For Whom the Bell Tolls

November 2

Harry ground the exhaustion from his eyes and gave himself a second to soothe all the raw nerves inside of him. He was tired, he was so bloody tired, and seeing his Professor standing on the porch didn’t seem like a sign of anything good.

In fact, Harry realized with a lurch in his stomach, the Professor (Harry was too tired to even pretend to consider he knew his name without a reminder) looked as grave as Harry had ever seen him. And Harry could only think of one thing that might cause that look…

“Sir?” Harry stumbled in his haste to get up the stairs and Dean caught his elbow, keeping Harry from falling down the stairs. Sam followed them up the steps then slipped inside with his entire body screaming at Harry how much he was hurting.

It hurt Harry in a way he didn’t know that he could hurt to see Sam so broken. It wasn’t fair, Dean was right. It wasn’t fair that they tried to save the woman and not the man, it wasn’t fair that she had asked Sam to kill her.

The professor’s eyes lingered where Sam’s blood covered body went inside before he gave Harry a familiar and searching look. Harry was too tired to hide anything, if he was there to tell Harry that the meeting about his godfather went badly then Harry wished he would just say it and go.

Harry had tried, in between everything that happened the last couple of days, to get ahold of… of…

“Sirius’s case will be heard on the twentieth,” the professor told Harry, his voice kind even while the solemn lines in his face remained. “I am here on another matter, if we could speak inside?”

“Dude, look.” Dean sighed and Harry wanted to laugh that his brother just called the wizard widely considered to be the greatest of their time ‘dude’, but he was still reeling from what he said.

Sirius was going to get a case, a real trial. There was every chance that Sirius could clear his name.

And Sirius must have known, he just didn’t care enough to call Harry and tell him. Just as he didn’t care enough to answer Harry’s calls on Halloween when Harry had just wanted to see him.

That was kind of him, really.

While Harry had experienced a fresh pain to the low ache from their horrible case, Dean told the professor (bluntly and only mildly disrespectfully) that it had been a long few days and could he come back another time?

“I would if this were not a matter of much importance,” the professor said. He reached for the screen door and opened it. “It would be presumptuous of me to invite myself inside your home, but as I need to speak with you and Harry both…”

Dean hadn’t released Harry’s elbow, though he wasn’t hurting him any, and he gave the Professor a jerky nod before pulling Harry inside with him.

As much as Harry had been looking forward to being home, it wasn’t as much of a relief as he thought it would be. Harry could hear the shower running on his and Sam’s side of the house. Sam was probably in there washing Madison’s blood off him…

Harry wished he knew what to do, but he couldn’t do anything until he heard whatever terrible news it seemed as if his professor were there to give him.

“I gotta change real quick,” Dean said. He gave Harry a gentle but firm push toward the sofa. “I’ll be right back, kid.”

Harry nodded. When he looked down at himself, he saw that he also had blood on him from the werewolf that Dean shot. No, not a werewolf, or not just a werewolf… that man had been a person too. A person who had killed others though…

Harry’s head ached and he nearly forgot about his professor’s presence as he dropped on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. Harry pressed hard on his eyes with the palms of his hands and stifled a groan.

God, he was tired clear to his bones.

“Harry? Tea?”

Harry lifted his head and then jerked backward when he saw that his professor was offering him a tea cup that he got from Harry could only guess where. The tea was being offered along with a piercing gaze that made Harry shift his gaze away.

“Thanks,” Harry said, accepting the tea more for something to break the tension than anything. Harry inhaled and the scent was warm, familiar. It made him want his friends and his four-poster bed.

Professor Whoever sat in one of the recliners while Harry blew on the cup of tea. Harry wasn’t wholly surprised when the professor conjured another glass seemingly from no where. It wasn’t conjured though, it had to be summoned because a tea glass and water could be conjured, but not the tea itself.

None of which mattered and Harry was only trying to avoid thinking about Sirius and Sam, werewolves or muggles who were bitten by them.

Harry felt the tension in his body sag after he took a sip of the tea, lending him his first easy breath he had in days.

“Sir?” Harry looked over to his professor and tilted his head some, wracking his mind for his name. It was there, Harry knew it was, and as soon as someone said it then he would feel stupid for forgetting it.

It was the same way it had been for what felt like an eternity. Harry heard Dean and Sam’s names often enough that they didn’t slip away, but he couldn’t remember Sirius’s name until someone said it and he was already struggling to remember the name of the lady Sam killed.

She had been kind though, Harry wouldn’t forget that. She had been kind right up until she asked Sam to kill her…

Harry selfishly wished she had done it herself. She could have asked Sam to leave and then done it herself, not leaving that sort of memory to burn itself in Sam’s mind.

“Sir, if you’re not here about my godfather…?” Harry trailed off, hoping that his question would be understood and answered.

“I would prefer we wait for your brother to rejoin us, if you wouldn’t mind. I do have a few matters of importance that should be discussed with him,” the professor said. Harry could recognize a dismissal, even one said politely. “Though, it would be remiss of me to not ask if your brothers are both well?”

“Physically?” Harry shrugged. He dropped his gaze down to the tea cup and stared at the murky brown water and the tendrils of steam that rose from it. “We had a case and it, er, didn’t go well.”

A wild understatement.

“Ah.”

Harry bobbed his head and took another sip of his tea. The warmth that swam through him gave him enough courage to ask his next question. It wasn’t that Harry was scared, it was that he felt incredibly stupid and he was beginning to cherish the small moments during his lessons when his professor indicated that he thought Harry was clever.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but… but could you remind me of your name?” Harry asked, forcing himself to lift his eyes so as not to seem horribly rude. It gave him the chance to see a quick look of absolute shock cross his professor’s face before it was replaced with more stomach churching concern.

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry,” Dumbledore (how could Harry forget his name?) said. He leaned forward and Harry couldn’t break the intensity of his gaze if he wanted to. “Are you still having trouble with names?”

“Names, spells, cities.” Dean strode in the room, freshly changed in an old shirt and pair of sweatpants, just in time to hear Dumbledore’s question. “It’s a magic trick of his own,” Dean said, probably not intending to embarrass the hell out of Harry. “Harry, what’s the name of the guy that lives across from us?”

Harry scowled down at his drink again, his face burning. He could hear Dean walking in the kitchen, rooting around in the cabinets, the only noise to be heard outside of the shower since he knew good and well that Harry couldn’t think of that bloke’s name.

It was there, just right out of Harry’s grip. And even once Harry had it locked in his mind, it was another grand effort to say it. Harry hadn’t made a big deal out of it, he assumed it was something that would eventually fix itself, so Dean bringing it up in front of Professor Dumbledore was rather humiliating.

“Curious,” Dumbledore murmured. He stroked his beard with one hand while he took a sip of his tea then repeated himself. “Quite curious.”

“Quite,” Dean said, mimicking Dumbledore a touch. Harry leaned back when Dean returned to the living room and put his hand on top of Harry’s head. Harry glanced up at him and Dean held a closed fist over the sofa toward him. “Here. Take this.”

Harry reached up and was bemused when Dean gave him one of five identical pills he held in his hand.

“Don’t argue, don’t bitch, just do it,” Dean said. Harry wasn’t going to argue or bitch, he was going to ask what it was for. Dean strode off again before Harry could ask, headed toward Sam’s room then.

“Sorry, sir, he’s tired,” Harry said, apologizing for Dean after he took the tablet. Whatever it was couldn’t be terrible, not if Dean was going to give Sam the same thing, as Harry assumed he was.

Professor Dumbledore waved off Harry’s apologies.

“Please, I am intruding when you and your brothers are clearly exhausted,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I imagine that Dean will be much less pleased when we get to the heart of the matter here.”

That wasn’t ominous at all.

Harry finished his drink and placed the tea cup on the coffee table in the time it took Dean to return. When he did, Dean didn’t sit at first, he only leaned against the arm rest of the sofa between Harry and Dumbledore, quite clearly wanting to make it a quick conversation.

Professor Dumbledore straightened up in his seat, becoming solemn and businesslike once again.

“I should start with my good news first,” Dumbledore said. He smiled past Dean to Harry, though it didn’t reach his tired eyes. “The Wizengamot has voted to give Sirius a trial. The manhunt for him has been put on hold and a request for his presence at the Ministry was sent. The trial will be on the twentieth of November and, if you’re amenable, Harry, I believe it would go a way for Sirius if you were present at the trial.”

Even with Sirius’s sullen silence when Harry had needed him the last few days, Harry didn’t have to think about it. If Harry could help clear his name, something that Sirius truly deserved, then he would do it.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Have you - does he know, sir?”

“He does, I spoke with him immediately after it was decided,” Dumbledore told him. “I’m afraid that I did advise him to not leave the country before his trial, if he were caught then it could skew the opinion on his intentions.”

“Right,” Harry said, disappointed. Not that Sirius couldn’t leave the country, that made sense, just that Dumbledore had talked to Sirius while Harry’s attempts were ignored.

Dean made an irritated noise that Harry appreciated. Harry also appreciated him not mentioning Harry and Sirius’s problems, Harry didn’t want to bother the headmaster with his whining.

Dumbledore cleared his throat quietly and Harry hoped they were about to get to whatever issue had sent him to find Harry before the sun had even properly risen.

“Another matter of note is the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore said, confusing Harry immediately.

That was the tournament that Harry’s friends were excited for, the one that had brought two foreign schools to Hogwarts for the year. It was the one that the pretty bloke Harry hated entered, the one that Harry recalled vividly hoping the bloke died in.

Sam talked about karma once when he and Harry ran together. Sam said he thought it was real and that putting good things in the world would bring good things back.

Which meant that Harry realized abruptly that he had really screwed up by wishing that the pretty bloke would die. Why? Harry wasn’t sure. But he knew then that it had been a mistake. And Dumbledore’s next words confirmed it.

“I’m afraid that Harry was selected as the second Hogwart’s champion on Halloween night.”

Sam was right, karma was real.

Harry’s stomach swooped - that tournament had a death toll, someone told Harry that - and he shook his head, sure that a mistake had been made.

“I’m not seventeen, sir,” Harry said. “I thought - I thought - I didn’t even enter?”

Dean probably had no idea what was happening, but the second that Harry protested his place in the tournament, Dean did too.

“He doesn’t even go to your school,” Dean said, snarling some.

Dumbledore held a hand up, a silent request for quiet. The look on his face was weary, resigned.

If Dumbledore was resigned to Harry competing in the tournament, Harry didn’t think that his protests were going to matter.

“Nobody is under any misunderstanding that you entered the tournament,” Dumbledore told Harry kindly, if tiredly. “And it was a mistake to say that Harry is the second champion for Hogwarts when it would be more accurate to say that Harry was the fourth champion chosen under a false school.”

“So this was some tournament that you had to be seventeen to enter?” Dean asked, outright glaring at Dumbledore while his hand rested protectively on Harry’s shoulder. When Dumbledore nodded, so did Dean. “Cool, he’s not doing it.”

“The Goblet of Fire may not allow Harry to break the contract,” Dumbledore told him.

Dean nodded again and then he yelled for Sam.

“SAM, GET YOUR CONTRACT-LOVING ASS OUT HERE!”

Harry didn’t look at Sam as he shuffled in the living room, only half-dressed and rather bleary eyed. Harry watched Professor Dumbledore and gauged how likely he thought it was that Harry would get out of a magical contract.

Professor Dumbledore explained it to Sam with much more detail than he did Harry and Dean. Apparently, if Harry was accepted as a champion (something Dumbledore assured them that he was by proof of having his name expelled from some goblet) then he would be forced to compete.

“What’s the repercussions if he doesn’t?” Sam asked. He had sharpened up during the explanation and stood just behind Harry.

It was odd. Harry was filled with quite a bit of anxiety at the thought of competing in a life or death tournament against students who didn’t have recent brain surgery and had much more magical education than he did, but… but it also helped some that Dean never relinquished Harry’s left shoulder and Sam had grabbed Harry’s right shoulder as well.

Maybe Harry would die, but at least he had gotten to know what it was like truly being part of a family first. That was nice.

“If a champion attempts to not compete, the contract will place them in arena at the time and date of their task,” Dumbledore repeated. “In which case, a lack of preparation would have dire consequences.”

“What are the tasks?” Dean asked. “He’s gotta - what? Fight some other kids?”

“The tasks are meant to test a champion in many different areas,” Dumbledore said. He hesitated, glancing at Harry before looking Dean square on.

It was brave of him; Dumbledore might be the greatest wizard of their time, but Dean was actually terrifying when he was pissed. And Dumbledore could out duel those two evil wizards, but Dean could fire a bullet quicker than Harry could blink.

Which then made Harry wonder if that made Dean more terrifying than Dumbledore and if that meant that Harry’s brother could have been the only person that… Harry-Knew-Who, even if the name was eluding him… ever feared.

It was amusing, much more than Dumbledore’s next bit of information.

“The first task, on the twenty-fourth of this month, is meant to be absolutely secret until a champion steps in the arena.” Harry swore he saw the return of a single glimmer in Dumbledore’s eyes. “Naturally, I thought it would be best if Harry and I begin preparing immediately in the case that he is locked in the tournament.”

“Preparing for…?” Sam asked.

“Dragons,” Dumbledore said simply. “Harry will be tasked with retrieving a golden egg from a nesting mother dragon.”

Harry felt all the blood in his body drain clear down to his feet, leaving him dizzy, pale, and shocked.

Dragons?!

Harry - Harry was going to have to fight a dragon?

“I’m a goner,” Harry breathed. “Goner.”

“He’s…” Dean seemed too shocked for words for a moment. When he found them, he found them in a flurry. “HE’S GOT FUCKING BRAIN DAMAGE! YOU WANT TO THROW MY BABY BROTHER IN AN ARENA WITH A GOD DAMNED DRAGON?!”

Sam was yelling as well, luckily masking Dean as Dean’s shouts became more insults about Hogwarts than anything.

“Even if you think you can magically enforce a contract with a minor, which you can’t, by the way, surely Harry qualifies for a medical exemption. He won’t clear your medical board!”

“YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING SCHOOL SHOULD BE SHUT DOWN! DEMENTORS, REALLY, DUDE?!”

“I want a review of how Harry could be entered in a contract without Dean’s approval and then I want to see what an actual legal professional has to say about this supposed contract.”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE KIND OF DAMAGE A DEMENTOR CAN DO TO A PERSON? AND YOU PUT THEM IN A SCHOOL FULL OF KIDS?!”

“You can’t seriously expect it to be legal to drop a medical-ill child in an arena for a tournament designed for adults. A breach in your security measures doesn’t constitute any legal agreement on Harry or Dean’s part.”

“DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE DICK BAG THAT TRIED TO KILL MY BROTHER WHEN HE WAS FUCKING ELEVEN!”

“I want this contract reviewed in a court that didn’t forget to give a prisoner a trial.”

Dumbledore sat perfectly still and let Harry’s brothers scream at him until Dean ran out of insults and Sam exhausted all of his legal knowledge. When they dropped to furious silence, mostly glowering while they kept ahold of Harry so tightly that it was just on the okay side of painful, Dumbledore sighed.

“Gentlemen, I truly agree with you both and share your concerns,” he said. “I did a fair amount of shouting myself when Harry’s name came from the Goblet.”

Harry found that hard to believe.

“However,” Dumbledore addressed Harry directly, “while I believe we should pursue every option to have you disqualified, beginning with a medical examination which you should have regardless, I also believe we should begin preparing in the case that you are locked in this contract.”

Preparing for… a dragon.

Harry felt hysterical and light-headed as he wriggled around enough to fish his list of spells from his pocket. It was crumpled, it had some blood on it, but Harry held it out to Dumbledore anyway.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’ve got no chance,” Harry said. Dumbledore accepted the parchment and began looking it over while Harry began releasing a jumble of words that may or may not have made any sense at all.

“Unless I - I tattoo the spells I need to my forearm, I won’t be able to remember them when I need them,” Harry said, his panic rising with every word he said. “I can’t fight a dragon when I can’t get the spells out properly. You might as well kill me now, it would be kinder.”

It wasn’t Dean that snarled at Harry’s morbid request, but Sam.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said, his eyes flashing dangerously and his hand flexing on Harry’s shoulder. If Harry could see behind the couch to where Sam stood, he would have seen Sam reflexively reach for a gun that he didn’t have tucked in his pajama bottoms.

Dumbledore didn’t respond to either of them, he only looked over Harry’s list and eventually returned it.

“This does complicate things,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Hm…”

Harry gave Dumbledore a moment to consider how very complicated Harry facing a dragon would be before interrupting his thoughts.

“Sir? Do you think someone - someone entered me as a prank or something?” Harry asked.

“A prank? Possibly,” Dumbledore said, not sounding much as if he believed it. Dumbledore reached in his robe and pulled out a silver watch on a chain. “Gentlemen, if it suits you, I would like to speak with the other officials who head the tournament. While I think it would be best to leave the details of Harry’s condition private—”

“Why?” Sam asked, shamelessly interrupting Dumbledore. “Why not tell the other officials that he can’t compete if he can’t remember spells?”

Dumbledore seemed to have endless patience for Harry’s brothers and their questions and complaints. Harry was sure that anyone else in Dumbledore’s position wouldn’t be so accommodating.

“Because I find it unlikely that someone went to such lengths to play a prank on your brother who was absent to hear his name be drawn,” Dumbledore told Sam. “Unfortunately, I believe this was likely done to cause harm to your brother and there are very few wizards with the power and knowledge to ensure Harry was so neatly locked in the tournament.”

Harry’s mind felt very heavy, it was actually surprising that it felt so heavy. Usually when Harry was anxious he didn’t feel so… tired.

Harry shot Dean a suspicious look as he realized that he actually felt a bit like he did when he had been dosed with potions in the hospital. Dean wasn’t looking at Harry though, he was glaring insolently at the Headmaster, and that calmed Harry.

Dean wouldn’t drug him with something to hurt him.

“And so announcing that Harry’s a sitting duck is going to put him at risk,” Sam said, nodding in all the understanding that Harry didn’t have.

Who would truly be trying to kill Harry? Harry didn’t even go to school anymore! It seemed far-fetched that someone wanted him dead that badly. There was that one evil wizard, but… but he was dead, or something.

Harry was idly grateful for whatever Dean gave him as he was sure that he would still have a headache if he hadn’t taken it.

“I may have chosen different words, but the worry is the same,” Dumbledore agreed with Sam. “Therefore, if it doesn’t disrupt your day a terrible amount, I would like for us to meet again this afternoon?”

Dumbledore offered Harry the watch and Dean was quick to intercept it with a distrustful scoff.

“It may be prudent for Harry to accompany me to the castle,” Dumbledore told them. “In which case, I truly am sorry, Mister Winchester, but you would be unable to follow. You could, of course, wait for your brother in Hogsmeade.”

“Why does Harry need to go to the castle?” Dean asked. “He’s not representing himself.”

“Hell no he’s not,” Sam said stoutly.

It was odd, because Harry was very sure that he was going to die on the day of the first task, but it was nice having his brothers there. Who else in the world would look Albus Dumbledore in the eyes and argue with almost every word he said?

“I planned to have Harry examined by our medi-witch and another professional who can be trusted to keep Harry’s condition private unless it can be used to get him out of the tournament.” Dumbledore didn’t grin, but Harry saw his beard twitch. “That is, if there are no objections?”

Harry and Dean both looked at Sam at the same time, Sam stared hard at Dumbledore and Harry could practically see the wheels in his head turning.

“Dean and I can’t go in the castle because we’re not wizards, and Sirius can’t because he’s a convict on the run…” Sam narrowed his eyes. “If we find another suitable witch or wizard to go with Harry, will they be allowed in the castle while we wait in Hogsmeade?”

If Dumbledore were surprised by that request he didn’t show it.

“Certainly,” he said evenly. “Please, anyone you would like. I shall return for you all around… I believe it will be one o’clock, for you.”

Harry was quick to check his phone while Dumbledore bid his goodbyes. It was almost seven and Harry was exhausted.

Luckily, sort of, Dumbledore didn’t even make it off their front porch before Dean was ordering Harry to bed.

“Harry, bed,” Dean told him, his tone not leaving room for an argument. Except…

“Er… you guys have to let go of me?” Harry said. He shifted his shoulders, showing that his brothers were still gripping him rather tightly. They released Harry all at once, which sent him sprawling to the floor.

“Shit. My bad.” Dean was closest and he reached down to grab Harry’s hand and yank him to his feet. They both wobbled and Harry realized that Dean looked more tired and stressed than Harry had ever seen him before.

Harry had the urge to apologize, though he was almost entirely certain that he wasn’t at fault.

Instead, Harry looked from where Dean was stressed on Harry’s behalf - Dean had screamed in Dumbledore’s face and called him ‘dude’ on Harry’s behalf - to where Sam had already snatched a notebook and ink pen off the dining table to start writing something.

They were tired, Sam was bloody miserable, and they were… still there, just… Harry wasn’t sure if he knew the right phrase or not, but ‘supporting him’ was rather close to it.

Without thinking too much about it, Harry lunged forward and grabbed Dean in a fierce hug. He clearly caught Dean off-guard, Dean huffed, but Harry only held him a little tighter.

When Dean’s arm raised and awkwardly patted Harry on the back, Harry closed his eyes and focused very hard on not crying.

“Alright, alright.” Dean seemed so painfully uncomfortable beneath Harry’s grip that Harry released him. They didn’t look at each other, Harry looked at the floor and Dean looked over his shoulder.

“Go sleep, kid, you’ve got a test to fail soon,” Dean said.

“And let us use Hedwig,” Sam told him, not looking up from the letter he penned.

Harry nodded at them both but hesitated in the hallway for a moment.

“Er… you guys should sleep too,” Harry said, blinking slowly. Sam hummed, Dean rolled his eyes from where he was posed behind Sam, reading whatever he wrote.

“Adults have later bedtimes,” Dean said, throwing Harry a quick grin to take the sting from his words. “Night, kid.”

Harry wanted to argue on principle, but he was tired and hoped that sleeping would get rid of the image of himself being eaten by a giant dragon. Plus, Dean was bossy and Sam liked to fixate on things to distract himself (and Harry knew that for a fact because Dean told Harry so), if he wanted to make Harry getting out of the tournament a thing to keep his mind off the woman he killed then…

Well, Harry wasn’t going to stop him. That was Dean’s job if he thought Sam needed stopped.

Harry’s job was… sleeping. Sleeping and then failing a medical exam.

Harry could do that, he’d failed plenty of exams. If the hateful potions professor was the person grading Harry’s medical exam then he would definitely fail.

That would be absurd though… Dumbledore wouldn’t do that to Harry.

Harry laid in his bed and fought against the fog trying to drag him to sleep for a long time, wondering if Dumbledore would do that to Harry or not.