When Patterns Are Broken

There was tension in the air at Grimmauld Place the day after the Quidditch World Cup. Harry had told the story to Sirius, Walburga demanded it be repeated to her, and Kreacher needed his own explanation as well. All three were distressed that Harry hadn’t portkeyed home at the first sign of trouble, concerned at this perceived lack of self-preservation, though Sirius had understood when he said he was worried about his friends. 

“Just bring them with you,” Sirius said.

“He needs another portkey to a neutral location if he insists on acting this way!” Walburga said. An empty frame had been temporarily added to the kitchen for her as removing her bit of wall ended up with a lot of drywall in the rugs. 

The Daily Prophet was spread out on the table, Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup printed large alongside a picture of the Dark Mark in the sky, casting its sinister glow.

“That’s an actual death omen,” Harry said. “They used to put it above where people were killed, right? Like my parents?”

Walburga pinched her lips shut, but Sirius said, “They did.”

“But no one died here,” Harry said. “So why did someone cast it?”

“He took Regulus! I will not let him take Harry!” Walburga burst out, before running out of the frame. Harry stared at the empty frame in shock.

Sirius clenched his fists on the table. “Too little, too late,” he said to himself. 

“It’s a good article,” Harry said to distract him. “It’s by Rita Skeeter. She reported on your case.”

After a moment Sirius said, “She’s good at manipulating facts and her readers, I’ll give her that.”

“You just have to cut through the hyperbole. Nothing she said is actually untrue. Ministry blunders,” Harry read, “culprits not apprehended, dark wizards running unchecked, national disgrace. Well, the last is an opinion. Maybe I should give an interview. The ministry did attack two underage wizards and an underage witch, then tried to pin the Dark Mark on first the Boy-Who-Lived and then a house-elf.”

“You don’t want to get dragged into a media circus. Public opinion turns on a knut.”

“Even anonymously? She seems good at digging things up on her own.”

“If that’s what you want to do, we’ll make sure it can’t be traced back to you,” Sirius said. “What concerns me now is that we have at least three events involving Tom Riddle. Chronologically, the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins was first. We don’t know how long she has been missing, but we know based on what you heard that it’s been at least a month, and after Peter escaped from the ministry. Then there was your dream, which I think we agree was a type of vision. Now we have a possible Death Eater attack at the World Cup, coupled with the Dark Mark, though there were no deaths.”

“What does that tell us, though?” 

Sirius crossed his arms, thinking. “That he’s active again, in some capacity. Without knowing the significance of any of these events, it’s hard to say.”

Harry got up. “I’m going to write that letter for Skeeter.”

Sirius nodded. “Show me when you’re done. We’ll toss it in the floo at the Leaky.”

Pig arrived, weighed down by a letter from Ron and Hermione. He read it.

“I’m glad I got my books weeks ago,” Harry said. 

“If you keep reading ahead you’ll be bored in class.”

Harry grinned at Sirius. “That’s only if you’re bothered by switching covers.”

“Did you want to talk about that?” Sirius asked, gesturing at the letter. 

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, keeping his mouth closed.

“Kreacher?”

A cup of tea appeared. The scent of chamomile and mint helped. 

“They don’t understand,” Harry finally said. “Ron’s upset that his dad’s being talked about in the paper. His name’s not even in it. And upset at me for coming home that night, as if I should be okay sleeping in a place where people who served the person who killed my parents and tried to kill me were just marching around and attacking people. They don’t get that I’m a target, and they’d just be collateral damage. And they could have gone home too. Bill even offered to take Hermione and she said no.” His throat was dry. He drank some tea. “And Ron’s writing to me about his dad covering up for someone named Mad-Eye? I don’t even think he understands how problematic that is.”

Sirius started at the name. “Mad-Eye?”’

“Something about possessed dustbins,” Harry said, picking up the letter. “I don’t know, it’s nonsense. You know him?”

“He was an auror,” Sirius said. “The auror. Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody. Half the people in Azkaban were arrested by him.”

“Why’s he called Mad-Eye?”’

“He’s got a magical prosthetic eye,” Sirius said. “It can see through anything.”

Harry grimaced at that. 

“I know. I’m not sure how well he can control it. If it sees through anything, it could be he chooses what to see through. If it sees through everything, he might be getting too much information. Where would his vision stop?”

“I hope I don’t meet him,” Harry said. 

“I feel the same.”

It was raining the day Harry left for school. This year, however, he had learned an umbrella charm. Kreacher had already admonished him for trying it out at the breakfast table.

“Tonight could be the night,” Sirius said with a grin. “I’ve got something for you before you leave.” He slid Harry something rectangular and wrapped in velvet. 

Harry carefully pulled back the cloth. “A mirror?”

“It’s a two-way mirror,” Sirius said. “I know you’re interested in instantaneous communication—”

“There’s always a lag—”

“—so I dug up the set your dad and I used when we were in separate detentions. I’ve got the other one so you can contact me whenever.” He took a sip of his coffee, watching Harry’s reaction. 

“How does it work?” he asked, turning it around to scrutinize. 

“I imagine you’d like to determine that on your own.”

“I was thinking about some kind of sympathetic connection,” Harry said, “but I couldn’t see how that would work with sound. This has sound and vision?” he asked, looking up for confirmation. “Muggles do that too, it’s called a video conference, but from what I’ve read it’s really poor quality. At least for now. I don’t see any runes, unless it’s on the back of the glass? I’ll have to ask Theo…”

Later, Harry said his goodbyes to Kreacher and Walburga. Sirius conjured them plain muggle umbrellas for their walk to King’s Cross. They arrived in time to see the Weasleys and Hermione leaving a group of muggle taxis, and performing a rather conspicuous ritual of pretending they weren’t trying to get on a magical train platform.

“Couldn’t you just cast a muggle repelling charm?” Harry asked, watching his friends and their very vocal pets vanish into an illusory wall, surprising a little girl who had been watching. 

“Or just not care,” Sirius said as they walked through. “If you look confident, like you belong, people won’t question it.”

They walked over to the Weasleys, who were saying their goodbyes. 

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” said Charlie.

“You’re right," Sirius whispered. "He is the fit Weasley.”

“Sirius!” Harry hissed. 

“I know, I know. Mum's the word,” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair. Harry considered it sabotage. 

“...classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it, after all.”

Sirius pulled Harry into a hug, then released him to join his friends. “Remember, you can contact me whenever you need.”

Harry nodded, chest feeling tight. “I’ll miss you.”

“I will too.”

“Harry! The train's about to leave!”

He glanced back at Sirius, then climbed aboard. Hermione and Ron had already got a compartment which they dragged Harry to, speculating on what the adults were hiding from them. Harry sat by the window and saw Mrs. Weasley seemingly accost Sirius, who looked amused by the whole thing. He caught Harry’s eye as the train started to pull away and smiled. 

“Where’ve you been?” Ron asked, tossing something maroon and frilly over Pig’s cage. 

“At home, reading through our course books,” Harry said. 

“Why did Sirius drop you off?” Hermione asked. 

Harry shrugged. “The Dursleys didn’t want to. They never did, you know.”

“Oh.”

“You know,” Ron started heatedly, “Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts—”

Hermione shushed him, allowing them to overhear Malfoy singing the praises of Durmstrang. 

“It’s got a horrible reputation,” Hermione said, “since they emphasize dark arts.”

Harry wondered how they would react if he told them he genuinely considered going there, and decided to hold his tongue. 

They had some visitors to their compartment. Neville tried to start a conversation about their garden planning, but understood when Harry mouthed later. Ron was showing Neville his moving miniature of Viktor Krum—a product Harry abhorred once he imagined one being made using his own image—just as Malfoy appeared. 

“Here for your yearly visit, Draco?” Harry said, smiling politely.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. 

“Since when do you call him Draco?” Ron exclaimed.

Having recovered, Malfoy didn’t respond, focusing instead on the garment tossed over Pig’s cage. 

“Weasley, what is that?” He grabbed the sleeve and held it up. 

“I have the same question,” Harry whispered to Hermione. 

“They’re his dress robes.”

“Oh. Why don’t we just transfigure them?”

“Are you going to enter?” Malfoy said. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?”

“You make it easy,” Harry said, not knowing what Malfoy was talking about and not wanting to engage him. 

After some more taunting, Malfoy left and Ron slammed the door hard enough to break the glass. Harry edged away from him and cast a reparo. It was one of the more inexplicable spells. Harry wasn’t sure how it worked. He was concerned that looking at it too closely would make it fall apart.

When the train arrived at Hogsmeade, it was pitch black and thundering. Harry could taste the ozone. He’d said the animagus incantation, sunrise and sunset, sneaking off for it during the train ride. He had his potion suspended in a special box so it wouldn’t be disturbed. At the first sign of lightning he’d be hard pressed not to run out of the Great Hall. 

Under his charmed umbrella, Harry approached a thestral and gave it a pat before boarding the carriage. He fended off Peeves’ water balloon assault in the entrance hall, then sat, waiting for the sorting to finish so he could eat and leave. He eyed Colin Creevey’s little brother Dennis warily, hoping he didn’t follow in his older brother’s footsteps. His sorting into Gryffindor didn’t bode well for that.

As a small first-year ran to sit with the Slytherins, Harry gave the table a cursory scan and saw Theo looking drawn and hunched over a book. Worried, Harry watched him for a while, but Theo didn't so much as turn a page. 

After hearing about the havoc Peeves had caused in the kitchens, Hermione learned that house-elves received neither pay nor benefits, and turned to Harry. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“We should go talk to them,” Harry said. 

“I will,” Hermione said, pushing her food away. “I can’t eat something created by slave labor.”

“Maybe we can order food from Hogsmeade,” Harry suggested. “But there’s no guarantee they aren’t using house-elves too.” He didn’t know if he should tell her about Kreacher, and how vital his role in the Black household was to Kreacher as an individual. It was complicated. 

After dessert, Dumbledore reminded them that the Forbidden Forest was off-limits, and that Filch had a list of banned objects.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

It looked like the headmaster had a mutiny on his hands. Harry personally felt relieved. He knew Angelina Johnson was the new captain, and she was almost as fanatical as Oliver Wood.

Before Dumbledore could announce why quidditch was canceled, there was a deafening roar of thunder as the doors to the Great Hall flew open. A man stood there, limned by lightning. The moment was far too dramatic for Harry to sneak out, to his annoyance. 

The man walked in, one leg thunking against the ground. Harry’s eyes were drawn to what was clearly a magical eye swiveling around in all directions.  

“Fuck,” he said to himself. 

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody.”

No one clapped. Harry half listened to the conversations happening around him, until Dumbledore finished his announcement. 

“It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

When they were finally sent off, Harry felt detached from the excited buzzing around him. The storm was still going. Any tournament was far from his mind. 

“I need to see Madam Pomfrey,” he said to Hermione. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping since that night.”

“I’ll let Ron know,” she said, looking to where he and his brothers were discussing prize money. 

Harry peeled away for the hospital wing, checking the map to get to the greenhouses as fast as possible. He grabbed the potion, shoved his bag under a bench, and dashed across the grounds. 

The rain beat at him as lightning crackled overhead. For a brief moment he wished he’d gone with the Chamber of Secrets, even with the rotting basilisk in it, but he felt better for being outside. He pointed his wand at his chest, said the incantation one last time, and downed the potion. 

Harry had expected it to hurt, even though he had seen Sirius turn into a dog many times without issue. It didn’t hurt, but it was alarming. His body was changing, and he knew if he had made any mistakes there was no going back. He’d be trapped in some in-between state, and would likely die. After a while, the strange shifting of his bones and organs stopped. 

Harry opened his eyes to an alien landscape. He looked around for his wand and easily found it. It stood out quite a bit against the grass. He cringed at the thunder. When had it got so loud? He reached for his wand and saw a black paw touching it. Confused, he leaned closer, realizing that it was his own. He picked up his wand in his mouth as he no longer had thumbs, then retraced his path to his bag, partially relying on his own scent, which was surreal. He caught his reflection in the glass of the greenhouse and moved closer. He was a fox. 

Harry slunk inside the greenhouse to where he had stored his bag, on high alert, and focused on being human again. He fell over with his wand clenched between his teeth. After coming to terms with being human again, he cast some drying charms, put his invisibility cloak on, and made his way back through the castle. He kept a close eye on the map, wanting to avoid Moody. He didn’t know if Moody's eye could see through his cloak, but he wasn’t going to test it.

When he got to his dormitory everyone was long asleep. He got into bed and took out the mirror to tell Sirius the good news

Harry observed the blast-ended skrewts and couldn’t for the life of him identify what they were. Pale, sort of lobster-shaped, emitting sparks, the overwhelming smell of fish. Harry sidled closer to where Theo stood near the outskirts of their Slytherin classmates. 

“Only just hatched,” Hagrid said proudly. 

“From what?” Harry asked softly, making Theo smirk.   

“Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it!”

“And why would we want to raise them?” Malfoy asked. “What’s the point of them?”

Hagrid was at a loss. 

“Haven’t you heard of soft-shell crab, Malfoy?” Harry said. “This is the soft-shell skrewt. It’s a delicacy. May as well ask what a cow does.” Harry gave the blast-ended skrewts a closer look. Were they a type of crab? The smell certainly fit. 

“We’ll get into it next lesson,” Hagrid hurriedly said. “You’re just feeding them today.”

After the skrewts, Harry washed his hands of frog livers and headed for Arithmancy with Hermione. “I can see if any of the house-elves would like to talk to you,” Harry offered. She had a firm set to her jaw, and nodded.

At dinner the entrance hall was packed. Malfoy began reading an article about ‘Arnold’ Weasley covering up Moody’s aggressive dustbins, showing everyone the picture of Ron's parents in the paper, mocking Mrs. Weasley’s weight.

“You stayed with them, didn’t you, Potter? Is she really that porky?”

“No wonder your mother’s embarrassed to be seen with you,” Harry said. “You’re a disgrace to two families.” He turned towards the Great Hall, and had a second to duck just as a spell flew past his head. He came up with his wand out in time to see Malfoy hit with a spell from behind, and Moody shouting and storming down the marble staircase. He’d turned Malfoy into a ferret. 

The ferret tried to run off, but Moody started slamming it around. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…”

After a moment of shock, Harry ran forward and grabbed Malfoy out of the air before he could hit the ground again. The ferret squirmed around and tried to get free, but Harry was worried Moody would continue going after him and held on.

“What is going on here?” McGonagall demanded, coming down the stairs. 

“Teaching,” Moody said, both eyes focused on Harry.

“He just transfigured Malfoy into this ferret and was bouncing him around. I think he’s pretty hurt,” Harry said. 

“No!” McGonagall ran forward, and Harry set Malfoy down so he could be restored. He tried to help him stand, but Malfoy weakly slapped him away.

“We never use transfiguration as punishment! We give detentions, or speak to the head of house!”

“I’ll do that then,” Moody said, starting forward. 

Harry stepped in front of Malfoy, who was muttering something about his father. “For the first time in your life, you’re actually right about contacting your father.” He looked at McGonagall. “This man just assaulted a student, and you’d allow him to drag that student off somewhere?”

“Mr. Potter, this has nothing to do with you,” McGonagall said stiffly. Behind him, Malfoy was being helped up by his friends. “But since you are so concerned, I’ll escort Mr. Malfoy.”

“Why did you do all that?” Ron asked as they sat down to dinner. “That was one of the best moments of my life! The amazing bouncing ferret…”

“Was it?” Harry asked. “Would it be amazing if it was Hermione? Or Ginny?”

“No, but…it’s Malfoy,” Ron said. 

“He could have really been hurt,” Hermione said. 

“But it’s okay to hurt people if you don’t like them, according to Ron.”

“That’s not what I said!”

Hermione began inhaling food so she could go to the library. Fred, George, and Lee came in waxing poetic about Moody’s class. Harry didn’t care how much experience he brought to the class room if he used it to abuse his students. 

That night, behind his silenced curtains, he contacted Sirius. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, “I really need to tell you something. “

Sirius smiled warmly. “I told you to get a hold of me whenever you needed, and I meant that.”

“Right. I forgot to tell you some important things.”

“More important than your first transformation?”

Harry smiled a bit, then said, “Moody’s our new defense teacher. Earlier he turned Malfoy into a ferret and was beating him around.”

Sirius frowned. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do about him. Dumbledore has a lot of control over the staff.”

“I told him he should contact his father since this actually warrants it.”

“Lucius Malfoy’s in a better position than either of us to do anything, especially with regards to his own son.” Sirius gave him a firm look. “I don’t want you to be alone with that man.”

“I don’t either,” Harry said. “Do you think accio would work on that eye of his?”

“You are a disturbing child.” 

“There’s another thing. They’re doing the Triwizard Tournament this year. Everyone’s been talking about it…”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood around Neville in the aftermath of their first defense lesson. Harry couldn’t believe Unforgivables were being cast in a school, at the headmaster’s behest, by a man who had earlier in the week attacked a student. He didn’t know what was going on with Neville, but he was taking it harder than the rest of the class, who by and large had been entertained. It was vile. 

Moody limped towards them. “It’s all right, sonny,” he said to Neville. “Why don’t you come up to my office for a cuppa?”

Harry moved to put Neville behind him. Moody swiveled to look at him. 

“You alright, are you, Potter?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “How are you?”

“It seems harsh, but you’ve got to know…Come along, Longbottom…”

“Actually we were just taking Neville somewhere,” Harry said, putting a hand on Neville’s arm. 

“We were?” Ron said, confused.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve reminded you,” Harry said, exasperated. “Have a good afternoon, professor.”

Harry led Neville along while his friends trailed him. 

“What was that about?” Hermione asked. 

“Really?” Harry said. “After what he did to Malfoy you’d let Neville alone with him? Or anyone?”

“Where are we going?” Neville asked. 

“Some lesson, though, eh?” Ron said. “Did you see that spider? Just snuffed right out…”

“Like my mum, yeah,” Harry interrupted. He really wasn’t liking Ron lately. “It’s all very fascinating.” He stopped, Neville stumbling at the abrupt change. “Sorry,” he said to him. 

“Harry, I didn’t mean—”

“Why don’t you and Hermione go on ahead?” Harry said. “I do actually have something to talk to Nev about.”

“Nev?” Neville squeaked. 

Hermione looked between them, then seized Ron and dragged him to the Great Hall. 

“Did you want to talk about the garden you’ve been working on?” Neville managed to ask. 

“We can,” Harry said. He waved Neville over to the door leading down to the kitchen entrance. “But we’ve had a shit day. Would you like to see a castle secret?”

Later that evening, while Ron was laughing over his Divination homework and trying to draw Harry in as if nothing had happened, Hermione marched into the room with a box full of badges and brimming with righteousness. 

"It's called S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"You'd think we'd go around wearing badges that say spew?" Ron asked.

Harry picked one up. It was certainly a statement.

"Hermione, they like being enslaved!"

"Dobby didn't," Harry said.

"Our aims are to secure wages, wand rights, and representation in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"'Creatures' makes it sound like they aren't people," Harry said thoughtfully. "What about centaurs? And goblins?" He added, thinking of the fountain at the Ministry. "Werewolves, vampires…"

"I…you're right. This is a far bigger issue than I realized. But we can start with house-elves. We have hundreds here in the castle who need our help!"

Harry had just handed her two galleons for his membership fee, over Hermione's protests that it was only two sickles, when he heard a tapping at the window. Walking over, he saw it was Hedwig. He let her in and took the note she was holding.

"Who's that from?" Ron asked.

"Sirius," Harry said, tucking it away. "I'll read it later." Hedwig snapped at him for a treat. "I'm going to carry her up to the owlery, she looks tired."

Hedwig settled atop Harry's head so he could have both his hands free. He unfolded the note from Theo, who had suggested using each other's birds to send messages. Hedwig tugged at his hair, approving of the idea, and Harry wrote a short note for Theo's gyrfalcon Ranog to deliver in the morning.

"My father wasn't there," was the first thing Theo said when Harry slipped into the dungeon classroom. He was standing stiffly to one side of the room, not quite looking at Harry. He was thinner, and paler, and though the former could be attributed to his height Harry suspected something worse.

"It wouldn't matter if he was," Harry said, shutting the door behind him. They'd never spoken about it, but Harry had a feeling Theo's father had been associated with Riddle, either a Death Eater himself or a sympathizer like Walburga had been. "You aren't him."

Theo gave a short nod, but didn't speak again until Harry touched him lightly on the arm. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I think I was in more danger from the Ministry," Harry said. "About twenty of them tried to stun me, Ron, and Hermione. It was mad."

Harry had a wonderful, and probably terrible, idea. "Want to know something that could get me sent to Azkaban?"

Theo looked up in alarm. "What have you done? Did you kill someone?"

Harry flinched, then recovered. "Not this year," he said with a strained laugh. "It isn't anything really bad."

Then he turned into a fox.

When he was back on his feet he said, "Well? What do you think?"

Theo was dumbstruck. "What? When? How?"

Instead of answering, Harry just turned into a fox again. 

Harry hated defense class. It was one of his best subjects, but every year there was something wrong with the teacher. Possessed by Voldemort, a Memory Charm predator, an absentee friend of his parents, and now Moody.

Harry felt Moody's eye on him constantly. Since the first night he had divested himself of the things he always carried around for fear Moody would see them. His invisibility cloak, his map, his second wand. It made Harry feel vulnerable. He'd talked to Theo about finding a way to get Moody's eye, but the perpetual risk of Moody seeing them try something prevented them from making a move. The man was always drinking out of his flask, and Harry thought this apparent alcoholism made Moody even more of a threat.

Harry had seen the Unforgivables before, even before that first class. He'd seen Sirius cast the Imperius, he had personal experience with the Killing Curse. Sirius had tentatively offered Harry the same 'training' his parents had put him through, to experience the Cruciatus and Imperius and possibly cast both himself, even the Killing Curse, but neither had wanted to so they refrained. They had discussed the curses, so Harry was reasonably confident in the theory. Sirius wasn’t sure he could cast the Cruciatus or Imperius on Harry, as the Unforgivables, over the willingness to cast them in the first place, required absolute desire for the intended result. 

Harry was regretting that decision as he watched Moody cast the Imperius on his classmates over and over again. Dean hopped around the room, Lavender acted like a squirrel, Neville did cartwheels. And then it was Harry’s turn.

“Potter, you next.”

Harry fought his instincts and stood in the center of the room while Moody raised his wand. Moody could kill him, right there, and Harry didn’t even have his wand in his hand. Sirius might actually kill him for doing something so reckless. 

“Imperio!”

The curse washed over him, a wave of calm and happiness that made his stomach curdle. It was wrong, defiling, an infection he wanted to burn out of his body. And just as soon as Moody’s sick desire for him to obey forced itself upon him, it was gone. 

Moody gave him a strange look, the kind of look Harry recalled from his aunt when he did something freakish. 

“Imperio!”

Harry couldn’t help the disgusted look that crossed his own face. “It didn’t work the first time.”

Moody’s face cleared. “Now that’s more like it! Potter fought it! The rest of you pay attention, we’ll try that again.”

“What? Haven’t I already—”

“Imperio!” 

A horribly long hour later, in which Moody had repeatedly cast the Imperius at Harry, he unsteadily walked out of the classroom. “I should have left earlier,” he said. “I never should have put myself through that.”

“The way he talks!” Ron said, not paying attention. “Paranoid much? Did you hear him telling Seamus…”

The workload had increased, and kept on increasing. Harry was glad he had studied so much over the summer and kept ahead. He juggled classes, Hermione’s abolitionism, skrewts, a budding friendship with Neville, and secretly hanging out with Theo through the end of October. He’d just returned from one of the dungeon classrooms they met in, having a minor breakthrough in the Old Norse book he had been translating, when he ran into a crowd in the entrance hall. He spotted Ron and made his way over to him and Hermione. Ron read the sign to them: the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving in a week. 

The excitement for the tournament escalated. The new first-years had just got over going to school with Harry Potter and left off the staring and following him around, and now Harry would have to deal with new people from two other schools. He hoped his fame didn’t extend abroad, but he honestly didn’t know. Being British, Tom Riddle’s influence and reign of terror had largely fallen upon magical Britain, but distance wasn’t as much of a factor for magical peoples as it was for muggles. Had he wanted to attack elsewhere, it was a mere apparition away. 

The castle was cleaner than usual, and Harry was concerned for how hard the house-elves were being pushed by their increased duties. The professors were harsher, especially towards struggling students like Neville. Harry wondered if he would ever have a normal year at Hogwarts, or as normal as school could be when one was a wizard. 

“I’ve owled Professor Bagshot,” Hermione said at breakfast, the day the other schools would arrive. “She hasn’t responded to me yet. Honestly, she should retitle it to A Revised History of Hogwarts. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School. It doesn’t mention house-elves at all!”

“Did you check her other notes?” Harry asked. “It’s possible the editors kept it out.”

“I have, though some of the things she wrote are confusing.”

“She’s ancient, Hermione. She’s probably been losing her memories for a while.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, sitting back down. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“You could write your own book,” Harry said. “Or an article. Do an exposé.”

Hermione had been going around the common room harassing or shaming people into joining S.P.E.W. Some paid up to get her away, others flat out refused, particularly the ones who grew up in magical families. They believed that house-elves were truly happy, and didn’t stop to consider they could have been manipulated or brainwashed into it. Some of their muggleborn classmates understood Hermione’s perspective better. Harry didn’t need convincing and wore his badge everywhere, in part because he thought the name was hilarious, but also because he genuinely believed that house-elves like Dobby needed to be protected from abusive witches and wizards, that wand-restriction laws were racist and oppressive, and that they in general deserved equal rights, even if they chose not to exercise them. 

That evening Harry was hustled along with the other students to stand in rows, awaiting their guests. He saw Theo trying to discreetly read a book and smiled. He wished he had brought one too.

The din rose as something flew in. A carriage drawn by winged horses as big as elephants

“Are those Abraxan?” Harry asked. 

The ground shook with the carriage’s landing. A small blue-clad boy hopped out to unfold a set of golden steps. It was all so ridiculously pretentious. 

The size of it all was explained when a giant, well-dressed woman emerged. She was absolutely stunning in black satin and opals. A troop of students followed her, shivering in the cold and looking like they wanted to be anywhere else. As Dumbledore greeted her, the Beauxbatons headmistress Madame Maxime, the crowd looked around for the next arrival. 

The answer came from the lake, a dark whirlpool that spat out a ghostly ship. Harry didn’t know if it was aesthetics or laziness, but it looked like a sunken wreck. The students that disembarked were, if anything, overdressed for the occasion in layers of fur. The man with them wore finer fur, and had a slick demeanor that vaguely reminded Harry of Snape. It seemed being the headmaster or headmistress of a magical school afforded certain luxuries. Dumbledore greeted this man, headmaster Igor Karkaroff, and Karkaroff summoned his own famous pupil.

Ron punched him in the arm. Harry vowed, then and there, to provide any funds required for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so long as Ron was the primary test subject.

“Harry—it’s Krum!"

"Really? I didn't recognize him."

Harry felt a little vindicated that Krum was attracting more attention than him. Hopefully he'd catch a break from his fame. He never wanted it. It was a constant reminder of the things he would never have, of everything he had lost.

Ron tried in vain to lure Krum to their table, but the Durmstrang students settled comfortably among the Slytherins. The Beauxbatons students sat with the Ravenclaws, and Harry uncharitably thought it was because the house colors matched their uniform better.

Dinner appeared on the tables, featuring more diverse cuisine. As Harry tried a little of everything, he wondered who usually set the Hogwarts menu. He'd check with the elves.

A blonde girl from Beauxbatons came over for the bouillabaisse, and Ron was pathetically more enamored of her than Krum.

"She's a veela!" Ron said.

"I think she's a person," Harry said, pinching his nose.

"Of course she isn't a veela," Hermione insisted.

"She could be part," Harry said. "A lot of people are staring at her." The girl didn't seem to mind this, but Harry knew from experience it was something one was forced to become used to.

"They don't make them like that at Hogwarts," Ron rambled. Harry glanced at Hermione, who shook her head in disgust.

"When you've put your eyes back in, Ronald, you'll see who's just arrived."

Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch had joined the head table. Ron attempted to draw back the Beauxbatons girl with a blancmange. Harry picked it up and ate it.

At long last, Dumbledore stood, smiling down at them in benediction.

"The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin."

Crouch and Bagman were introduced as the organizers. Harry noticed Fred and George staring hatefully at the latter; Bagman must have skipped out on their bet. Filch brought in a jewel encrusted chest and set it before Dumbledore. He spoke of three champions, three tasks, and from the chest he lifted the Goblet of Fire. It was an old goblet carved of wood, filled with blue-white flames that drew Harry's eye. He wanted to know how it worked.

"An Age Line?" Fred said once the speech was over. "That ought to be fooled by an aging potion."

"But if you're under seventeen, won't there be a disadvantage?" Hermione asked. "You haven't learned the same amount."

"Speak for yourself," George said. "You'll try to get in, won't you, Harry?"

"No," Harry said. "I'm not even that keen on watching."

They left the Great Hall, listening to Karkaroff fawn over Krum and verbally abuse his other students. He really was another Snape. Harry held the door open for him, and the man stopped to stare. Harry saw recognition flicker through the Durmstrang students as well, and they gaped and pointed at his forehead. So much for going under the radar.

"Are you going through?" Harry asked pointedly. Karkaroff kept staring.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter."

Moody had walked up from behind, and he watched Karkaroff pale.

"You!"

"Me. Unless you’ve got a question for him, you ought to move. You’re blocking the doorway.”

Upon realizing there was a growing audience of people waiting to leave, Karkaroff sped off, and Harry was glad the night was finally over.

Ron had woken at an unprecedented hour and got Harry and Hermione down to the Great Hall with him to watch the Goblet. Fred, George, and Lee skipped in, having taken an aging potion. For a moment, it seemed to have worked, until the trio was tossed backward, white beards sprouting from their faces. Dumbledore showed up and directed them to the hospital wing with the other bearded students. 

The Great Hall had been decorated with live bats and carved pumpkins. Harry realized with a start that it was Halloween. He had known he had felt more melancholy than usual, and he was blindsided by the realization. Any lackluster enthusiasm he had rucked up for the whole Goblet thing abandoned him. 

Harry dully followed Hermione and Ron to their table, where Dean, Seamus, and others discussed who would enter. Harry looked over the Slytherin table and saw that Theo hadn’t bothered showing up at all. He pushed his cup of tea around, wondering if there was any way he could leave. 

“What’re we going to do today?” Ron asked after breakfast. “We haven’t been to visit Hagrid yet.”

“I can ask him about S.P.E.W.!” Hermione said. 

“I’m not feeling that great,” Harry said, rubbing his neck. “I think I need a lie-down.”

“Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked, concerned. 

“It’s nothing like that, Hermione. It’s Halloween.”

She looked at him, confused. 

“The day my parents died?”

“Oh. Oh! Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll just go up with you,” he said.

Ron was distracted by the arriving Beauxbatons students, so Harry and Hermione left him in the entrance hall and climbed up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Don’t get your hopes up about Hagrid,” he said to Hermione once they reached the common room. “I think he’s like Ron’s dad with muggles.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“He likes creatures, and beings like centaurs and house-elves, but he doesn’t respect them. You should have heard what he said to me about goblins when he took me to Gringotts.”

“I think I understand,” Hermione said. “Mr. Weasley is rather condescending about muggles.” She paused and looked at him. “Are you really okay?”

“I’ll be fine later,” Harry lied. “See you at dinner.”

Harry sat on his bed for a while and tried clearing his mind. For the first time since he had begun his study of occlumency, he found some comfort in not feeling anything at all. It was better than the crippling, suffocating sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. And then he remembered Kreacher’s warning, that suppressing his thoughts and feelings was a dangerous thing to do. So he stopped, hugging himself as the emotions hit him again. When he stopped shaking, he took the map out of his trunk, checked the library, then left his room. 

“It’s worse than usual,” Theo said as Harry joined him in some forgotten corner. Theo was working on some complicated runic schema on a ream of parchment that Harry could make heads nor tails of. Theo stood up and returned a few minutes later with a book for Harry, on water spells of all things. 

“Not all magical fires can be put out with an aguamenti,” Theo said, before returning to his work. 

By midafternoon it began to rain. Harry had just been thinking about turning into a fox and running away to the woods when Theo placed his hand over his. Harry startled and nearly fell out of his seat.

“What is it?” he asked, looking around. 

Theo gave him a cryptic smile and said, “Half past five. We should go down.” He’d already put away his things, though he had left the book Harry had been reading. 

“You go on,” Harry said, swallowing nervously. “I’m going to check this one out.” He looked out of the window, glad to see the rain had let off. “Do you want to meet in the kitchen later?”

Harry made his way to the Great Hall, not feeling as horribly as he had that morning, not drowning in his grief. There was an awful stench in the entrance hall which trailed into the Great Hall. He saw Hagrid in his hair suit sitting at the head table, his hair slicked back in two bunches and making eyes at Madame Maxime. Faintly amused, he joined his friends at their table. 

“You were right,” Hermione said as he sat down. “About Hagrid, I mean. He said it would be cruel to free house-elves, and that Dobby is some kind of aberration. He called them a breed…”

The Halloween feast was as garish as Harry remembered. It stretched on interminably, and Harry wasn’t the only one eager to have it over. Everyone was looking at Dumbledore, or the Goblet, waiting. 

Finally the plates were cleared, the lights were dimmed, and Dumbledore stood before the Goblet. Harry watched the chosen champions, not bothering to clap as they walked into a back chamber to await further instructions. Viktor Krum. Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory. 

Harry looked over at Theo, who nodded at him. They were ready to stand up to leave, then the goblet flared to life again.

Harry knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt whose name it would be. 

He met Theo’s eyes, tightened in concern, with a grim expression. 

“Harry Potter.”

Harry knew everyone was staring at him. It didn’t matter. He stood up, bracing his hands on the table and shaking with anger, hoping his voice was steady. “I would like to state, for the record, I did not put my name into that bloody Goblet, and I will be speaking to my godfather about this.”

“Harry! Up here, if you please,” Dumbledore called. 

Harry gave Dumbledore a dirty look. “You had better have a good explanation for this, professor.” He crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his robes, and walked to the back chamber. 

“Well…through the door, Harry,” Dumbledore said, unsmiling. Harry shook his head as he walked by. 

The room he entered was lined with gossiping portraits. The three champions stood near the fire.

“What is it?” Fleur asked in a lilting French accent. “Do they want us back in the Hall?”

“No,” Harry said. “Some tosser put my name in the Goblet so now I’ve got to compete.” 

All three of them turned to look at Harry, all three practically adults already. He looked utterly out of place among them. Ludo Bagman came into the room and grabbed Harry’s arm. Harry yanked it back.

“Do not touch me,” Harry said coldly. 

Bagman’s grin froze, but he rallied. “Well, it’s absolutely extraordinary, isn’t it? Gentlemen…lady, may I introduce—incredible though it may seem—the fourth Triwizard champion?”

“You may not,” Harry said. “I didn’t enter, I didn’t agree to this, and I bloody well don’t want to do it!”

“It’s a very funny joke, Mr. Bagman,” Fleur said. “But he is too young to compete.”

“Joke? Not at all! His name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

The other adults finally arrived. Dumbledore, Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape. 

“I need to contact my solicitor,” Harry said. No one paid attention.

“What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?” Madame Maxime asked, towering over the headmaster. 

“I’d rather like to know that myself,” Karkaroff added. “Two Hogwarts champions?”

“It is most unjust,” Maxime said. 

“Unjust?” Harry said. “You think that is unjust? What about me being unwillingly entered into a death tournament!”

Karkaroff glared at him. “We were under the impression the Age Line would keep out younger contestants.”

“It’s not one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” Snape said. “Don’t go—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped. “It’s not my fault, you hideous git.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore started. “Professor Snape—”

“No,” Harry said. “He doesn’t deserve any respect. I want to know how this happened. You’re the ones responsible for this…this failure of security! This is the fourth time in as many years that my life has been at risk in this school. Don’t you dare try to blame this on me!”

“Is it possible he asked an older student to put it in?” Maxime asked.

“Are you saying anyone overage could have waltzed up and done this?” Harry asked. “This is a joke.” He turned to Bagman and Crouch. “Is there any way out of this? How does the goblet work?”

Crouch said curtly, “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Then let’s have the rulebook,” Harry said. “Can I forfeit?”

“I insist on resubmitting my students,” Karkaroff said with an ugly look. “Set the goblet up again.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Bagman said. “It won’t reignite until the next tournament.”

“In which Durmstang will not be competing. I have half a mind to leave now!”

“That’s an empty threat, Karkaroff,” Moody growled, stalking into the room. “It’s a binding magical contract. They’ve all got to compete. Convenient, eh?”

“Lovely, a binding magical contract. I’ll get my magical lawyer to give it a once over.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said warningly. 

“Convenient?” Karkaroff said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Someone put Potter’s name in knowing he’d have to compete.”

“I’ve already said that,” Harry said. “I think I’ve made that perfectly clear. What’s that potion called, Veritaserum?” He looked at Snape. “I bet you’d be pleased to give me that. Let’s have it.” 

Snape sneered. “It takes a full lunar phase to brew. Convenient, isn’t it?”

“I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry and the ICW,” Karkaroff announced to the room.

“Potter’s the one with a reason to complain,” Moody said.

“Why should he complain?” Fleur exclaimed. “He has a chance to compete, what we’ve all been hoping for! The honor for our schools, a thousand galleons, eternal glory. It’s a chance many would die for.”

“I already died once,” Harry snapped, “or close enough to it. I have fame and money to last a lifetime. Dozens of lifetimes. You think being in a school tournament is going to beat out offing Voldemort?” He looked around the room. “Are we done here? I have people I need to contact.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing attention. “How this situation arose, we do not know. It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they shall do…”

After more impotent bickering, and Crouch telling them next to nothing about the first task, Dumbledore shooed Harry and Cedric off. 

“So, we’re playing against each other again!” Cedric said. 

“This isn’t a game, Cedric,” Harry said. “This tournament has a death toll.”

“Right…so…tell me. How did you get your name in?”

Harry stopped and stared at him. “Are you serious? I’ve been telling the truth.”

Harry took the door for the kitchens, Cedric trailing behind. 

“Ah, okay. Er, where are you going?”

“The kitchens,” Harry said. “For an offering. Today is the day my parents died, not like anyone seemed to remember that.” Harry stopped at the bowl of fruit, waiting for Cedric to go on. 

“Well…see you then.”

Harry watched him for a moment, then tickled the pear and went inside. He was relieved to find Theo there. Harry sat next to him, and a house-elf hurried over with tea. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, giving the elf a small smile. He sighed and said into his tea, “Anyone who believes this is my fault is an idiot.”

“I agree,” Theo said readily. “You hate attention. Unless you’re standing up for something.”

“According to them, there’s no way out of this. I have to compete.”

Theo put a hand briefly on his arm. “Did they tell you what the first task is?”

“Something to do with daring,” Harry said, breaking apart a biscuit. It was starting to smoke where he touched it. “Ron’s brother said we’d be seeing him soon. I remember them dropping all these hints about the tournament. He’s a dragon keeper. Fighting a dragon is pretty daring.”

“I’ll find some books,” Theo said. “Unless they fly the dragon in on the same day, they’ll need to keep them somewhere. There aren’t many places to hide a dragon at Hogwarts. Or dragons, if they’ve got one for each of you.”

“Hagrid kept one in his hut. A newborn, but still.”

“And we can assume all the events will be held here,” Theo said. “Either in the castle or on the grounds. An open field, the forest, the lake.”

“That’s a lot to cover,” Harry said. “Looking into all the plants and animals. Maybe I can try divination again. There are too many variables for an arithmantic equation to give good results.” 

On a whim, Harry finished his tea, swirled it around, and flipped the cup over. After a moment, he turned it upright. “Well, if that isn’t a clear sign I don’t know what is.” 

The tea leaves had formed a ragged shape, like flame spat out by a dragon. Theo took the cup, lips twitching. “Blatant.”

Harry reluctantly left first, making his way through the castle. A tournament seemed like a rather roundabout way to try killing him. Maybe someone had done it as a prank. Maybe this was Snape’s ultimate revenge on James Potter and Sirius Black.

Once past the Fat Lady and her gossipy portrait friend from downstairs, Harry was deafened by his housemates, who for some reason were celebrating. 

“You should have told us you entered!”

“How did you do it?”

“If it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor!”

Harry pushed his way through people trying to give him food, drinks, pull him into a hug, slap him on the back. He hated everything about it, and finally bulled his way into his dormitory without setting anyone on fire. It was thankfully empty, except for Ron, who was lying on his bed fully dressed. 

“Oh, hello,” Ron said with a strained grin. “Congratulations.”

“What do you mean, congratulations?” Harry asked, too tired for this new nonsense.

“No one else got across the Age Line. What did you use, the invisibility cloak?”

“Being invisible doesn’t change my age,” Harry said. “I said it when my name first came out. I did not put my name in. Someone else must have done.”

“What would they do that for?”

“As a joke? As an elaborate ploy to kill me? The reasons don’t matter. The fact is I’m forced to compete against my will.”

Ron gave him a long look. “It’s okay, you can tell me the truth.”

“I’ve told the whole bloody school the truth!” Harry snapped. “I’m going to bed. I don’t need to deal with your stupidity on top of this.”

Before Ron could reply, Harry spelled his bed curtains shut and dug out his mirror. After a moment, Sirius appeared. 

“What is it?” Sirius asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s put my name in,” Harry said, starting to choke up. He was angry, incredibly so, but he had heard Hermione talking about past tournaments. He knew the sort of tasks they had people do, how many of them died. He had no idea what would happen if he didn’t participate. Would he die anyway?  “My name’s just come out of the Goblet. I have to compete.”