The Hidden Hero

Harry started off the summer feeling incredibly depressed. Somehow, knowing how close he had come to having a godfather with whom he could have been sharing the summer, made living in the boarding house that much more lonely.

While it was exhilarating to have the freedom of an adult, he felt disconnected from everyone. He couldn’t allow anyone to get too close to him, even if they wished. He was already living a constant lie while in the wizarding world, pretending to be the muggleborn, Mark Twist. In the muggle world, his masquerade was even more far-reaching: pretending to be a young man of 20. Harry felt that his balancing act was becoming more and more dangerous. In fact, he had almost forgotten, when turning into his older version of Mark Twist, to age himself from last year. Remembering, he had added a few more inches to his height and some stubble on his chin. He noticed, with alarm, that some of the women at the boarding house were starting to cast him flirtatious looks.

When he allowed himself to think of the wizarding world, Harry worried about Sirius – had he been caught? Was he still searching for Pettigrew? And Pettigrew! Was that sniveling coward on his way to help Voldemort rise to power again? He couldn’t help remembering Professor Trewlaney’s prediction. “… the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than ever before. …” Harry was now a believer in Professor Trewlaney’s talent for prophecy. If Voldemort were to regain power, Harry needed to be prepared. Voldemort was sure to come after Harry.

So, while the boy craved companionship, he knew that he had to avoid it. He had to focus on staying alive and hidden. His masquerade was the priority – not making friends. So, he buried himself in reading and work.

One morning on the way to work, Harry looked up to see Albus Dumbledore coming down the street. It was so unexpected, Harry froze with one foot still lifted, descending the steps in front of the house where he lived. Luckily, the headmaster was on the opposite side of the street looking at the house numbers he was passing. He had not yet noticed Harry. Thinking quickly, and thanking his good fortune that no one else was around, Harry de-aged Mark Twist, turning back into his 13, almost 14, year old self.

Dumbledore looked up and saw Harry watching him. He smiled in greeting and strode calmly toward the boy, as if there were nothing surprising in his being on this particular muggle street. The headmaster certainly looked out of place. He was wearing black robes, which swirled around him as he walked, emphasizing his regal appearance. Muggles passing cast him surreptitious looks.    

“Hello, Mark,” greeted the headmaster.

Harry continued down the steps toward the older man. “Hello, sir.”

“You are, no doubt, wondering why I am here?” asked Professor Dumbledore. Harry inclined his head. “I have come to meet your parents. I realize I’ve been remiss in not introducing myself to them before. You have faced danger in the school now three years in a row. Any wizarding parent would have been demanding an audience with me to discuss your safety. I want to assure your parents that we will do our best to look after you better from now on.” He smiled benignly.

Harry gave a weak smile. “Actually, sir. I haven’t shared the details of my time at Hogwarts with my parents. I didn’t want to alarm them.”

“Ah. Understandable, perhaps. But, it is always a good idea to be open with one’s parents, Mark.”

“Yes, sir. But, they aren’t too happy that I go to Hogwarts at all. I don’t want to give them a reason to say I can’t attend.”

“They don’t like the fact you’re a wizard?”

“They…are uncomfortable with it, sir. It came as such a surprise, you see.”

“I do see. Mark, please don’t think that I’m not enjoying our chat but I think we should move inside now. I would appreciate your introducing me to your parents.”

“Oh, but, sir. Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t …” Harry’s voice trailed off. It was clear from Dumbledore’s steady gaze that the older man had no intention of leaving without speaking with Harry’s parents.

“Shall we?” suggested Dumbledore, indicating that Harry lead the way back up the stairs to the house where the boy lived.

Harry hesitated. “Is there something wrong?” asked Dumbledore suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I…I have a job that I’m going to be late for. My parents don’t have a lot of money, so I need to work during the summer to earn some spending money. I don’t want to be rude but, would you mind very much if I left to go to my job? My mom’s away visiting her sister. But, my father’s inside. Actually, he should be coming out very soon himself. He likes to spend Saturday morning at the corner coffee house, reading the paper.”

“Of course, Mark. I am perfectly capable of introducing myself to your father. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to join us.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry to have to leave, sir. Good-bye.” Harry backed away, hesitantly.

“Have a good summer, Mark.”

With a last nod, Harry turned and hurried away. Professor Dumbledore watched until the boy turned the corner and then he climbed the stairs to the house. He was distracted for a minute by a series of loud bangs off in the distance, from the direction Mark Twist had taken. However, the noise sounded like firecrackers, rather than anything more alarming, and the bangs died away after a while. Deciding that the noise was not signaling any serious problem, Dumbledore lifted his hand to knock on the door, but it opened before he had a chance.

A slight man, in his middle forties, with thinning mousy brown hair and glasses stood in the doorway. He started with surprise at seeing someone about to knock, just as he had opened the door. His resemblance to Mark was hard to miss and Dumbledore was not surprised that, when he asked, “Mr. Twist?” the other man nodded and replied, “Yes. Hello. Can I help you?”

The headmaster inclined his head and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Twist. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Perhaps Mark has mentioned me?”

Immediately, the other man stiffened his body somewhat and, while still polite, seemed to withdraw a bit. “Yes, of course. Mark is…very fond of the school. Is there something wrong? Has Mark gotten into some sort of trouble?”

“No, not at all,” assured Dumbledore. “Would it be possible to come inside and discuss this further?”

The other man flushed and apologized. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t mean to keep you talking on the stoop. Unfortunately, we share a living room with some other families. If you want privacy, we’re better off at the coffee house just down the street. I’m usually able to find a table in a quiet corner at this time of day. You are welcome to join me.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” agreed Dumbledore and the two men walked in silence to the coffee house.

Harry, who had transformed himself into his “father,” was relieved that he had been able to lead Dumbledore away from the house. So, far, his luck was holding. When he had realized that Dumbledore was insistent on meeting his parents, Harry had thought quickly. He knew that he had to gain some time to be able to return to the house, and pretend to be his own father. So, after he was out of Dumbledore’s sight, he had pushed over a number of dustbins, which had rolled around causing a racket. The noise had distracted Dumbledore for the few minutes Harry had needed to run back to the house, using the alleyway that ran behind the home. He had entered through the back door, transformed into Mr. Twist senior, narrowly avoided one of his housemates who was on his way to the kitchen, and opened the front door mere seconds before Dumbledore had knocked.

At the coffee house, Harry was able to procure a quiet table in the corner. He ordered tea for himself and the headmaster. Harry tried to imagine how a parent would behave upon being confronted unexpectedly by his child’s headmaster. But, he had no idea. He decided to let Dumbledore lead the conversation.

“Thank you, Mr. Twist, for taking the time to meet with me. As I said, Mark isn’t in any trouble. Mark is actually one of our better students. I just thought it would be a good idea to meet the parents of such an academically-gifted child.”

Mr. Twist looked disapproving. “I can’t say that I’m that thrilled Mark is so good at…” He looked around to make sure no one was listening and then, lowering his voice, whispered, “magic.”

Dumbledore seemed a bit surprised. “Do you have a problem with the wizarding world?”

“It’s just that it’s so unnatural. But, his mother said that Mark should be allowed to go to the school and learn what they could teach him. After all, he was doing such odd stuff. He might as well learn to control it.”

“What kind of ‘odd stuff’ do you mean?”

“Well, he’d make a book fly across the room. Or, he’d make the lights turn on and off. Just things like that. It would usually happen if Mark were upset.”

“Accidental magic is very common in wizard children, Mr. Twist. It’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

“Hmpf!” Mr. Twist didn’t look too pleased as he sipped his tea.

Cautiously, Dumbledore asked, “Mark didn’t do anything else, did he?”

At Mr. Twist’s puzzled expression, the headmaster continued tentatively, “Did Mark try to make any children obey him, for example? Or threaten to hurt anyone?”

Harry felt his temperature rise. So, this is what Dumbledore’s visit was about. He had been right to think that the headmaster didn’t trust Mark Twist. And, now, the older man was digging into Mark’s background to learn more about him. While part of Harry wanted to tell Dumbledore stories of Mark’s twisted behavior, just to see how the other wizard would react, Harry’s more mature side prevailed. Forcing his voice to a calm tone, he replied, “No. He was always a good boy. A bit quiet, though.”

Dumbledore nodded, looking slightly relieved. “And how are his friends?”

“He doesn’t have many friends. Mark is pretty solitary. I think that’s why he likes this school of his.”

Dumbledore nodded and finished his tea. “Well, Mr. Twist, I wanted to make sure that you realized you can contact me any time if you have anything you need to discuss with me about Mark. Please call this number,” Dumbledore gave him a card. “This will connect you to a routing station that can put you in touch with me. I thank you for your time, sir.”

Dumbledore stood up. Politely, Mr. Twist stood up as well and said, “Thank you for the telephone number. I’ll be sure to call you, if any problems arise. But, everything’s fine now. Thank you for coming to see me. I appreciate the concern.”

“Goodbye.” Dumbledore swept from the coffee house, leaving Mr. Twist behind to enjoy his morning paper.

*

Harry turned Dumbledore’s visit over in his mind again and again. It was clear that the headmaster was very concerned about Mark Twist if he had taken the time to come personally to speak with Mark’s parents. This wasn’t an easy time for Dumbledore, he knew. Hermione had mentioned that the Daily Prophet had had scathing things to say about the Ministry and Dumbledore, when it was learned that Andrew Danirson had been impersonating Harry Potter for almost a year without being discovered. Apparently, the Ministry had redoubled efforts to find Harry, but to no avail. Yet, with all the concern about the missing boy, Dumbledore had still focused some of his attention on Mark Twist.

It was a shame that Dumbledore hadn’t believed him about Sirius’ being innocent. Everyone was worried about the wrong things! They were hunting Sirius Black, not realizing that Peter Pettigrew was the danger and that Voldemort would arise again. And, the last thing Dumbledore needed to worry about was Mark Twist!

Harry spent the rest of his summer working hard. If Voldemort was going to rise again, Harry wanted to be as prepared as possible. He spent time reading as much as he could on all of his subjects, but he missed the power of feeling magic flow through his veins. That thrill of control. Unfortunately, he couldn’t practice any magic during the summer that required a wand, or the Ministry would come down on him for violating the statute prohibiting underage magic. But, he was capable of some wandless magic, most notably his ability to change his appearance and his skill at repelling attempts to read his mind. Harry wondered whether there were any other skills he could master without using a wand. He spent hours trying to lift objects without a wand, but didn’t think he had made any progress. Once in a while he thought an object may have twitched, but it could have been wishful thinking.

Of course, there were certain branches of magic that did not rely on wands at all. But, Harry he didn’t have the laboratory space, specialized ingredients or equipment required for potions. Similarly, the study of herbology or magical creatures was limited without live specimens.

Knowing that his father had been an animagus, Harry spent some time reading about that subject in particular. His initial attempts to transform were unsuccessful, but he vowed to continue trying.

A few weeks before summer break was over, Harry woke up from a terrible dream with his scar throbbing painfully. He sat up gasping in his bed, trying to stifle his moans to avoid waking the other men who shared the room. Before his dream faded in the mists of his mind, Harry tried to remember what he had been dreaming before he awoke.

Peter Pettigrew had been there. While Harry hadn’t seen the person to whom Wormtail was speaking, he shuddered in recollection of the cold, high voice. He would recognize it anywhere:  it was Lord Voldemort’s. He had spoken with Voldemort at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, when the Dark Lord had tried to convince Harry to give him the Philosopher’s Stone hidden in Harry’s pocket at the time. That chilling voice had haunted Harry’s nightmares for weeks. Now, the cold voice had been talking with Wormtail about killing someone. “One more curse…my faithful servant at Hogwarts… It is decided, Wormtail. There will be no more argument.”

A large snake had slithered on the floor in the dark room. An old man Harry didn’t recognize had entered the room and, with a flash of green light that Harry found vaguely familiar, Voldemort had killed him and Harry had woken.

Was it a dream? Harry wanted desperately to believe that it was but he couldn’t quite convince himself. He had been worrying for weeks that Professor Trewlaney’s prediction would come true and his vision seemed to confirm it:  Wormtail was helping Voldemort rise again.

Harry wished that there was someone in whom he could confide. Should he send an anonymous note to Dumbledore, telling him that Voldemort was regaining strength? That seemed foolish. Dumbledore wouldn’t believe an anonymous note and what if there was some spell that enabled Dumbledore to tell who had sent the note? The last thing he wanted was for the headmaster to focus upon Mark Twist again.

After much vacillating, Harry decided to say nothing about his “dream”. He rationalized that the limited information he had wouldn’t actually help Dumbledore or anyone else to do anything. He would wait and see if he learned anything else.

Of more importance, Harry thought, was the fact that he had been able to see what Voldemort was thinking. If, indeed, his vision had been real, then Harry had been viewing the scene from Voldemort’s own eyes. How was he able to do this? Could it be that Harry had some seer talent? He didn’t think so. He had been rubbish in Professor Trewlaney’s class. Besides, this wasn’t a prediction. It felt like he was viewing something happening at that moment. And, if it was some divination ability, why did his scar hurt? No. Harry’s ability to see through Voldemort’s eyes was linked to the scar. What strange link existed between him and Voldemort? Harry shivered. He didn’t like to think that he and Voldemort had any link at all.

With a sinking feeling, Harry suddenly thought of his ability to speak parseltongue. He had avoided thinking about it before, but maybe now was the time to consider the possible explanations for this mysterious talent. He knew he wasn’t the heir of Slytherin. That was Voldemort, as Tom Riddle himself had said when releasing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. But, if Harry was not the heir of Slytherin (and he was mightily glad he was not), how come he could speak parseltongue? Was this, too, attributable to some link with Voldemort? Harry started to feel sick as he considered that he had a link to Voldemort’s mind, with his scar acting as a sort of measuring rod, indicating the strength of the link at that moment in time.

For a number of days following the realization that he had a connection of some sort with Voldemort, Harry feared going to sleep. He felt as if he had a cancerous growth in his head. He had always known he shouldn’t trust other people but now it felt as if he shouldn’t trust himself either. If he was able to see through Voldemort’s eyes, could Voldemort see through his? And, was Voldemort somehow taking possession of Harry, as Tom Riddle’s diary had taken possession of Ginny? After all, Harry was able to speak parseltongue without having learned the language or even being aware that he could speak it. Did this mean that Voldemort had possession of that piece of Harry’s brain where language was processed? What if Voldemort had possession of other pieces of Harry’s brain too?

Eventually, the terror of Harry’s thoughts took so much energy out of the young wizard, he stopped worrying from sheer exhaustion. He felt as he imagined someone might feel who had been given a diagnosis of a terminal illness. At first, there would be terror and denial. A sense of betrayal from one’s own body. But, after a while, the panic would have to subside to give way to the daily need for survival, at least in the short term. He calmed himself with thoughts that he had no reason to believe he was being possessed by Voldemort  -- he hadn’t fallen unconscious and woken up hours later with no recollection of what had passed in the intervening time. Besides, this connection to Voldemort would surely end, Harry assured himself, as soon as he defeated the Dark Lord once and for all.

By the time September 1 came round again, Harry was more than ready to return to school. He was eager to see his friends. But, he was equally eager to throw himself back into his classes. He had an uneasy feeling that he was in a race against time. Even now, somewhere in the world, Voldemort was regaining power and he, Harry, was the only one who knew. His scar had been starting to pain him regularly and he knew that it was warning him that his fears were real.

Harry went to Diagon Alley to gather his school supplies the day before he was to board the Hogwarts Express. He found everyone there speaking of nothing but the Dark Mark that had been cast into the sky at the Quidditch World Cup. Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Had it already started? Voldemort’s rise to power? He worried about Ron. He knew that his friend had been planning to attend the World Cup with his family. He hoped that everyone was okay; he couldn’t wait to see Ron the next day to ask him all about it.

Harry was among the first to arrive at King’s Cross platform 9 ¾ the next day. He had slept the night before at The Leaky Cauldron. He awoke early and made his way to the train station. He knew that most 14 year olds would have found the experience either daunting or exciting. But, Harry was used to living at the boarding house during the summer and he used either public transportation or  taxi cabs all the time. He was easily able to take care of himself.

“Mark!” Harry turned around to see Ron wheeling a cart containing his trunk. Ginny was following close behind, next to Mrs. Weasley and two young men who Harry didn’t recognize. Given their resemblance to the other Weasleys, Harry guessed the men were Ron’s older brothers, Charlie and Bill. Fred and George were off in the distance, talking to their friend, Lee Jordan. Percy had graduated the year before, so there was one less Weasley taking the train this year.

“Hello, everyone,” called Harry, smiling happily to Ron and his family. Ginny smiled back shyly and Mrs. Weasley called back a pleasant greeting.

Harry was introduced to Bill and Charlie, who both shook his hand politely. Harry thought they were fascinating. Charlie was a bit shorter than his brothers but more compact and very strong. He was tanned and had some burns on his forearms, which was an occupational hazard of working with dragons, as Harry recalled Ron telling him was what his second eldest brother did for a living.

Bill, on the other hand, was more suave and cool. He wore with his hair in a ponytail and had a fang earring dangling from his ear. Harry knew that he worked for Gringotts as a curse-breaker. The Weasleys had visited Bill in Egypt the previous year, but Bill had decided to come back to England to work.

“Ron’s told us all about you,” said Bill, smiling.

“Don’t believe a word he says,” responded Harry with a laugh. Looking around, he didn’t see Mr. Weasley, so he asked, “Where’s your father?”

Charlie responded, “He had to help with an emergency that came up just as we were leaving.”

Bill explained, “An old friend of Dad’s, Mad-Eye Moody, attacked some muggles last night and Dad needed to make sure that Mad-Eye doesn’t get into trouble. Mad-Eye is an ex-Auror – that’s a dark wizard catcher. He’s a bit paranoid now that he’s retired and attacked the muggles probably assuming that they were dark wizards in disguise who were trying to kill him or something.”

Charlie finished with, “Anyway, Bill and I said we’d see everyone to the train instead.”

“I heard about the scare at the Quidditch World Cup,” Harry burst out. He couldn’t wait to find out what had happened. “I’m glad you are all alright. Tell me what happened!”

“It was crazy!” said Ron, excitedly. “There were screams everywhere, and tents were on fire. You Know Who supporters were marching in masks, torturing the muggles who ran the camp site we were at. Then, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky and the place went wild. Fred, George and I looked after Ginny, while Dad, Percy, Bill and Charlie went to help the Ministry officials find out who did it.”

Mrs. Weasley looked grave. Ginny added, “It turned out that the house elf of Mr. Crouch, who is the head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation was found near where the spell for the Dark Mark had been cast. He was so angry. He gave her clothes!”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” asked Harry, in confusion.

“Not for Winky! She was very upset. She begged him not to set her free, but Mr. Crouch said that she had disobeyed him by leaving the camp grounds.”

Ron picked up the tale again. “No one could find the person who actually cast the spell. A house elf couldn’t have done it, of course.”

Mrs. Weasley tried to change the subject. “That’s enough about that. I’m sure it was just an isolated event. Some Death Eater who the Ministry will find eventually.”

Harry cast a glance at Bill and Charlie, who didn’t seem to share their mother’s optimism. But, Charlie, understanding that his mother wanted to speak of something else, said, “You’ll have plenty to keep you busy this year at Hogwarts, without worrying about what happened at the World Cup.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Ron.

Charlie just smiled knowingly. “I can’t say. Dumbledore will be telling you shortly. But, I will tell you this: it will be an exciting year for you all.”

Bill echoed the sentiment. “I wish I could be back at Hogwarts this year.”

Ron, Ginny and Harry all exchanged looks, wondering what the others could mean. By now, the station had filled with returning students and Ginny went off to find her friends. Harry boarded the train with Ron to find a compartment. Hermione and Neville Longbottom joined them, and once the trip was underway, the teenagers spent the time discussing the events at the Quidditch World Cup and wondering what could be the exciting secret that Dumbledore would soon be telling them.

When they arrived at Hogsmeade, Harry noticed Cho Chang, a fifth year from Ravenclaw. She glanced at him and smiled. Harry felt a little dip in his stomach. She was so pretty! For the first time since he had adopted his secret identity, Harry wished that he had chosen a more handsome persona. He had made Mark Twist a little plain, thinking that this would help him fade into the background. But, now, he wished that he had thought to make his alter-ego more attractive.

Harry walked into the Great Hall with a feeling of homecoming. He had missed this place so much over the last few months! He enjoyed watching the sorting ceremony and then eagerly tucked into the feast that appeared magically on the tables. He was taken aback to learn, from a chance remark made by the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, that the food had been prepared by house elves. He hadn’t realized that Hogwarts had over a hundred elves in residence.

Hermione was so upset, she refused to eat, but Harry didn’t see how refusing to eat would help the elves. Rather, he made a mental note to see if he could speak with some of the elves and make sure that they were being treated kindly. He remembered all too well how poorly Dobby, the Malfoys’ former house elf, had been treated. He couldn’t imagine that Dumbledore would allow such treatment at Hogwarts. But, he would doublecheck himself.

When the feast was over, Dumbledore rose to give the beginning of year announcements. Harry leaned forward eagerly. Perhaps they would learn the big secret now. But, before Dumbledore could tell them anything important, there was a crash of thunder and a man entered the Great Hall. He was a frightening figure, with a terribly scarred face, a wooden leg, and a blue magical eye where one of his own brown eyes was missing. The magical eye rolled around in its casing, looking in all directions. When the casing went white for a brief moment, Harry suspected that the eye had disappeared around the back, and was able to see out of the back of the stranger’s head.

Dumbledore greeted the man warmly, and gestured him to sit next to him at the staff table. Turning to the students, Dumbledore announced, “May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody.”

Mad-Eye Moody! The ex-Auror Mr. Weasley had gone to help that morning. Fleetingly, Harry wondered what had happened to Lupin. Maybe the man wasn’t well enough to keep teaching. Last year, the professor had seemed to be ill a lot of the time.

Once Mad-Eye had settled into his seat next to Dumbledore, the headmaster resumed his announcement. “It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

The students who were from wizarding families erupted in gasps and cheers. Muggleborn students looked as confused as Harry felt. He listened carefully as, once quiet was restored, Dumbledore explained, “The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The tournament has been discontinued for centuries because the death toll mounted so high. However, we have decided to try the tournament again. The Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games have worked hard over the summer to put in safety features to protect the champions.

“Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be bringing a select group of students to spend the year at Hogwarts. On Halloween, an impartial judge will decide which of these students will represent their school. Any Hogwarts student who is 17 years or older may decide to enter to be Hogwarts’ selection as champion. The champion who wins the tournament will win the Triwizard Cup, glory for their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

The children talked excitedly of the event for the rest of the evening. Harry overheard a number of the students, including Fred and George, planning how they would circumvent the age restriction Dumbledore had mentioned.

Harry enjoyed imagining himself entering the tournament and winning the Cup. But, it was just a daydream. He smiled before falling off to sleep. Be patient, he told himself. After all, he was meant for such glory eventually. The Dursleys may have told him he was worthless all of his life ,but his mother had faith in him. She had known he was born to be a hero. Someday, he would be in front of crowds of people who would be calling his name as the conqueror – for once and for all – of Lord Voldemort. That would be better than the Triwizard Tournament.

*

Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Moody was amazing. The man was seriously frightening and Harry was thankful that Moody was on the “good” side. He didn’t want to have to meet him in a dark alley at night!

In their first class with the ex-Auror, he taught them about the three Unforgivable Curses, any one of which carried a lifetime sentence in Azkaban: the Imperius Curse, used by Voldemort and his Death Eaters to control their victims; the Cruciatus Curse, used to torture people; and Avada Kedavra, also known as the Killing Curse. When Moody demonstrated this last curse, killing a spider, there was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound. The spider keeled over dead.

Moody prodded the spider with his wand and explained, clinically, “There is no mark left with the Avada Kedavra curse. It is instantaneous and completely unblockable. There is only one person ever known to have survived the curse:  Harry Potter.”

Harry ignored the excited muttering issuing throughout the room. He stared intently at the spider but, in his mind, he was seeing a different scene. The green light seemed so familiar. This was how Voldemort had killed that old man in the vision Harry had had during the summer. It was also how his parents had been killed and how Voldemort had tried to kill him when he was a baby.

In the common room, Ron spent a large portion of the night reliving the lesson. “Is Moody cool or what? He really knows his stuff. When he did Avada Kedavra, the way the spider just died, just snuffed it right there. And Harry Potter survived that! Can you imagine? Just a little baby – and that green light went flashing toward him. And, pow! Instead of dying, he gets a scar and You Know Who is gone. I wish I knew how he did it,” said Ron, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You and everyone else,” said Seamus.

Harry kept silent. Ron was talking about the Killing Curse as if it were some exciting story. But, the curse had robbed Harry of his parents and sentenced him to a life apart. He buried himself behind a book, to hide how upset the conversation was making him. He didn’t notice that Neville Longbottom was equally quiet.

*

In his next lesson, Professor Moody informed the class that he would be placing the Imperius Curse on each of them, so that they could see what it felt like and try to resist it. One by one the students were placed under the curse and did whatever Professor Moody directed them to do: quacking like ducks, singing songs, or hopping on one foot. Neville was able to do gymnastic moves he would never have been able to do ordinarily.

When Moody called “Twist,” Harry moved forward. He was worried about what Moody would have him do. Moody pointed his wand at Harry and said, “Imperio!” Harry was vaguely aware that a wave of relaxation was attempting to penetrate his mind. It reminded him of the annoying buzzing he felt when someone tried to read his mind. Reacting in much the same way, he irritably shook his head to make the buzzing stop.

Moody said, “Jump onto the desk…jump onto the desk…”

Harry looked at the teacher in surprise. Why would he jump onto the desk? Was this all there was to the Imperius Curse? Or, had Moody not cast the full strength on him, waiting for Harry to let down his guard before doing his worst?

Moody stared back at Harry in shock. Pointing his wand at the boy, he said in a strong, forceful voice, “Imperio!” Again, Harry was aware of a wave of relaxation that tried to penetrate his mind. It felt as if it were bumping against a wall. “Jump on the desk!” demanded Moody.

Harry stood still and, looking directly into Moody’s eyes, said calmly, “No, I will not.”

Moody lowered his wand and spoke as if to himself. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Never have I met anyone who was so completely unaffected by the Imperius Curse. It’s astonishing.”

The other students were looking at Harry with admiration and a hint of fear. Harry realized, belatedly, that he should have pretended to be affected at least somewhat by the Imperius Curse. Just what he needed! More rumors that Mark Twist was the next Dark Lord!

As he lay in bed that night, Harry wondered why he was able to deflect the Imperius Curse so completely. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that it had to do with his mind’s control over his inner self. He had hidden the real Harry Potter away, behind an invisible barrier in his mind, which he had triggered instinctively when he had left his Aunt’s house. This barrier acted to prevent all external penetration: no mind reading and no Imperius Curse. Only the Sorting Hat had been able to peer inside his head, but that was a magical object designed by the four founders for the sole purpose of looking into students’ minds.  

Harry felt a wave of pride and pleasure. If his guess was right, he had a powerful weapon in his arsenal. Somehow, he had unleashed this power. It was just a shame he didn’t know how he had done it. If he ever learned, he might be able to channel it in other ways as well.

*

The representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived at the school the day before Halloween. Harry joined his classmates in watching the Beaubatons students pull up in front of the school in a flying carriage, harnassed to a team of enormous horses. Almost immediately thereafter, a large ship emerged in the middle of the Dark Lake carrying the Durmstrang contingency. When the Durmstrang students disembarked, there was a surge in excitement as Ron and others recognized one of the boys as Victor Krum, a Quidditch player for the Bulgarian national team. Krum had been the star of the Bulgarian team during the recent World Cup event.

That night, the delegations from the two schools joined the Hogwarts students at dinner. Ron was disappointed that Krum, along with the other Durmstrang students, sat with the Slytherin table. The Beauxbaton students joined Ravenclaw. Ron called Harry’s attention to a particularly pretty Beauxbaton female, who Ron claimed was part-Veela. Harry, turning to look at the girl, caught Cho Chang’s eye. Blushing, he dropped his own eyes back to the Gryffindor table.

Squirming in embarrassment, Harry didn’t notice that the headmaster had stood up until the room became suddenly silent. Looking up in surprise, he saw that Dumbledore had raised his arms to quiet the students. Smiling, he said, “The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start.”

Harry listened intently as Dumbledore explained the rules of the tournament. Harry leaned forward to watch as eagerly as his neighbors when Dumbledore opened a casket and took out a large wooden cup, filled with dancing, blue-white flames. The headmaster explained that anyone wanting to enter the tournament had to place his or her name into the Goblet of Fire before the next night. On Halloween, the Goblet would choose one champion from each school to compete in the tournament.

Dumbledore’s voice became grave as he warned, “I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract.”

When the feast came to an end, Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower, and joined in the speculation as to which student would represent Hogwarts. He hoped that Angelina Johnson, a fellow Gryffindor, would be selected but, secretly thought it was likely that Cedric Diggory, a seventh year Hufflepuff would be the choice.

Harry did not think that Fred and George would be able to submit their names, despite their determination to do so. He was dubious about the success of their plan to overcome the Age Line that Dumbledore had drawn around the Goblet. Sure enough, the next day, when the twins took a drop of an aging potion and crossed the line, it threw them back violently. But, they joined in the laughter of their classmates when they saw the long white beards each had sprouted.

On Halloween night, the excitement in the castle was palpable. Looking around the Great Hall, Harry thought to himself that he was so lucky to be able to attend Hogwarts when the Triwizard Tournament was being held. He had never had such a good time.

Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games, each said some brief words of welcome. Then, the Goblet was brought forward and Dumbledore dimmed the candles in the Hall. Harry shivered in anticipation.

The Goblet shone brightly and its blue flame turned to red. Sparks flew and a piece of parchment fluttered out. Dumbledore caught the parchment and read, “The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum.”

There were cheers for Viktor as he rose from the Slytherin table and went through the door behind the staff table. “No surprises there!” said Ron.

The Goblet turned red again and spat out another piece of parchment. “The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour,” read Dumbledore.

The beautiful girl Ron had pointed out to Harry earlier rose gracefully from her seat and followed Krum through the door behind the staff table. A number of the other Beauxbaton students were sobbing in disappointment.

Silence fell on the Hall as the students held their collective breath. Who would be the Hogwarts champion? The flames of the Goblet turned red again and Dumbledore caught at a third piece of parchment that fluttered into the air. “The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory.”

The Hufflepuff table was cheering so loudly, they didn’t hear Ron’s disappointed, “No!” Cedric was generally popular with the other houses as well, so there was supportive applause throughout the Hall.

Cedric, smiling happily, also disappeared into the side chamber. Dumbledore called for quiet once again and said, “Well, we now have our three champions…”

But, he stopped speaking abruptly when the Goblet turned red once more. Sparks flew and a fourth piece of parchment fluttered into the air. Dumbledore reached for the flying piece of charred parchment and stared at it in silence. After a long pause, he read out, “Mark Twist.”