captured the egg and completed the first task. Viktor gets himself ready, performing a last couple of stretches before heading out at the next sounding of the cannon.

He’ll likely use the conjunctivitis curse, as dragons are very reliant on their sight and it’s the most easily attacked place even on a Fireball. It’s one of the more commonly used spells when facing dragons. Once the beast is blinded, all Viktor has to do is dodge any blind attacks and snatch up the egg. Easy and simple, but likely effective. It’s a good plan, but a blind dragon is an unpredictable dragon. He’s also likely to suffer at least minor injuries.

A good number of minutes later, it’s announced that Viktor, too, has completed the first task successfully.

Harry’s turn, then.

He positions himself at the tent flaps, leaving the mini-Horntail behind, and draws his wand.

The cannon booms.

Harry jogs out into the arena. The crowd screams out their cheers. The real Horntail is nowhere in sight. The path to the nest is, ostensibly, clear but Horntails are clever beasts. She’s waiting for him. She wants to catch him off guard.

Harry raises the wand. Bright flames erupt from the tip; the fire takes the shape of a raven, wings spread wide, some twenty metres from tip to tip. It beats its wings and darts up into the air, fire still flooding from Harry’s wand. More ravens take shape, in all sizes, from as small as Harry’s palm to as big as the first. Their caws come as the roar of fire, as they sweep through the arena.

The shrieking roar of the Horntail almost drowns in the noise. She scampers out of her hiding place between the rocks; the birds circle her viciously, and she somehow knows better than to try to attack or touch them. Using the fire ravens, Harry forces her back against the wall of the arena. She bats after the birds but only as a threat, trying to keep them from getting any closer.

Harry lowers the wand. He crosses the arena to the nest, where he grabs the egg. It’s not until he’s gotten closer to the marked exit that he releases the fiendfyre. The ravens dissolve and disappear into puffs of ash and embers. He runs out the exit before the Horntail can try to chase after him.

“Champion Potter, representing Hogwarts, has collected the golden egg and completed the first task! Let’s see how the judges score his efforts! Look at those incredible scores! This puts Champion Potter securely in first place!”

As expected.

He meets his fellow champions outside the exit.

“Harry, ve talked,” Viktor says, nodding in Fleur’s direction. “Ve celebrate tonight. Tomorrow, ve meet and discuss the egg.”

“Per’aps we could figure it out togezer,” Fleur adds. “When we know what ze clue is, we separate to solve it on our own, oui?”

Harry nods. Sounds good. He assumes, like Fleur obviously does, that it’s not as simple as just open egg, get clue. There has to be a trick to it. The egg is a challenge of its own. It would be good to brainstorm on it together.

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s meet in the Great Hall tomorrow morning. After breakfast, I can show you guys an empty classroom we can use.”

“Da. Ve vait by doors for all us.”

“Oui, zis is agreed, zen?”

“Agreed.”

It’s only another handful of moments before people begin to spill out of the stands, coming down the staircases that let out near the exit the champions used. The three of them split off in turns, leaving to join their friends when they appear in the crowd. When Harry spots the first wave of Slytherins, he doesn’t have much choice but to join them, given their renewed cheering and applauding. He holds the egg up as they surround him and the cheering just gets louder. Draco pushes to the front, throwing himself at Harry to embrace him. Harry is happy to hug him as best he can with one arm, the other cradling the egg.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll just have a chat with Sirius,” he tells Draco once the boy has calmed enough to ease up. “He probably can’t stay so I just wanna say bye.”

He and Draco share a short kiss. “Okay. We’ll probably be celebrating in the common room. See you there?”

“See you there.”

*

As usual, Harry is the first one ready after breakfast. He hangs out in the hallway as he waits, letting Sama use him as a climbing tree. He leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Sama coils her way up his arm, over his shoulder to circle around his throat; she slides down his chest and alone the line of his ribcage to his back, moving back up to wrap around the other arm. He opens his hand for her. She moves down his arm, to slalom through his fingers, tangling herself up on his hand and wrist.

“Is pretty snake.”

Harry opens his eyes. He smiles when he realizes Viktor has joined him, leaning against the wall just to the left of him. He holds up his annexed hand to show his girl off.

“Her name is Sama.”

“Pretty. I can pet?”

He nods. Viktor reaches for her, but for some reason, Sama rears back, hissing and showing her fangs. Viktor snatches his hand back even as Harry pulls her away from him.

“Woah, Sama, not cool! Viktor, I’m so sorry, she’s never like that usually, I swear. She always lets people pet her, she bloody loves the attention,” he tries to explain while he untangles the snake from his hand to instead put her in the pocket of his hoodie. “I have no idea why she did that, I’m so sorry.”

Viktor clears his throat. “Is okay. Not alvays interested. Is normal. I do not mind.”

Harry sighs, shaking his head. “Still, I’m sorry. She’s never bitten anyone, or even threatened to do it. I’ve no clue why she’d do that.”

The other boy shrugs. “Is okay.”

“What iz okay?” Fleur asks as she joins them as well. “Did somezing ‘appen?”

“My pet snake almost bit Viktor,” Harry confesses. “She’s never done anything like that before. But don’t worry, she’ll stay in my pocket until she calms down.”

The girl nods. “I see. I am glad you are not ‘urt, Viktor, but shall we see zis classroom, ‘arry? We cannot waste time, oui?”

“Yeah, come this way.”

As planned, Harry shows them to one of the classrooms that don’t see much use, where the desks and chairs are stacked up against the walls and everything is covered in a thin layer of dust. Flicking his wand, Harry has a table and three chairs set out for them at a moment’s notice. They all sit down together, each putting their eggs on the table between them.

“Open together?” Viktor suggests.

Harry nods. Fleur, too. “I will count. Un. Deux. Trois.”

On three, they each turn the latch at the top of their egg. All at once, the hinged eggs fall open and the most ungodly chorus of shrieking fills the room. Fuck, it’s even worse than how the horcruxes sounded. They all curse and swear as they struggle to get the damn things closed again. Only once the last egg has been latched shut is there blessed silence again.

They stare at their eggs.

“Kakvo e tova?” Viktor mutters as he digs in one ear with his finger, as if to soothe the pain the noise caused. “Dis noise. Terrible.”

“Agreed,” Harry says, picking his egg up.

He studies the brass closer. Finely polished, three ‘flaps’ that open, delicate runes carved along those flaps, simple hinges around the edges of a small base-plate which the egg can stand on, a decorated latching mechanism.

“Fleur, do you know the silencing charm?” Harry asks, to which the girl nods quickly. “I’m going to open my egg so we can study the inside, maybe there’s a clue there.”

Fleur takes out her wand and holds it at the ready. Viktor covers his ears. Counting down again, Harry opens the egg on three. There’s a brief moment of screeching before Fleur can cast the charm, but thankfully, their ears are quickly saved from the torture.

The inside of the egg looks like...frozen water. Not ice, but water suspended in motion. Light comes in streaks from somewhere in the core, looking exactly like it does when looking up at the surface from under water. The air bubbles trapped in the egg almost seem to be moving.

Water.

Under the surface...

The only body of water anywhere near Hogwarts is the Black Lake, so Harry has to assume the clue is trying to tell them that’s where the next task will take place.

But what about the noise? All that screeching, what does that have to do with water and the Black Lake?

Harry pulls his pouch out of the pocket of his jeans and grabs his wand. Using accio, he summons up his book on water creatures. He flips through the pages hastily in search of the chapter he knows is in there somewhere.

“Ah, here we go!” he says as he finds it, then reads aloud for his fellow champions to hear, “While the singing of merfolk may be enchanting if heard underwater, it will be far from it if heard above water. On the surface, merfolk song is a noise far fouler than can truly be described, which is more likely to cause the listener harm than enchant them. It’s merfolk song! We need to listen to it underwater to hear the clue properly.”

Viktor nods eagerly, taking his turn to draw his wand. He conjures a flume of water from the tip, which collects into a large orb in the air just above the table, like a vessel being filled to the brim. He rolls his sleeves up as he stands, then shoves his own egg into the centre of the ball of water. The remaining two stand up as well. All together, they take deep breaths and shove their heads into the water, just as Viktor releases the latch of his egg.

The choir of voices is, like the book said, enchanting. A lone voice sings over the others to deliver them their clue in beautiful verse.

“Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.”

The soloist and the choir both fade out. The champions pull their heads back, each taking a moment to shake off the water. Harry gets out some parchment and his quill, jotting down the clue to make sure they don’t forget it. He conjures two duplicates that he hands out to the others. In the usual show of good sportsmanship, they trade handshakes before splitting up to do their own further investigations and preparations.

Chapter Text

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,

Obviously, that means the task takes place underwater, which, as established, is the only place where the song of merfolk can be understood by humans.

An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

They will have an hour to complete the task, which is to search for something that was taken, but if they can’t do it within the hour, the thing is gone and can’t be recovered, probably also meaning they fail the task.

And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

What you’ll sorely miss… So, something belonging to Harry is going to be stolen from him and used as the bait, essentially. Makes sense. Pretty logical task, all things considered. It’s a simple recovery mission, nothing complicated. The question is, what are they going to take?

“Draco?”

The other boy doesn’t look up from his studying. “Mh?”

“Wanna see what the egg does?”

At that irresistible offer, Draco looks up, grinning. “Sure!”

“Grab your towel and stuff.”

“Towel? What stuff?”

“Your shower stuff.”

The grin turns into a confused frown. “What? Why? What’s that got to do with the egg?”

“Just trust me.”

Draco sighs, rolling his eyes like this is some big inconvenience, but quickly packs up his study materials and runs down to their dorm. He returns a minute later, and they leave together. They go upstairs to the sixth floor and stop in front of the Troll Tapestry.

“Think of bathing.”

Draco nods and does just that, while Harry does the same. The ornate door appears for them. This time, it opens into a vast, steamy bathing house, occupied mainly by one large pool in the centre of the room. It looks almost bottomless because of the shiny black tilework, but there runs a carved bench seat all along the edge of the pool. Excitedly, they both undress and jump in, Harry with the egg in hand.

“Deep breath!” he says when they surface.

Together, they dive under the water, where Harry opens the egg. Draco looks beautiful when the lights of the egg wash over him and the song enchants him. They listen to it at least three times over before Harry puts the egg away on the edge of the pool. They swim and play for a while after that, enjoying the comfortably warm water.

In the end, they sit together on one of the benches, Draco’s arm wrapped over Harry’s shoulders.

“What do you think they’ll take?”

“I don’t know yet. The rest is easy to figure out and I already have things planned. All that’s left is figuring out what we’ll be looking for.”

“Hm... Well, let’s spin the problem. What do you have that can be taken?”

Good question; his boyfriend is so smart, Harry loves him.

“Well, there’s really only Sama and my wand. I keep everything else in the mokeskin pouch and no one can really take that. I have my wand with me all the time, and I need it for the task, so they can’t take that. And Sama... I don’t think they’d use an innocent animal. Do you?”

“No, you’re probably right on that.”

“I’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. Second task isn’t until the end of February. I’ll go over the tournament’s history again, see if I can pick up a pattern now that I know what to look for.”

“Can’t believe it’s the holidays soon. Almost feels like the school year just started. It’ll be nice to go home for a bit, though.”

Harry frowns. “You’re not staying?”

Then Draco frowns. “Why? Are you staying?”

“I have to stay. The champions have to attend the Yule Ball.”

“A ball? There’s gonna be a ball?”

“Wait, you didn’t know?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“Hm, guess maybe they haven’t informed the rest of the school yet. Yeah, there’s a big ball to celebrate the tournament and international friendships and all that. Champions have to attend to represent their school.”

“Hm. I’ll write to mother, ask her to send me my dress robes.”

“So...you’re staying?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Want to be my date?”

Draco scoffs. “Obviously.”

They both laugh. It’s a really good day.

*

Dance class with Severus is... Well. Harry is made for a lot of things. Dancing is not one of them. Severus is, of course, a very good teacher as usual, but Harry simply seems to have two left feet. It goes a little better when he doesn’t have to lead, and can just follow along where Draco takes them, but he’ll need a pretty decent amount of practice before the ball, to avoid embarrassing himself and Hogwarts. He doesn’t like it but a contract is a contract.

Draco has to drag him out of their dorm room to practice in the common room almost every evening, even though Harry resists and tries to flee as a cat. Draco simply picks him up by the scruff and doesn’t let him go until he meows his agreement to practicing.

He can avoid it a few nights, though, by sequestering himself in the library. Thankfully, Draco is willing to respect Harry’s need to study, even if his studying sometimes has nothing to do with the N.E.W.Ts and so on.

Harry looks up from his books and notes, when the chair next to him is pulled out. Viktor sinks into the seat.

“Vat are you stadying?” the Bulgarian asks, leaning in to look at his books for a moment.

Harry closes the book he’s in the middle of reading, showing Viktor the cover. It’s a Muggle book but the topic is most definitely to Harry’s interest. “Atlantis.”

“Ah, Atlantida,” Viktor says, smiling. “This is, eh, it is meeth from not magic people, yes?”

Harry sets the book down, opening it back up to where he was. “Mh, something like that, but lots of witches and wizards have searched for it. Some believe it was hidden by magic.”

Viktor nods. “Yes, like the, um, I do not know Eenglish name. Yaponskoye tsarstvo?”

“Yaponskoy-… Wait, doesn’t that mean Japan? Like the Asian country?”

“Yes, but, eh, is Russian story. My mather, she is Russian, she tell to me when I am leettle,” the other boy explains. “On edge of flat earth, hidden city called Yaponskoye tsarstvo, like… Paradise? But no one ever has found.”

Interesting. There are lots of myths about hidden cities and paradises, from all over the world, from all through time. Only makes sense there’d be a version from Russia and the Slavic regions. “Could you write down the name for me? In Cyrillic too, please,” he requests, passing his parchment and quill to the other boy. “I’d love to see what I can read about it.”

“Da, da,” he says while writing, then gently sets the quill down. “But is old story. Not many books, I tink. Maybe I ask mather, she write down for you story she know?”

“Oh, that’d be great! I’d love that. Thanks so much!”

“Velcome. I vill write later anyvay, I vill ask for story for you. Mather likes telling stories from ‘old country,’” Viktor comments with a grin. “She vill write much, I tink.”

Harry laughs. “Please, I’d love to read any stories she’s willing to share.”

“She vill be happy for this. Ehm… You… You are ready for Yule Ball?”

“Yeah… I’m still figuring out the dancing, but I think it might turn out pretty fun.”

“You have…date?”

Harry’s grin softens into something fonder. “Yeah. My boyfriend and I, we’re going together.”

Viktor looks away, clearing his throat. “Good. This is…good.”

“And you? Are you going with anyone?”

“I…vanted to ask someone. But…they go vith someone else.”

“That’s a shame, but I bet you could ask just about anyone else and get a yes.”

“I vill tink on it. Ehm. I vill go. You stady,” Viktor says, standing up and walking away before Harry can say much more.

Huh… Viktor really is a…weird little guy. Harry’s not one to judge but it’s not just him, right? Viktor does act weird sometimes, right? Now and then, at least.

*

Sinestra delivers Harry’s finest dress robes a week before the ball, along with a note from Sirius begging him to get his and Draco’s pictures taken with the enclosed camera so Sirius can frame it on the mantle at home. Harry is blown away to find the camera in question to be an old Leica M3, according to the information etched on the device itself. A bloody Leica? Now, Harry’s no camera-buff, but even he knows that Leicas are like the Rolls Royces of cameras; of old cameras, at least.

He'll have to ask Draco to hold onto the camera during the second and third task; maybe he can get some good photos to remember things by. Sirius would probably like that.

The first photo on the brand new roll of film, however, is one of Harry and Draco squeezed in together while studying. Harry hopes it turns out nice. It would be cool to have it in his room at home, and maybe in his photo album.

“How do you make the photos move, though? I’ve only read about getting paintings to move and talk and stuff.”

Draco hums. “There’s some kind of special developing solution or potion, or something. Not sure about the details, but it’s something like that. I think there’s a shop in Carkitt Market that does it for you, for a few galleons.”

That’s useful. Harry will have to remember that.

The last few days pass in a hurry, with no classes to slow them down, and all of a sudden, it’s time for the Yule Ball.

Both his and Draco’s dress robes resemble tuxedos almost fully, but instead of the jackets, they wear robes of a similar cut to those of their school uniforms. Draco’s are black on silver; black robes, slacks, vest, and bowtie, with a fine silver shirt. Harry’s is black on black, with all pieces the same deep, inky shade of black. Harry wears the Gaunt ring on his right middle finger (though has replaced the gold band with silver, instead), the Slytherin locket hangs around his neck to mid-chest, and the Ravenclaw diadem on his head (after charming the sapphires to appear like emeralds) after getting his hair neatly trimmed down in Hogsmeade during the previous weekend excursion. Harry thinks he looks almost like a prince of some sort; with crown and all.

“Wow, Harry…” Draco says once he turns away from the mirror where he had been fiddling with his bowtie, laying his eyes on Harry for the first time. “You look…amazing.”

Harry grins. He crosses the distance between them, laying his hands on the other boy’s shoulders, feeling Draco hold onto his waist in return. “You do too. The silver matches you perfectly. Do you have any accessories?”

Draco shakes his head. “No, not really.”

“You wanna borrow some stuff? I’ve got a bunch of bits tucked away.”

“I guess, if you have anything silver that might match…”

Harry pulls the mokeskin pouch from the inside pocket of his robes. With a quick summons, the trunk of jewels and such from the Room of Requirement jumps out, landing on his bed with a bounce. He summons up his old cookie tin of precious bits, as well. Draco stares when he opens both the tin and the trunk.

“Harry… Where did you get all this… this stuff?”

The dark-haired boy shrugs. “It’s just some things I collected while I searched for the horcruxes. Go on, pick whatever you want. You can have it, I don’t mind. I was probably going to sell most of it off at some point. Figure the goblins could make use of the gems and the precious metals if they wanted to. The finished pieces, might sell those off as they are, so grab anything you want! I’ve been through it all, there’s nothing I really want, so it’s all yours.”

Though a bit hesitant at first, Draco shuffles over and starts with the tin. He finds a cute silver ring with a small solitaire emerald, which he slides onto a few fingers until he finds one that fits, which is the right pointer finger. In the trunk, he’s mesmerised by a silver tiara, almost dripping in diamonds and with one huge rounded emerald at its centre, with smaller stones of the same colour spread evenly along the length of the rest of it. He finds two more rings, both silver and emeralds; can’t not represent the Slytherin House, of course. One is another big, rounded stone with a silver band, and the other is a simple silver band with snakes on it actually, the snakes coiling around another big stone and holding it in place. He fits the tiara on his head and the rings on his fingers, and he looks even more like a prince than Harry ever could.

“You look so perfect,” Harry whispers in awe.

Draco smiles. “You, too. Now, come on, get all that stuff put away so we can take pictures for Sirius.”

Doing as he’s told, they shortly head upstairs to the common room to find someone to take the photos for them. Of course, as they come up the stairs, all eyes seem to be on them. Harry can understand why, though; they are dripping in gems and precious metals, and so on. Severus seems to be the only one with the wherewithal to come up and take the camera. At his suggestion, the boys pose in front of one of the Slytherin banners together, with Draco holding on Harry’s arm. Severus snaps a few pictures, full-body first then close-ups. Harry tucks the Leica into the case Sirius sent with it, then puts it in his pouch for safe-keeping.

They walk arm in arm to the Great Hall, where the finely dressed crowd is already abuzz in the hallways outside. They’re stopped by McGonagall before they can enter.

“You’ll enter with the champions, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy. Just a few more minutes until then. Oh, and you do look wonderful, the both of you.”

“Thank you, Madam, you look wonderful, as well.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter. Wait here. Miss Delacour and Mister Krum will join you shortly, I’m sure.”

She hurries off, then, no doubt to try to find the other champions in question.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asks once she’s gone.

Draco shakes his head. “A little. To dance in front of everyone, but otherwise, not really. I think it’ll be fun.”

“Me, too. Sorry in advance, if I step on your toes.”

Within minutes, Fleur appears from the crowd with a boy Harry doesn’t recognize; she wears a beautiful silver grey, floaty dress, with some floral bits along the chest.

“’Arry! You look fantastique! Like a- Oh, ze word, um! Le roi?”

Harry grins. “Like a king?”

She nods excitedly. “Oui, oui, like a king! And your date! Ç’est magnifique!”

“Thank you,” Draco says, blushing as he offers his hand. “Draco Malfoy. I’m Harry’s boyfriend.”

The girl shakes his hand excitedly. She introduces her date as well, a Ravenclaw boy a few years above Harry and Draco. They all chat for another few minutes before Viktor appears as well, with one of the Beauxbatons girls on his arm. His dress robes look more like a uniform of sorts, made up in vibrant red and draped in an elegant fur cloak. He looks at Harry in a weird way, then Draco, before quickly looking away with an almost…uncomfortable expression on his face. Harry gets someone to snap a few photos of all of them together; he makes sure to take separate pictures of Fleur and her date, and Viktor and his date, promising to send them by owl as soon as they have been developed. With all the champions in place, McGonagall herds the other attendees into the Great Hall before following in while the doors close. The champions line up according to the instructions given before McGonagall hurried off; Viktor first, Fleur second, and Harry last, the same order their names were drawn in.

When the grand double-doors open for them again, they parade inside to the sound of applause.

“As is the custom, the champions will have the first dance!” is announced.

The dancefloor is clear and open for them; they take up position with their partners and Harry runs through the steps in his head again for the hundredth time.

The music starts. They start moving.

Left step, right step, side to side, rotate, lift! Then spin then left step, right step-

It goes…surprisingly well. Harry manages to not step on Draco’s toes, which is always a relief. They swing around and around, and Harry lifts Draco over and over, and Draco laughs in such a beautiful way, his face lit up like nothing Harry has ever seen. Soon enough, other people join on the dancefloor. He and Draco take the opportunity to slip off the floor for a while, though, heading to the buffet table serving light finger foods and a variety of drinks. They toast over goblets of pumpkin punch, before piling plates of food and sit at one of the many tables.

They eat and drink and they actually do dance a lot, a few of the stuffy old things Severus taught them, though once the Weird Sisters take the stage, it gets a little more…free. Harry isn’t sure he likes it but Draco seems to enjoy it so Harry does too.

It’s late in the evening when they leave the Great Hall, exhausted from it all. Before they go to the dorms, though, Harry drags Draco out into the courtyard. They hold hands and look up at the stars in the cold.

“What do you wanna do after you finish school?”

Harry sighs. “I’m not sure. I mean… I guess I have enough money that I don’t really need to work. But…I’ll probably find something to do. Maybe travelling. Explore the world. You’re welcome to come with, if you don’t have any other plans.”

“I don’t know. Father probably wants me to get a position at the Ministry or something. Or become like him, just…be in everybody’s business all the time, without any real business of my own. I was thinking…maybe I’d see what it takes to become a healer. That’s always sort of fascinated me, I guess. Healing people, treating illness, all that.”

“I think you’d be a great healer.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll come travel with you for a while first. See the world a bit, before settling down with a proper job. I don’t know. Suppose I should be considering it more. Have to pick which classes I wanna take my O.W.Ls in, before the end of the year.”

“You’ll have your career advice session with Professor Snape soon. He’ll help you. And once you choose which classes to take, you can have all my study notes if you want. I can help with tutoring too, if you need it.”

“Thanks. We’ll see. I don’t wanna think about it right now. Can we make out a little instead? Before we go to bed?”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, we can make out a little.”

Chapter Text

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

Harry has been over it a thousand times and the second task is drawing nearer every day. There’s only a week left, now. He’s figured out everything except what is going to be taken from him. There really isn’t anything that he can think of, that could be taken from him that would be valuable enough for the task.

His wand is necessary for the task; the mokeskin pouch can’t be used by anyone but him; Sama is an innocent animal and none of the tournament’s history involves the pets of the champions. Besides those things, the most valuable thing to Harry at this whole school is Draco, but they wouldn’t-

Would they?

Would they kidnap actual people to use as bait? For Harry, it would be Draco. For Fleur, it would be Gabrielle, whom Fleur introduced as her sister only a few weeks ago now. To Viktor… Probably one of his friends from Durmstrang, as Harry hasn’t seen him really make friends with anyone else since he’s been here. Except Harry and Fleur, of course, but it’s not like they could be taken.

It’s… Unfortunately, it’s kind of in line with the tournament’s history. There have been hostages used in many of the previous gamesou, whether willing or unwilling, and it’s not always that those hostages survive. Either the champions rescue their hostage from the Black Lake within the hour, or the hostage dies.

Fuck… Harry needs to talk to the others. He writes two identical notes. He slips out of the library and finds a quiet, deserted hallway, where he shifts into his cat form. Then, he picks up the two folded notes in his mouth and starts running. He tracks Fleur first. A sweet, flowery, minty scent; this hallway, then this hallway, freshest in this direction, down the stairs, there! He runs into the Great Hall, where many students are using the free period to study. He jumps up on Fleur’s table, running up to her and dropping the notes. He picks up one of them, meets her eyes, and mewls, before bouncing down off the table to track Viktor. His strong, spicy scent is more easily tracked, leading up to a hallway on the third floor, where a group of Durmstrang boys are lounging and chatting together in Bulgarian. Harry runs up to Viktor and drops the note in his lap, then meets his eyes and meows. He runs off before Viktor can get any ideas about petting him or something. Harry prefers only Draco or Sirius to pet him in this form; sometimes it’s unavoidable that he catches a few pats, but he does his best to escape it.

Harry runs to the classroom he specified in his notes, where he shifts back to human form after making sure he’s alone. He only needs to wait a few minutes before both Fleur and Viktor join him.

“’arry, you ‘ave a very pretty cat!” Fleur gushes.

Harry clears his throat. “Um. Right. How’s it going with figuring out the egg? I might have something, if… Well.”

“Is simple. Ve recover someting from vater. I have plan. Fleur?”

“Oui, I could figure out zat much as well, and I ‘ave my plans, too. What did you figure out, ‘arry?”

The boy sighs. “I think I know what they’re taking from us. What it is we have to recover.” The other two look very intrigued, drawing closer in their eagerness to hear more. “People.”

At that, the brows of his fellow champions furrow in unison. They glance at each other, then look back at Harry.

“People?” Fleur repeats. “’ow do you mean?”

“We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss. What would you miss more, an object or a person?”

“But…people?” Viktor says softly. “Vhy vould they…”

“It’s common in the tournament. Has been all through its history. Fleur, I think they’ll take Gabrielle.”

“Non,” the girl whispers in shock, covering her mouth, her eyes watering. “Non, ma Gabrielle?”

“I’m sorry. For me, I think they’ll take Draco, my boyfriend. The person I’m closest with, here at school. The person I’d miss the most if they were gone. Viktor… I’m sorry, I’m not sure who they might take from y.”

The boy swallows. “Pyotr. My-… My best friend.”

“Right. I…don’t think we should tell them about this.”

“Pourqoui?! Zey need to know!”

“No!” Harry argues. “If they know, they’ll be scared, but it won’t stop the Ministry or the judges from doing what they plan on doing. If they’re scared, there’s a risk something could go wrong. I’m guessing they’ll be put in an enchanted sleep before going in the water. If they’re upset, the spell might break early and they could drown before we even have a chance to save them. They can’t know. For their own safety.”

Fleur paces away, running her hands over her face and her hair. Viktor sits down in the closest chair, elbows leaning heavy on his knees. Harry says nothing. He knows they’re upset; he is too, he just knows how to keep a lid on it. Nothing good or helpful ever comes from panicking about things. Especially not about things that are out of one’s control. His fellow champions seem to disagree. He can understand why. Harry wants to warn Draco too, but he knows Draco is the sort prone to panic; he knows Draco will go out of his mind with worry, and any spells they might try to put on him before he goes in the water won’t be as effective, and he could die. He could die and Harry wouldn’t have a chance in hell of saving him, and neither would anyone else. Sure, the merfolk might release a hostage early if they realize the spells are wearing off, if they realize one or more of them is actually drowning, but Harry isn’t willing to take that risk.

“I’m not going to stop you from doing what you think is best,” Harry says plainly, “-but if either of you tells Draco, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Harry makes for the door, but pauses when Viktor calls his name. The boy gets up and pulls a thick envelope out of his pocket, offering it to Harry. “Is my mather’s stories. Many of them. She vas happy you vanted to hear.”

Harry takes it with a nod. “Thank you. And please, tell her thank you as well, when you get the chance.”

*

It’s kind of agonizing to spend time with Draco while they wait for the second task.

He’s so fucking worried his hypothesis will turn out to be fact and Draco will be stolen. Draco doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he knows something is wrong. It seems to make him anxious, not knowing what’s making Harry upset, and he only seems to get more anxious whenever Harry insists nothing is wrong. He can’t tell him. He wants to; it’s a struggle every day to keep from telling him, but Harry knows it’s for the best.

Seeing as there’s no widespread panic going through the school, Fleur and Viktor haven’t told anyone either. They both, however, seem glued to their person. Whenever she’s not in class, Fleur is with Gabrielle, holding on tight to her hand and not letting her out of his sight. Viktor is all but glued to another Durmstrang boy, Pyotr, he said, and even sits with him in classes now instead of Harry. As for Harry… Being away from Draco for most of the day, since Harry is taking seventh-year classes, is absolutely agonizing.

The days pass, however, and thank God for that. Harry just wants to get this part over with, so they all can stop worrying about all of this. He just wants to finish this task and move on to the next. Whatever the third task is, it can’t be worse than this.

Wednesday, February 24^th. The day of the second task.

When Harry wakes up, Draco is already gone. He can only assume Gabrielle and Pyotr are missing, as well. Breakfast takes place as usual. Fleur and Viktor look as tense as Harry feels. At nine o’clock, students begin making their way down to the lake. The champions share a boat, which takes them to the middle tower of the three, where the judges also join them. Harry removes his tank top and draws his wand, ready to go.

At 9:30, the cannon sounds.

The champions dive into the water. Harry casts a transfiguration spell on himself. His feet glue together, flattening out and lengthening and taking the shape of a tailfin. Another fin grows out of his back, while skin forms between each of his fingers. Gills form on his neck and his chest; water floods into his lungs and feeds him oxygen. His eyes sting as they change shape and adjust to the water. He takes off like a bullet a split-second before either of the others, beating his fin as fast as he can.

The merfolk colony is located at the deepest part of the lake which itself is located near its middle. Harry beats his fin and swims faster. He can hear the others somewhere behind him but he doesn’t focus on them. He focuses on Draco. He needs to find Draco, where is Draco, he has to save Draco, he can’t lose Draco, he can’t let Draco die.

In the distance, the stone buildings of the colony appear. He swims faster. He weaves through the city. The merfolk line the ‘streets’. Almost all of them are armed with spears, tridents, or some kind of knife or sword. Every single one watches him with scrutinizing looks. In the centre of their small city, stands a beautiful mermaid statue. In front of it, three unconscious people hover, tied off to something on the ground with kelp to keep them from floating up to the surface; two boys, and a little girl.

Harry locks onto Draco. Before even reaching him, he throws out the severing charm. The kelp rope snaps and Draco’s unconscious body begins to slowly rise. Harry darts forward. He gets a hold of the back of the boy’s uniform then turns on a dime and starts making his way back.

What’s the time? 9:49.

Good, he has plenty of time. He’ll probably be the first one back, too, so he’ll get plenty of points. The swim is a little slower with Draco but Harry keeps a steady pace.

He spots Viktor; he’s transfigured too, his head and part of his upper body taking the appearance of a shark. Good, he’ll get the other boy, Pyotr, without any trouble. Where’s Fleur? Harry’s eyes scan the water as much as he can even as he swims. Come on, Fleur, where are you, Gabrielle needs you, where are you?

Harry breaches the surface in front of the middle tower; he pulls Draco the last of the distance to the surface, upon which the boy inhales an almighty gasp of air. He pushes him towards the ladder, where several people are reaching out to help him up. Harry scans the crowd; please tell him Fleur is already back with Gabrielle, he just didn’t see them, please, God, please let them be here!

Oh, no… All he sees is Fleur, wrapped up in towels and sobbing into her hands, covered in slowly blooming bruises.

“Fleur! Where is she?!”

“I couldn’t get to zem! Ze creatures! Zey attacked!”

Shit! “I’ll get her!”

Harry dives before anyone can stop him. Fuck, what’s the time. 10:17. Thirteen minutes. He has to get there in thirteen minutes or Gabrielle is gone.

Aqua eructo!

Pointing the wand down at his feet, Harry cast the charm with as much force as he can push into it. The enormous jet of water exploding out of the Elder Wand acts almost like a rocket; it shoots Harry forward at breakneck speeds, his fins beating to control his direction.

Time? 10:20.

Aqua eructo! Aqua eructo! Aqua eructo!

He can’t let a little girl die; he won’t let it happen!

The village appears again but the merfolk don’t seem pleased to see him. One champion, one hostage; they’re not allowed to save more than one.

Fuck that.

He casts a shielding charm over himself, then he aims outwards. He launches bolt after bolt of lighting at the merfolk that have begun to come toward him with weapons raised. The electricity travels at the speed of light through the water, jumping from one siren to the next and the next, and he keeps casting at them, he won’t let them stop him. In the middle of his barrage, he aims another severing charm at the kelp ropes, this one cutting through the only remaining one. He keeps attacking and defending as he swims past Gabrielle, grabbing her by the arm in passing.

There’s no time to turn back. He heads straight for the surface.

She gulps for air the moment her head breaches the water. Frantically, she clings to the nearest object she can reach, which happens to be Harry.

“Stay calm,” he tells her, hoping she knows enough English to understand him. “Keep breathing, you’re okay! I have you, Gabrielle! You’re okay!”

She nods, even as she coughs up some water she must have accidentally inhaled. “Y-Yes! Zank you! I ‘old on!”

“Good, good, just hold onto me. I got you. Just keep holding on. Accio rowboat.”

They wait for only a few seconds, during which Harry keeps them afloat by treading water using his large fin-feet. One of the rowboats used to ferry people to the towers comes darting across the lake towards them. Harry stops it with a silent spell. He pushes Gabrielle up and helps her climb into the small boat. He transfigures himself back to normal and follows her up. The girl shivers at the cold, holding herself tight. Harry casts a simple warming charm on both of them. It’ll keep them from freezing over until they reach the towers. Using aqua eructo as a booster again, he sets them off towards their destination.

Time? 10:27.

Just in time.

The hear the bell toll as they approach the towers, signalling the end of the task. As soon as people start spotting them, massive cheers spread through the crowd. No one screams louder than Fleur, even as she continues to sob.

The rowboat slows and slides up right next to the tower. Harry helps Gabrielle up, where her sister pulls her into her arms immediately, hugging her in a no doubt crushing embrace. Harry climbs up too, gets wrapped in thick, black towels before Draco comes to hug him just as tight.

“Harry.”

He looks up. “Dumbledore.”

“Why did you go back?”

Harry frowns. “Isn’t it obvious? Past an hour, the prospect’s black, too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back. She’s just a little girl. She would’ve died if I didn’t. I’m not gonna let that happen. Not if there’s a chance I can stop it.”

The headmaster smiles. “Very good, Harry. Very good.”

He steps away to join the other judges in deliberation. Fleur appears seemingly out of nowhere to throw herself at Harry and hug him so tight it feels like he might suffocate.

“You saved ‘er! You saved ma Gabrielle! You, you are a ‘ero! I cannot zank you enough! Zank you! Zank you, ‘arry!”

Harry pats her on the back. Suppose he gets it. If he had siblings, he’d probably react similarly if someone saved their lives. Hell, he’d probably react like this if their places were reversed and she had saved Draco for him. She lets him go, pressing a kiss to either his cheeks, before hugging Gabrielle to herself again. Viktor appears too, to offer his hand.

“You are good man,” he says plainly.

Harry shakes his hand. When released, he hugs Draco again, just holding him, reassuring himself he’s here and he’s okay.

“Though Harry Potter did not technically complete the task first, judges have agreed that because of his show of bravery, kindness, and outstanding moral fibre, Harry Potter will still be awarded first place. Viktor Krum takes second place. Fleur Delacour did not complete the task.”

Everyone applauds. Even Viktor who was technically robbed of first place applauds for him. Right. Good sportsmanship. Well. Guess Harry can do nothing but accept things as they are.

Chapter Text

Things move on almost as normal. Classes continues, and all that, but the champions are, as a group, tense. The second task held no clue for the third, and they have heard nothing about the third task since then. With every day that passes, they all hope to be pulled aside to get whatever their next clue might be, but it doesn’t happen.

For two months straight, nothing happens at all. It’s just school and homework and studying, and nothing to do with the tournament.

Harry fears May will be the same, but on the 24^th, he’s proven wrong.

After dinner, the three champions are finally called away from the crowd. Together with their headmasters, Crouch takes them down to the Quidditch pitch. Harry doubts the third task has anything to do with Quidditch, but one can hope. The hope goes up in smoke, however, when they actually get out onto the grass of the pitch. The stadium has been opened on one end, letting out into the valley beside the castle, and there are…things sprouting out of the ground. They’re all over the pitch and stretching far down into the valley, as well.

“This is going to become a hedge maze,” Crouch announces. “This maze is the third task. Somewhere inside the maze, the Triwizard Cup will be placed. The first person to touch the trophy will be the winner of the tournament. The points you have collected so far will give you your starting position. Mister Potter has 92 points. He will enter the maze first. Twenty seconds later, Mister Krum will enter, as he has 84 points. After another twenty seconds, Miss Delacour will enter last, because of her 65 points. Are there any questions? Please be aware that I may not be able to answer all your questions, as we must preserve some mystery for the task itself.”

Viktor raises his hand. “Ve can duel? Before touching trophy, ve can fight for it?”

Crouch nods. “Yes, Mister Krum. As long as no one has touched the trophy, champions may duel for its possession. You are, of course, prohibited from killing one another, or using the Unforgivable Curses. Any further questions?”

Harry has none. He looks to the others. Seems like they don’t have any either.

The old wizard moves on. “The third task will take place at dusk, on June 24^th. You have one month to prepare yourselves.”

With that, they’re released again.

Harry hangs back as Crouch and the headmasters start the walk back up to the castle. Fleur and Viktor catch on, hanging back with him. They follow the group but do so at a distance, so they can speak more privately.

“Meeting tomorrow?” Viktor suggests. “Ve can discuss the task, da?”

“Oui, agreed. Zere is a free period after lunch. Ze same classroom as before?”

“Sounds like a plan. There’s some kind of trick to this. It won’t be as simple as just a hedge maze.”

“You are right, I tink. Maze is too simple. There vill be obstacles.”

“I zink ze same. Let’s zink on it for tonight and discuss ideas tomorrow.”

*

After lunch the next day, they meet in the disused classroom as planned, sitting down around the table.

“Any ideas?”

“Maybe ve vork as team. Ve vait for Fleur in maze and vork together. Then, ve duel for trophy vhen find it. Vinner takes it.”

Fleur sighs, shaking her head. “I am not a strong duellist. I zink you boz would beat me easily. I know many spells but duelling is not… Eh, ‘ow you say? It is not my strongest suit.”

“So teaming up is out, then,” Harry comments. “Hm… Well. I don’t think they’ll put actual human obstacles in the maze, that’s not really in the vein of the tournament, but there has to be something we have to fight, which means there have to creatures in there. Probably a variety of them to gives a real challenge. You probably won’t have to duel either of us. The maze looked pretty big. It’s unlikely we’ll even run into each other. Do you know any good spells to subdue creatures?”

Fleur considers this. “Oui, a few, but my focus ‘as never been offensive magic.”

“Ve can give you. Da? Is only fair.”

Harry nods, taking quill and parchment from his pouch. “Viktor’s right. It wouldn’t be fair of us to let you go into the task unprepared. Here, I’ll write down two simple offensive spells. Very effective against just about anything. Don’t practice them against people.”

He quickly jots down reducto and confringo, along with a short description of their effects (and a reminder to not practice on actual people). He passes the pen and paper to Viktor for him to add to the list.

“You’ve only got a month to practice but it’s better than nothing. I’m sure Madame Maxime will be happy to help you.”

Fleur nods, smiling slightly, as she accepts the parchment from Viktor. “Zank you. Zis is…very generous. I ‘ope one of you wins. You deserve it.”

Harry grins. “I hope one of you wins, too.”

Viktor snorts. “I hope for you, too.”

*

It’s N.E.W.T season and it’s...a little bit stressful.

Harry is taking twelve N.E.W.Ts, he’s scrubbing school grounds for clues about the maze and its obstacles (and he may be trying to figure out any possible patterns in the maze’s layout), there’s Quidditch practice even though they can’t use the pitch, he’s helping Draco cram for exams, he’s translating and researching Viktor’s mother’s stories.

There’s a lot going on. Harry may or may not be running on minimal amounts of sleep.

All core classes and all electives (except Muggle Studies, after eleven years in the Muggle world Harry hardly needs to learn any more), makes for over two weeks of exams. Because he’s taking all the exams (nearly, anyway), his exam schedule is a mess; thankfully, Severus, Dumbledore, and McGonagall have basically strong-armed the Ministry in letting him take the ‘missed’ exams during the weekends, to catch up. Honestly, it’s hardly necessary; he could just do half-days, couldn’t he? He understands why some students might need the entire day to complete both the written and practical exams, but Harry? Give him a half-day on each subject and he could pretty much have it all wrapped up in a week. But such is life. Suppose he’s just happy enough being allowed to just take the exams in the first place.

At least once all the exams are done, he only has another day to wait for the third and final task to start.

“Harry.”

He pauses after slipping out of the Great Hall, where he just finished his last written N.E.W.T. “Dumbledore, sir. How can I help you?”

“I’m sure you’re quite ready to have a rest after all your exams, but might I ask you to walk with me for a bit, before then?”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Dumbledore does just this. Thankfully, though, he’s choosing to be kind and is steering them towards the dungeons. “How did your exams go? In your opinion, of course.”

Harry shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Kind of expected them to be harder. I mean, sure, the written parts were a bit tricky in places, but the practical stuff came easy. The hardest was divinations, I guess, but tea leaves have never been my preferred medium. Cards is much easier, I think.”

“And your grades? What do you think you’ll get?”

“Hoping for Outstandings, obviously, but suppose as long as I pass, I’m fine with anything.”

Dumbledore hums, nodding his understanding. “And if you pass your N.E.W.Ts, what do you plan do to with the rest of your time here at Hogwarts? You are, of course, only a fourth-year. You’ve got three whole years left, yet you seem to have run out things we can teach you.”

Hm. Harry did sort of consider it, but more as an abstract thing than a potential reality. It’s not like they let people graduate early. “Independent study, I guess. There’s lots more left to learn. I think having the structure of an actual school system around me would be beneficial, even if I don’t attend any real classes. Or, maybe, I could petition each of the professors to tutor me personally when they have time, in more advanced matters than they teach in regular classes. Could I ask you to tutor me, headmaster? That’d be really interesting, I think. I bet you have lots to teach.”

“I do, if I may say so myself. It intrigues me that you’re so interested in continuing your studies, even after finishing the N.E.W.Ts. Not many people would feel the same. In fact, most students do their very best to stay away from studying once they leave Hogwarts.”

The boy shrugs. “If you don’t mind me saying, they’re a bunch of fools. There’s a whole world out there. It’s arrogant of anyone to think they’ve learned all they need to learn.”

“You don’t think they could learn in other ways? Ways not related to books and studying and exams?”

“Of course I do. You can learn from anything and anyone, at any time. Learning is the one thing that never stops, all through life, if you’re lucky. Books are just the easiest, most accessible way. You can learn from books anywhere at any time, even if the teacher is on the other side of the world, or even dead.”

“Mh… You have an interesting way to view the world.” They stop at the top of the dungeon stairs. “Harry. What would you say, if I told you that you could graduate at the end of this term?”

Harry stares at him. “I-… Well. It’s not something I didn’t consider might happen.”

“And what would you say, if I wrote to some of my friends and fellow academics around the world and asked if any of them would be interested in tutoring a very gifted young boy, as a personal favour to me?”

Harry’s eyes widen further. Friends of Dumbledore? Academics? People from all around the world? And…they might be willing to tutor Harry?

“I- I- That’s- That’d be amazing, sir! I-… I’m speechless, sir, that’d be incredible! To even just be offered the opportunity, I can’t- I don’t know what to say.”

Smiling, Dumbledore pats his shoulder. “I take it you’re interested?”

“Yes, sir! More than anything!”

“Then I’ll start writing some letters. We can speak more a bit closer to the end of the term. Now, you’ve earned yourself a good, long break before the last task. Go on.”

“Thank you, professor!” Harry says, grinning with excitement as he takes off down the stairs towards the Slytherin house.

He runs directly to his room and throws himself into bed. There’s lots of thinking to do, but he also needs to rest; luckily, he can do both at the same time.

Studying with friends of Dumbledore... It sounds like a dream come true. He must know loads of brilliant people from all over the world, even more of them than Harry can think of off the top of his head. And Harry might get the chance to learn from any number of them. He can graduate this year and move on to study with geniuses most people never get the chance to even meet! How amazing is that?! He needs to write Sirius! Oh, and Remus, too! And talk to Draco!

Wait… Draco.

Fuck. Draco. What’s he going to think about all this? Harry leaving Hogwarts early, leaving Draco behind, and likely making at least a few trips abroad to work with his new tutors? They talked about going adventuring together. How will Draco feel if Harry starts the adventure early, without him? What if he gets upset? What if he gets mad? What if he feels betrayed?

What if…he doesn’t want to be with Harry anymore, if he leaves?

Chapter Text

At dusk, most of the school has assembled in what’s left of the Quidditch stands. The school band (Harry didn’t even know Hogwarts had a band) is playing a triumphant melody. There are signs up all through the crowd cheering on one, or more, of the champions.

Sirius is with Harry in the locker rooms as they wait for their signal to enter the pitch.

“How are you, Harry?” the man asks, his hands on Harry’s shoulders holding him steady.

Harry swallows. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Nervous?”

“Not really?”

“Hm. So that frowny little look on your face is more about the other issue, than the tournament?”

The boy sighs. “Yeah. I’m just… I don’t wanna upset him.”

“I know, Harry, and I know you love him very much, but… If he holds you back from doing something you’re so excited about, so passionate about, is he really worth it? And how do you even know he’d hold you back in the first place? You haven’t spoken to him about it.”

“If I don’t tell him, he won’t be upset.”

“He’ll be upset if you hide things from him.”

He sighs again. “I know. Could you…help me talk to him? Once we get home?”

“Of course, my boy, whatever you want, but…are you sure you want to hide it that long?”

“It’s only two more weeks. And things aren’t even decided yet, or anything.”

“Alright. How about this. Just get the task over with, and after that, we can have a good long chat about everything, just you and me. Okay?”

Harry nods. “Thanks, d- Sirius.”

If Sirius caught the almost slip, he doesn’t make it obvious. Thankfully, they get their entry signal a handful of moments later to distract Harry from…all that.

He and Sirius walk out before the crowd together, Sirius smiling proudly with his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Ahead of them, Fleur enters with Madame Maxime, and before them, Viktor with Karkaroff. They line up as they were instructed beforehand, each by the maze entrance marked with their colours. Dumbledor steps up to the waiting lectern to address the champions and the crowd.

“Earlier today, Professor Moody placed the Triwizard Cup deep within the maze. Only he knows its exact location. As Mister Potter,” pause for applause and cheers, “is in first position, he will be the first to enter the maze, followed by Mister Krum,” more cheering, “and Miss Delacour.” Yet more cheering. “The first person to touch the cup will be the winner!” Cheering. Jeez, calm down, people. “I’ve instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter. Should, at any point, a contestant wish to withdraw from the task, he or she need only send up red sparks with their wands. Champions! Prepare yourselves!”

Sirius gives Harry a last tight hug and a kiss on the head, wishing him good luck, before stepping back. He snaps a quick photo of Harry standing at the mouth of the maze, with the camera Harry returned to him when he arrived at the school.

Harry takes a deep breath.

Dumbledore counts down.

The cannon sounds.

Harry takes off running, immediately casting the fleet-feet charm over himself to speed up his strides. At the sound of creaking wood, he glances behind him. The hedges are moving! They groan as they shift and begin to meld together, blocking the entrance Harry used. And they keep moving. They keep closing in together. It’s following Harry. The closing of the path behind him nips at his heels, it’s only just that he stays ahead of it.

He lets his wand lay flat in his palm, casting silently. The wand spins for a second; the tip points north, meaning the centre of the maze is this way. He makes the first available turn in that direction. He thinks he managed to map quite a bit of the maze, running through it on four paws during the nights and memorizing every twist and turn, but it might have been completely useless given that the hedges can apparently move.

He makes another turn, glancing behind him. Okay, the hedges have stopped chasing after him, at least, but he has to assume they’ll continue at any moment so he won’t risk stopping.

Harry skids into a small, circular clearing. There’s not a moment to think before he hears the insect-like screeching. Blast-ended skrewt! He saw them penned in near where Hagrid holds Care of Magical Creatures classes. The ugly little bastard does its name justice; it sets off a big blast from its back-end and launches itself at Harry.

He slashes wildly at it with sectumsempra. The little beast squeaks as it’s torn apart on the invisible blade. Harry leaps over the body and keeps running.

Checking his wand-compass again, he alters his path. Left, right, straight all along this way, left, straight, left again, right!

Fire strikes the wall of green only millimetres ahead of Harry. He skids to a stop so hard he hits the ground on his side, shooting off a spell back at his attacker even as he falls. Aqua eructo, and the massive geyser of water erupting from Harry’s wand blasts Viktor off his feet and several metres back. Harry is on his feet and running, before the other boy hits the ground. The creaking of the hedges tells him they’re not happy about being assaulted with fire. Harry casts the fleet-feet charm again and hopes to God he stays ahead of the closing of the path.

An ear-piercing, distinctly human scream has Harry stopping in his tracks.

Fleur? It has to be her! The voice was much too light to be Viktor’s and the staff patrolling the maze wouldn’t be screaming like that, they’re just there to observe (intervening only when absolutely necessary).

Harry changes his path and follows the direction the scream came from.

He hears it again as he stumbles into another clearing. This one, though, is paced by a freaking Sphinx! And the damn thing is most definitely guarding that path, right behind it.

“Ah, another challenger,” the creature says is a soft, melodic voice. “Come, boy, come see if you can answer my riddle, like the clever girl could.”

Girl? Fleur. She must have come through here, then, meaning whatever has happened to her, it’s on the path beyond the Sphinx.

“Tell me the riddle!”

The Sphinx sits down.

“First think of the person who lives in disguise,
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.
Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,
The middle of middle and end of the end?
And finally give me the sound often heard,
During the search for a hard-to-find word.
Now string them together and answer me this,
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”

Oh, that’s an easy one! “Spider!” Harry darts past the creature before it can say more; it doesn’t stop him, he earned his passage after all.

“Fleur! Fleur, where are you?!” he shouts as he runs. “Yell again! I’m almost there!”

“’arry!” the girl cries out, sounding both pained and terrified.

Where is she? Fuck, come on, where?!

He turns a corner and almost trips over her, where she’s curled up against the corner of the hedge, her powder blue uniform turning purple from the blood soaking it. She cradles her arm close, while pawing at her thigh too, wand nowhere in sight.

“Ze spider!” she yells.

Harry whips around. Acromantula.

“Reducio!”

The massive, dog-sized spider squeals as it’s shrunk down to the side of a galleon. Harry runs for it and stomps his sneaker down on it hard, squashing it with a gross squelching noise. Behind him, Fleur cries out again. The venom! It must have caught her with its pincers and injected its venom. He runs back to her side, sliding to his knees.

“Fleur, I’m gonna put you to sleep, then I’m gonna carry you, okay? If you stay awake, the venom is going to spread and you could die! I have to knock you out and I can’t leave you just laying here, so you’re coming with me.”

The girl grits her teeth at the no doubt overwhelming pain of the venom saturating her body, but nods rapidly. He touches his wand to her forehead and she slumps over, unconscious. Quickly, he wraps the open wounds with the bandaging charm, then he hefts her over his shoulder. No need for the featherlight charm yet, but after some running, who knows? With Fleur on his shoulder, Harry runs yet again.

Compass? This way.

Harry was right. This whole tournament really is more trouble than it’s worth. Why did he even sign up for this shit? This sucks, this all sucks, Harry wants to go home, he wants to go to bed and never fucking leave his room ever again. This is terrible.

Trophy!

Oh, well, while he’s here…

He grabs one of the handles, taking it of its pedestal.

Fireworks fill the sky with a green glow. His name lights up the late evening, informing everyone the task is over and who is the victor.

Harry sends up a shower of red sparks; he shoots streak after streak of red, hopefully getting across how urgent his need is. Even knocked out, the venom is only slowed down, not stopped. Fleur doesn’t have all the time in the world.

The staff members dive into the small clearing on brooms. One gets Harry and Fleur onto her broom with haste, quickly flying the overloaded broom back to the starting area where Madam Pomfrey is on standby.

Finally, Harry can ease Fleur onto the grass, ignoring the worried noises of the audience. Pomfrey materializes next to the unconscious girl.

“Potter, tell me exactly what happened and what you’ve done,” she orders as she jumps to action.

“The Acromantula bit her at least once, she’s got two open wounds, right arm, left thigh. I put her to sleep to slow the venom’s spread and bandaged the wounds, but nothing else.”

The Matrons nods. “Good work, Potter, twenty points to Slytherin. Now make some room!”

Harry is more than happy to move back and give the professional the space to work. Several minutes pass in almost silence. Gabrielle clings to Madam Maxime, sobbing into her coat while Maxime herself is obviously struggling to control her own reactions. Viktor appears shortly, delivered by another staff member after being picked up from inside the maze.

It almost seems like no one breathes at all, until Madam Pomfrey sits back on her heals and exhales a deep breath. “She’ll be alright!” she announces.

Everyone cheers their relief.

*

The awards ceremony is...something, alright.

Each of the champions receive a silver medal pinned to their chests for their admirable efforts and so on. Crouch holds a speech about international friendships and cooperations that’s far to long. At the end, Minister Fudge, on behalf of all involved nations, presents the Triwizard Cup to Harry, who accepts it on Hogwarts’ behalf. After Harry places the trophy on a plinth behind the head table in the Grand Hall, where it will be on display until the next tournament, he is also offered a delightful duplicate, with his name engraved on it, to do with as he wishes. Sirius immediately says they’ll display it on the mantle at home, for everyone to see.

Harry shakes so many hands he loses count. Viktor and Fleur (who insists on hugging him and kissing his cheeks again) first, then their headmasters, then Dumbledore, Fudge, Crouch, assorted Ministry personnel, several of the Beuaxbatons girls, a good number of the Durmstrang boys. Harry would be very glad if he never had to shake anyone’s hand ever again.

At least the feast is good, even if his fellow Slytherins insist on passing his trophy back and forth all through-out. He gets to sit next to Draco and Sirius, so it doesn’t matter much anyway.

Chapter Text

“So… I really get to graduate? Right now?”

Dumbledore smiles. “Yes, Harry, you do. Severus, Minerva, and I, we managed to put quite some pressure on the Ministry, for you. They agreed to allow you to graduate early, but of course, you will remain underage until your seventeenth birthday, like any other young witch or wizard.”

“Of course, sir. I just… Wow. This is still a bit…mental.”

“I understand, Harry. And while I don’t intend to put any more undue pressure on you, these,” he says, offering a stack of parchment to Harry. “-are letters from those contacts I mentioned to you. A great number of them are quite excited to meet you.”

Harry flips through the letters, counting them. Christ, there must be at least thirty different people in here! “They all…wanna tutor me?”

“Indeed they do, Harry. And I shan’t influence your choice on where to begin, but my old friend Nicolas did ask me to tell you he would be most excited to be your first stop on your new journey.”

“Nicolas? As in…”

“Nicolas Flamel, yes. When he learned it was you who protected his Stone and kept it from falling into the wrong hands, he was most eager to meet you.”

Nicolas fucking Flamel…wants to mentor Harry?

Holy shit…

“I-…”

“Everyone’s contact information is included in their letter to you. Simply owl whomever you wish to spend some time with, and make the appropriate arrangements with them. Like I said, they’re all quite intrigued by you.”

Harry clears his throat. Still reeling, he folds the letters up and tuck them away in his pocket. He’ll have to go through them thoroughly once he gets home. This is all just really… Wow. Okay.

“As for your graduation, you are welcome to take part in our usual graduation ceremony, if you’d like.”

“Um. No. I think…I’d like to just hang out with my friends and stuff. Before everything changes, you know?”

“I understand. Here. Your diploma, and your final report cards.”

Dumbledore offers him a scroll tied off with a black ribbon, sealed with the Hogwarts crest pressed in wax, as well as a thick envelope with the grade summaries and such in it. Harry takes both.

He holds out his hand. Dumbledore smiles. He stands up and takes it, giving it a firm shake.

“Thank you, Albus.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry. And remember, Hogwarts always delights in visits from her alumni.”

*

Walking into Grimmauld Place is like taking a mountain of weight off Harry’s shoulders.

He’s finally home.

Kreacher appears, delighted to see him as always. Harry greets him with a smile and a hug, and Kreacher promises to cook Harry his favourite dinner in celebration.

Harry, though happy to be home, can’t rest or celebrate yet. He’s got several tough conversations to have, and he should probably have them as soon as possible.

“Sirius?”

The man looks up from the boots he’s struggling to kick off. “Mh?”

“Can we…talk?”

“Of course, Harry. Go have a seat in the living room, yeah? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harry goes deeper into the house. He pauses at the big photograph of James and Lily hanging on the wall, where that nasty portrait of Sirius’ mother used to be. It was the first thing they got rid of together, him and Sirius. They had to cut out a part of the wall with it, sure, but that was easily repaired with a few spells. Of course, the old bag howled her protestations all the way until her canvas was reduced to ashes. It’s a much nicer place with her gone.

“Hi, mum. Hi, dad. I’m home again,” he tells their ever-smiling faces. “I’ll tell you everything later, alright?”

He moves on into the living room. Like the rest of the house, it’s in a much better state these days. Not only because there’s actually people living here again, but also because of the magic of those residents feeding the house itself, breathing life back into it from the foundation to the roof tiles. Harry takes his new trophy out of his pouch and places it on the mantle, like Sirius said. The handful of portraits that remain, the much more pleasant ones of the bunch, give him a small round of applause for his achievement.

Finally, he sits down on one of the couches. Sirius joins him shortly and sits next to him, wrapping his arm around the boy and pulling him closer to his side.

“It’s so good to have you home. I hardly know what to do with myself when I’m alone. After Azkaban, being alone is… Well. No need to discuss any of that. What did you want to talk about, Whiskers?”

Harry smiles at the nickname. “I… I’ve been thinking.”

The man chuckles. “I don’t think you ever stop thinking, lad.”

Harry scoffs. “Better than being like you, never thinking at all.”

Sirius ruffles his hair as he laughs. “Ah, you’re right on that, kiddo. Mh. Trophy looks good there. We’ll have to visit the Alley soon, get all those photos developed.”

“Only if we visit the Ministry first.”

“The Ministry? Hm, well, alright. Why do you wanna visit the Ministry?”

“Aren’t they the ones who handle blood adoptions?”

Sirius freezes solid. He pulls away from Harry, sitting up straight. “Harry. Are you-… Have you- I mean-…”

Harry clears his throat. “I’d like it if you…blood adopted me, Sirius. It’s just... I love the idea of my mum and dad, and my greatest wish in the world is to know them. But...that’s not going to happen. Harry Potter has so much...weight attached to him. Sometimes, I feel like I might drown from it. As soon as someone hears Harry Potter, they already have this crazy preconceived notion of who I am without even knowing anything real about me. And...maybe if I could be Harry Black instead, I could create my own image. Something new for people to think of when they hear my name. I’m not...running away from things. I’m just...choosing to move on. If that makes sense?”

Sirius’ blue eyes have long since flooded with tears. “Harry, of course it makes sense,” he chokes up and wipes his nose.

“I don’t care how people view me, not really. I don’t care what people think. I care what I think, and I think Harry Potter has lived the life he needed to live. It’s time to move on.”

Sirius nods rapidly. He dries his face as best he can on his sleeves then pulls Harry to him to hug him. “Merlin, my sweet boy, of course I’ll blood adopt you, nothing in the world would bring me more joy.”

They hug for a really long time. It feels...really good. They part in the end, though, so that Sirius can meet his eyes.

“It would be an honour if you chose to take the Black name. I can’t explain how...how happy I am that you’ve chosen this. Lily and James will always be your parents, nothing will ever replace your mum and dad, but it’s the greatest honour I’ll ever know in my life, to know that you would choose to let me stand beside them. To know that you would choose to let me call you my son and accept me as part of your family.”

Harry’s eyes sting. He hugs Sirius again and hides his face in the man’s shoulder to hide his tears.

The talk he needs to have with Draco, though... Harry might be dragging his heels a bit on that one.

He knows he shouldn’t. He should just sit Draco down and tell him everything, but it’s hard. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Draco in any way, and no matter how he imagines this conversation in his head, Draco always ends up hurt.

Uch, it’s so stupid, why is he scared? He’s just going to talk to his boyfriend! Harry literally faced Voldemort! He killed Voldemort! He slew a basilisk! He went toe-to-toe with a dragon and won! He fought off a whole colony of merfolk on his own! Why is he scared to talk to his boyfriend?!

This is terrible. Everything is terrible. And what help is Sirius? Just be honest. What kind of shit advice is that?!

“Harry…”

He blinks back to reality; fuck, was he stuck in his head again? He looks down at Draco, whose head rests on his chest. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Just tell me what’s going on already. You’ve been weird since before we left school. I was trying to be patient with you, but it’s been two weeks since we got home. Can we just talk about it already?”

Harry lets out a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just…been trying to think of how to say everything I need to say, without hurting you.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?! No!”

“Then whatever it is, we can figure it out, so just get on with it.”

“Oh. Right. Well. Guess I’ll just…rip the band-aid off.”

“The what?”

“Never mind. I mean I’ll just drop it all at once. So, here it is. I’m not going back to Hogwarts for next term.”

Draco frowns. “What? Why?”

Harry clears his throat. “Well, I did my N.E.W.Ts. There’s not really anything left for me to do there. Dumbledore let me graduate. And…he put me in contact with some brilliant people, from all over. I’ll be privately tutored. I’ll be going to Cambridge in September. My first tutor asked me not to share his name with anyone. He’s trying to keep his whereabouts kind of quiet. Probably spend the fall there, then Christmas here at home, then… I’ve been invited to spend part of the spring semester at Mahoutokoro, in Japan, shadowing the professors.”

Draco is quiet for a long time. “That… It sounds perfect for you.”

“Are you…upset?”

The blond shakes his head against Harry’s chest. “Not really. It’ll suck to be away from you so much, but… I need to keep going to Hogwarts. You need to go to these other places. That’s all. I don’t know if Sinestra or our owl could make the trip to Japan, but… I’m sure we can figure out how to stay in contact even then.”

“I love you, you know that?”

Draco grins. “I love you too.”

*

Harry signs his name for the hundredth time. Sirius signs right next to him. The clerk takes the papers and stamps them, then closes the file.

“Congratulations. You have now been blood adopted into the House of Black and your surname has been changed to match.”

While they may both have been very excited about this four hours ago, after going through hours and hours of paperwork and a short blood ritual, it’s a bit difficult to muster up much eagerness for anything. Celebrations can wait until they get home. They drag themselves out of their seats and out of the clerk’s office.

They ride the elevator up to street level.

The thought strikes Harry just as they’re exiting the phone booth. “Wait, does this mean me and Draco are related now?”

Sirius hums, hand sliding into his pockets as they start the walk to the bus stop. “Don’t worry, we’re all products of incest anyway. I’m my own third-cousin.”

Gross. “I will never be able to have sex with Draco.”

His adopted father scoffs. “Good, one thing less for me to worry about.”