Nearly

Saturday morning, Harry wakes up with a flinch as something wet and cold drips onto his face. He blinks his eyes open to see a pale, blurry blob hovering over him and groans… Another cold droplet of water hits him on the nose and he turns his face away, curling up… 

”Oh, no you don’t—!”

Suddenly Harry’s bare arms and the back of his neck are showered with a spatter of cold water and he yelps, scrambling frantically to pull the cover over himself. However Draco pulls it right out of his hands and the next thing Harry knows, the blonde has shoved his whole head — wet hair and all — into the crook of his neck. 

”Draco—!” Harry squeaks, trying to squirm away but the other boy clambers on top of him and continues to rub his wet hair all over his neck and face.

”Wake up, already—!”

”Gerroff, you maniac—!”

”Come on, get up, get up, get up—!”

”GET OFF ME—!”

”GET UP!”

Thoroughly awake and with no chance of going back to sleep, even if the other boy would leave him alone, Harry gives up trying to buck him off his back and lets out a final howl of frustration, before going limp under his weight. 

”Are you awake?”

”Yes…” Harry mutters. ”You want to tell me why?”

”It’s Saturday!” Draco says as if it should be obvious. 

Merlin, give me strength, Harry thinks. 

”Harry, it’s Saturday — Hallowe’en — the champions get chosen today!”

”Oh yeah…” Harry says, twisting his upper body around. 

”Now aren’t you glad you have such a thoughtful boyfriend that woke you up early…?” the blurry blob says and although Harry can’t see the smug grin on his face without his glasses on, he can picture it perfectly and barely refrains from sticking his tongue out in response. 

Draco just said boyfriend, he thinks giddily, but forces himself to keep a straight face. 

”So are you going to let me up?”

”Are you actually going to get up?”

”Do I get a good morning kiss if I do…?”

”You’re incorrigible”, Draco mutters, but climbs off him and sits back.

Harry twists all the way around until he’s lying on his back and smiles in the general direction of the blob. It moves closer again and gives him a peck on the cheek, before clambering off the bed entirely. 

”Come on… I want to see who puts their name in the Goblet…”

”They probably all did it last night, though”, Harry says, heaving himself up to sitting and reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. 

”The Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons maybe, but anyone from Hogwarts would have had to wait until this morning because of the curfew.”

”I suppose…” 

When they reach the Entrance Hall, it becomes clear that they’re not the only ones curious about any potential contestants; over twenty people seem to have congregated around the Goblet of Fire… But when they get closer, Harry realises that the focus of everyone’s attention isn’t the Goblet at all, but something about ten feet away from it… They can hear gasps and guffaws from the small audience, and soon the entire Entrance Hall is ringing with laughter. 

”What’s going on?” Harry asks Draco who stands on tip-toe and cranes his neck to get a better look. 

”I did warn you…” a deep, amused voice says from above them. 

The crowd turns around and Harry and Draco move further into the hall and look up to see Professor Dumbledore standing on the first landing of the marble staircase. As some of the students move out of the way, Harry and Draco finally get a glimpse of the Weasley twins and Harry lets out an incredulous chuckle at the sight of them: both twins have magically sprouted long, white beards. 

”I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey”, Dumbledore says kindly. ”She is already tending to Miss Fawcett of Ravenclaw and Mr Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little, too… Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours!”

The twins set off for the Hospital Wing, accompanied by their friend Lee Jordan, all three of them still laughing hysterically. Harry and Draco watches them pass, Harry grinning and Draco snorting derisively (although Harry did see the corner of his mouth twitch.)

They walk into the Great Hall to find it dramatically transformed — yet again — since the night before, the decorations for the Welcoming Feast now switched to hundreds of carved pumpkins, intricate tree branches with leaves in glowing orange, red and yellow and a massive cloud of live bats fluttering around the beams in the enchanted ceiling. 

Seamus, Blaise and Theodore are already seated at the Slytherin table chatting excitedly with parts of the Quidditch team. 

”Did you do it?” Harry asks Flint and Warrington eagerly.

”Cassius did”, Flint says, nodding across the table at Warrington. 

”What about you?” Harry says. 

”Nah, can’t be bothered…” the older boy says casually. 

Harry catches the quick look he exchanges with Adrian Pucey however and thinks the other boy might have had something to do with the Team Captain’s change of heart. He knows better than to comment on it though… Eager to get back out into the Entrance Hall, he wolfs down some scrambled eggs and bacon, barely chewing, just washes it all down with pumpkin juice, much to Draco’s disgust.

”What?” Harry says, around his last mouthful and Draco scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ”You’re the one who wanted to check out the Goblet of Fire!”

The day goes by surprisingly quickly, but almost as if making up for that, the Hallowe’en feast seems to drag on forever instead. And being the second feast in as many days, none of the students are all that impressed by the extravagant dishes put before them this time around, but rather more interested in the Goblet of Fire that is now standing in front of Dumbledore on the Head Table, its blue and white flames dancing almost hypnotically… Harry finds his gaze drawn to them over and over, even as he tries to focus on the conversations going on around him instead, even though they’re half-hearted at best. 

Harry isn’t the only distracted. As soon as the students have polished off their puddings, more and more people take to craning their necks and glaring restlessly at Dumbledore who, annoyingly enough, is taking his sweet time finishing his sundae. 

Finally, the golden plates on the tables in front of them are magically switched to sparkling clean ones and the murmur in the Great Hall rises to an excited buzz, that dies down instantly as Professor Dumbledore stands up and smiles down at them all, his eyes twinkling more than ever behind his half-moon spectacles. 

On either side of him, Karkaroff and Madam Maxime sit up a little straighter, which is slightly more impressive in Madam Maxime’s case since — despite still sitting down — it makes her almost level with Dumbledore. 

”Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision”, Dumbledore says happily. 

Further dowm the Head Table, Ludo Bagman grins jovially and winks at various students, whereas Barty Crouch looks almost bored with the proceedings, Harry notices. He keeps looking off to the side as though wishing to escape, snapping back to himself when Bagman claps him on the shoulder to give the other man an unimpressed and almost tense look. 

”When the Champions’ names are called”, Dumbledore continues. ”I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table and go through into the next chamber where they will be given their first instructions…”

Dumbledore then takes out his wand and with one sweeping movement he extinguises all the candles in the Hall except for the ones inside the carved pumpkins, lending a spooky quality to the already charged atmosphere… If Harry had found it hard to look away from the blue and white flames inside the Goblet of Fire before, it’s literally impossible now. Even as the bright light stings his eyes, he can’t bring himself to tear them away. 

Then just as he thought he might go blind from this whole experience, the flames inside the Goblet suddenly turns a dark crimson instead and as sparks fly out of the Goblet there’s a collective intake of breath inside the Hall and several people begin to whisper excitedly to each other. 

A long flame bursts up from the Goblet and a charred piece of paper flutters through the air. Harry follows its movement as though hypnotised and gasps as Dumbledore snatches it with Seeker-like reflexes. 

”The champion from Durmstrang”, he reads in a clear voice. ”Will be Viktor Krum.”

There’s an uproar of cheering and applause. Harry turns to grin at the Durmstrang boy sitting a few seats over and claps his hands enthusiastically, amused to see that not even this has managed to crack the older boy’s stone-faced facade. Krum rises to his feet silently and makes his way to the front of the Hall as instructed and disappears through the door to the adjoining chamber without so much as a smirk. 

The Goblet of Fire, having returned to its original white-blue hue after spitting out Krum’s name, now turns crimson again. 

”The champion for Beauxbatons”, Dumbledore reads from the second piece of paper snatched from the air. ”Is Fleur Delacour!”

A slim girl with heavy-lidded pale blue eyes rises gracefully from her seat at the Ravenclaw table and flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder before making her way to the front of the Hall. Madam Maxime gives her a motherly smile before she too slips through the side door and disappears. 

The applause dies down immediately as the Goblet of Fire turns crimson again. The sparks seem bigger and more frantic now, as if the Goblet itself is caught up in the enthusiasm in the Great Hall. A tongue of flame shoots up and the third piece of paper flutters out of it, only to be snatched up by Dumbledore’s nimble fingers.  

”The Hogwarts champion”, Dumbledore calls out. ”Is Cedric Diggory!”

Harry feels a sinking sense of disappointment, but claps his hands dutifully. Some of his fellow Slytherins promptly puts their hands in their laps in pure protest however and simply glower at the grinning Hufflepuff, and even the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws applause is lukewarm, but it’s barely even noticeable as every single person at the Hufflepuff table jumps to their feet and shout themselves hoarse, clapping furiously and stamping their feet so loudly Dumbledore’s shouted ”Excellent” is barely audible. 

As Diggory disappears through the side door, the noise finally dies down again and the Hufflepuffs resume their seats. 

”Well, now that we have our three champions, I’m sure I can count on all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give them every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —”

Dumbledore stops speaking suddenly, and stares in apprehension at Goblet of Fire… It’s turned crimson once more. Sparks are spitting out of it. A long flame surges out of its depth. And finally a charred piece of paper flutters through the air… Every eye in the Hall follows its decent to the floor at Dumbledore’s feet. 

The flames inside the Goblet of Fire turns back to blue, then white, then die down completely leaving the Great Hall in an even darker, orange glow than before with the many leering pumpkins around the Hall being the only source of light in the darkness.

Moving slowly, as if in a trance, Dumbledore stoops down and plucks the piece of paper from the floor and flourishing his wand, almost as an aftert-thought, reigniting every floating candle in the Hall. Students and teachers alike exchange looks of confusion and apprehension as Dumbledore holds the paper up to his face and reads it silently. 

”Ehm, Dumbledore —?” Ludo Bagman says uncertainly, his grin twitching nervously. 

Dumbledore looks up again and his eyes flit over to the Slytherin table. 

”Harry Potter…”

Harry blinks, giving his head a small shake. He misheard, he tells himself numbly. I must have. There’s no way. No. Absolutely not. 

Even as every single head turns to stare at him, he tells himself no. There’s a mistake. Just no. 

”Harry Potter!”

Draco rounds on him and pins him with an alarmed look, but Harry just shakes his head calmly to reassure him because, after all, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Because it’s a mistake. Must be. 

There’s a ripple of whispers through the Hall. Harry watches Professor Snape stand and sweep over to Dumbledore and whisper urgently in his ear. Dumbledore nods, but gesture for the younger professor to wait. He looks over at Harry again, his eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. 

”Harry Potter, will you come up here, please?”

”Harry, you have to go up there”, Seamus whispers. 

”No!” Draco whispers back furiously. 

”Harry Potter! Up here, please!” Dumbledore’s booming voice echoes around the Hall.

Aware of every single eye following him, Harry walks up the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables as though moving through a dream. He feels sick to the stomach, but in a way he welcomes the sensation. It gives him something to focus on. Something real. Something he can comprehend. 

Snape meets him at side door and more or less pushes him through it. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, he grabs Harry by the arm and steers him off to the side. Harry just has time to notice the curious faces of the three champions at the other end of the chamber before Snape fixes him with his flashing, dark eyes.

”Did you put your name in that goblet, Harry?” he asks quietly.

”No…” Harry says numbly. 

”Did you ask an older student to do it for you? Tell the truth — I won’t be angry—”

”No… Professor, I swear—!” 

For a second Snape’s eyes seem to bore into Harry’s mind. The door slides open again behind them, but Harry can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Snape’s. 

”Extraordinary!” he hears Ludo Bagman exclaim. ”Absolutely extraordinary!”

Finally, Snape loosens his grip on Harry’s arm and takes a step back from him, his entire face shuttering. Harry is seized by an overwhelming panic, sure that the Potions Master thinks he’s lying and he opens his mouth to speak, to convince him, to plead for his trust — but before he can utter so much as a sound, the door opens for a second time and the chamber is filled with noise as a whole group of people enter. 

Dumbledore and Barty Crouch walk with their heads close together, whispering seriously. They’re closely followed by Professor Karkaroff and Madam Maxime who are both trying to get Dumbledore’s attention. Professor McGonagall is bringing up the rear, looking more stern-faced than ever. 

”What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?”

”Two Hogwarts champions—?”

”C’est impossible—!”

”Also, we were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants—”

Professor McGonagall slams the door shut with a little more force than strictly necessary. Karkaroff and Madam Maxime both turn to give her withering looks but fall silent finally. Barty Crouch fingers his moustache nervously and clears his throat, drawing the attention of every person in the room.

”The rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament.”

”Then I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students”, Karkaroff exclaims. ”You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions! It’s only fair—!”

”But Karkaroff”, Ludo Bagman says with a half-chuckle that does nothing to appease the furious man. ”The Goblet of Fire has already gone out. It won’t reignite until the start of the next Tournament —”

”In which Durmstrang most definitely won’t participate!” the man hollers, showering the former Quidditch player with spittle as he gets in his face. ”After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave right now —!”

”Empty threats, Karkaroff”, a growling voice says and everyone turns around to see Moody standing inside the door, leaning heavily on his staff. ”You’re not going to abandon your champion, and he has to compete. They all have to compete. Binding magical contract, remember? Convenient, eh?”

”Convenient?” Karkaroff spits. ”Vat is that supposed to mean, Mad-Eye—?”

”Now, now, gentlemen…” Dumbledore says calmly. ”This is hardly the time and place… Our four champions await their first instructions —”

”But I don’t want to compete!” Harry blurts out finally. 

Everyone turns to stare at him in varying degrees of shock and incredulity, as if it never actually occurred to either one of them that that might be the case, except for Snape who’s eyes are still shuttered. Harry swallows thickly, giving his head a small shake. 

”I didn’t put my name in the Goblet”, he says, aware of how desperate he sounds. 

”A likely ztory”, Madame Maxime mutters.

”I didn’t”, Harry says hoarsely. ”It’s a mistake. So… I’m not competing.”

A look of mild pain flickers into Professor Dumbledore’s face and he looks over at Snape, who immediately gives him a nod. 

”He’s telling the truth”, he says quietly. 

”Hah!” Karkaroff says. 

”Severus…” Dumbledore says. ”I’m sure Harry would feel better if his guardians were here. Would you…?”

Nodding curtly, Snape strides out of the room. As soon as he’s gone, it’s as if Harry isn’t even in the chamber anymore. Dumbledore asks McGonagall to walk Diggory to his Common Room and then turns to Madame Maxime and Karkaroff and politely asks for their patience while they try and sort everything out. 

”Come, Viktor!” Karkaroff says and storms out of the chamber, sneering at Moody as he shoves past him. 

Madam Maxime puts one of her massive hands on top of her student’s shoulder and the girl seems to buckle slightly under it. Without as much as a good night to the people remaining in the chamber, they make their way out the door as well. 

”Well, this is quite… quite extraordinary…” Ludo Bagman says, bouncing nervously on his feet. 

His eyes keeps flitting over to Harry, the only sign that Harry is in fact still visible… Both Barty Crouch and Dumbledore stand silently on either end of the chamber, both lost in thought. 

Harry turns to look at Professor Moody, still lurking in the shadows by the door. He imagines feeling the sharp gaze of the magical eye on him. 

”Scared, Potter…?” the man growls. 

Harry swallows several times, but the growing lump in his throat won’t budge so he just gives his head a non-committal shake. 

”I’d consider yeh a fool if you weren’t…”

He hears hurried footsteps approaching on the other side of the door and in the next moment it flies open with such force that Harry almost expects it to come off its hinges. Jumping back, he stares in shock as his daddy storms inside the chamber, followed by a very wary Professor Snape. 

Remus’ eyes are flashing dangerously and they zero in on Professor Dumbledore at once. 

”You can get right on to telling me there’s been a mistake and then apologise for the inconvenience, Albus…” he growls. ”Because I know you did not just enter my son into the Triwizard Tournament!”

Without tearing his eyes away from the older man, Remus’ hand flies out to clutch Harry’s shoulder as if needing the physical reminder that he’s there and okay. The weight of his daddy’s warm hand sends Harry plummeting back into himself and anchors him. 

Remus swiftly turns on Snape, who immediately flinches back. 

”I’m not going to bite, Severus”, Remus grits out angrily. ”I merely want an explanation as to how my son has been put in mortal danger yet again, when you specifically assured me only last summer that you would do your outmost to make sure that he wouldn’t be—!”

”Daddy, it’s not Professor Snape’s fault”, Harry says in a small voice. ”He didn’t put my name in that cup…”

”The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract—” Barty Crouch starts but stutters to a stop and holds his briefcase out in front of him like some kind of shield as Remus rounds on him furiously. 

”He is a minor!”

”N-Nevertheless”, Crouch insists firmly, although a light sheen of sweat has broken out over forehead.

”Nevertheless?” Remus demands incredulously. ”Nevertheless? He is a minor! That means he cannot enter into a magical contract without his legal guardian’s consent! Well guess what, you don’t have it—!”

”Mister Black, I assure you — quite safe —”

Harry frowns and looks between Barty Crouch and his daddy, then glances over at Snape in confusion but his Head of House seems just as confused as him as to why the Ministry Official would assume his daddy is Sirius.

”Safe? Safe—?” Remus repeats hysterically. 

”Now, let us take a moment to just consi—” Dumbledore interrupts gently. 

”Don’t you dare, Dumbledore!” Remus hollers. ”Don’t you fucking dare! Harry is not competing in this Tournament! — NO! STOP! — there’s nothing to discuss, nothing to consider — You are not manipulating this to your advantage, Dumbledore — HE IS JUST A BOY! AND YOU WILL FIX THIS, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

”Please, Mister Black—” Mr Crouch says in a small voice, clutching his briefcase a little tighter to his chest.

”I’m not Sirius Black!” Remus snaps. ”He’s my husband. He doesn’t give consent either. This whole thing is ridiculous. Harry is fourteen years old. Fourteen. And for you to stand there and look me in the eye and seriously tell me that it is quite safe—!” 

Remus voice breaks and he closes his eyes as if in pain and takes a deep breath.

Harry quickly moves over to him and nestles into his side. Remus’ arm instinctively curls around his back and hugs him closer, even as he opens his eyes and fixes the now terrified-looking Mister Crouch with a cold stare. 

”You’re telling me that there is no way of removing Harry from this competition?”

”I’m — I’m s-sorry, no —”

”Fine”, Remus says in a clipped tone. ”Then I guess Harry will have to stay in the competition… And then he’ll just have to forfeit each of the tasks as they present themselves, because there is no way my son’s life will be put in jeopardy as long as I have anything to say about it… Are you going to challenge that, Albus?” he adds sharply. 

He turns sharply to the Headmaster again. The old wizard hangs his head as if having been caught out, but quickly shakes his head and peers up at Remus with almost sad eyes. 

”I would never dream of undermining your authority as someone with Harry’s best interest at heart, Remus”, he says seriously. ”But I implore you to take a moment and think about this, talk it over with Sirius… I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say I’m deeply concerned about this turn of events and harbour no doubts as to the intentions of whomever put Harry’s name into the Goblet of Fire…”

”What do you mean?” Remus says hoarsely. 

His vice-like grip on Harry tightens further and Harry winces in pain, but no-one notices. 

”Only a very powerful witch or wizard could have hoodwinked a magical object like the Goblet of Fire”, Moody says quietly. 

Everyone’s eyes flit over to the shadowed corner where he’s still standing. The air feels dense around them suddenly. Harry feels it seep into his lungs, but instead of filling them with oxygen it seems to weigh them down.

”I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category. To make the Goblet of Fire forget only three schools were competing would have required an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm… That’s a great risk to take just to give Hogwarts an advantage in the competition.”

”That’s enough, Alastor”, Dumbledore says. 

”I’m just saying…” Moody mutters.

”Yes…” Dumbledore turns back to Remus with imploring eyes. ”But for exactly that reason—”

”You want to offer my son up as bait, Dumbledore?” Remus growls. 

”He will have protection”, Dumbledore insists. ”I will personally make sure that he’s safe, as will Severus—”

”That’s not good enough—”

”I appreciate your apprehension about the consequences of Harry participating in these tasks, but have you considered the consequences of not letting him?”

”What — What do you mean?”

”If so obviously thwarted, the person responsible for entering Harry into the Tournament might panic and resort to other, desperate measures…”

No-one speaks for a long time and the atmosphere of the room continues to cool until Harry almost expects to see everyone’s breath start to fog. 

Finally Remus looks down at Harry. The pained glint in his daddy’s eyes makes Harry’s stomach flip. He doesn’t say anything, just hugs Harry a little closer and then looks over at Professor Snape. A brief conversation seems to pass silently between the two men and Harry looks between them anxiously. 

”Harry, go with Professor Snape…” Remus says finally. 

”Where?” Harry asks immediately. 

”Come on, Harry”, Snape says. 

The softness in his voice makes Harry wince; there is nothing soft about Professor Snape — ever — and Harry doesn’t want there to be, especially now. Because that means this whole situation is irrevocably real and also very serious, so serious that even Snape is worried for him. 

”I’ll walk you to your dormitory…”

Harry gives Remus a last, desperate look, but obediently steps out of his embrace when Snape curls a gentle hand around his elbow and guides him towards the door. 

”Wait…” Remus says as an after-thought. ”You might need this…”

He slips a note into Harry’s hand, except it’s not a note, it’s the Marauder’s Map. Harry gives his daddy a surprised look, but Remus just looks back at Dumbledore and Crouch. Snape pulls on Harry’s arm again and they leave the room. 

They walk in silence, Snape’s hand sliding up to rest between Harry’s shoulder blades and Harry knows he’s trying to be comforting, but it just makes him feel so much worse. He’s seen Snape sneer at third-degree burns and roll his eyes at accidentally altered body parts. If the man is being this nice and comforting, it can only mean one thing… I’m in serious trouble!

Draco is waiting anxiously just inside the door to the Common Room when they enter. His eyes are a little red, but Harry can’t see any traces of tears on his face anymore. 

”What happened?” he says, looking desperately between Harry and Professor Snape. ”Did you sort it out?”

Harry just shakes his head, not trusting his voice to speak at the moment. 

”What do you mean no?” Draco demands shrilly, glaring back at him. ”You’re not competing! You’re not allowed! Professor, tell him—!”

”Draco…”

”No! It’s against the rules, you can’t let him—!”

”Draco”, Snape snaps. ”There’s nothing we can do… If chosen by the Goblet of Fire to be a champion of the Triwizard Tournament—”

”But he’s underage! He’s—!”

Draco cuts himself off, his widening eyes flitting back to Harry’s face. Harry just continues to shake his head silently, even as tears well up in his eyes and blur everything in front of him. He hears Snape let out a rare sigh, before the man’s hand finds itself to the hollow between his shoulderblades one more time, just rests there for a second before falling away again. 

”It’s been a long evening”, Snape says quietly. ”I suggest you go to bed, both of you. We’ll figure everything out in the morning…”

As Harry and Draco walk through the Common Room, a hush spreads amongst the many Slytherins still hanging around and Harry feels their eyes on him like so many searchlights but no-one says anything and Harry is glad. He doesn’t think he can face all of their questions right now. He just wants to go to bed and hopefully, by the time he wakes up the adults will have come up with a way for him to avoid competing in the Tournament. Or better still, he’ll wake up and realise this was all one long, detailed nightmare…

Draco more or less ushers Harry inside the dorm and then shuts the door with a definitive click. He then rounds on Harry and demands to know the truth.

”Moody reckons someone put a Confundus Charm on the Goblet of Fire and put my name in…”

The words are falling out of Harry’s mouth as if of their own accord. It’s like he’s hearing them from somewhere else, someone else. He’s hyper aware of Draco’s wide eyes boring into him, but he can’t bring himself to meet them, not fully. Instead he stares at the other boy’s mouth. His lips are pressed thin and trembling slightly. It makes everything feel worse, more real. 

”They called my daddy, he came right through and — he was livid — he was screaming at Dumbledore and Crouch…”

”And?” Draco says breathlessly, his voice aquiver with hope that makes Harry want to smash something to pieces. 

”And nothing”, he says bitterly. ”It didn’t change a thing. There’s nothing they can do—”

”There has to be!”

”—There’s nothing anyone can do! — No! — You’re not listening to me! NO-ONE CAN HELP! I HAVE TO DO THIS—!”

Draco lurches forward and wraps his arms around him. Only then does it dawn on Harry that he’s shaking and tears are streaming down his face. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he clutches the material of the back of Draco’s robes and thrusts his face against the hollow of this neck. And when the other boy hushes him and starts rubbing his back gently, it’s like Harry’s last restraint snaps and he melts into the embrace. 

He’s vaguely aware of the creaking of the door opening behind them, but he’s too far gone to care, sobbing freely and smearing hot tears and snot all over Draco’s collar as the other boy’s arm hug him tighter. It’s nothing like the pressure of Remus’ arms around him, but it’s enough to hold him together…

”It’s going to be okay”, Draco whispers fiercely. 

*

Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch stays at the castle for the remainder of the weekend, summoning Harry and the other three champions to a meeting in the Headmaster’s Office to officially give them their instructions for the first task of the Tournament. 

Although ’instructions’ is definitely misleading, Harry thinks. Barty Crouch informed them that the first task will be taking place on the twenty-fourth of November, but the only thing he told them about the actual task was that he wasn’t going to tell them anything about the task, because apparently ”courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…”

Finally he tells them all sternly that they’re not permitted to ask for or accept any kind of help from any of their teachers. 

In the following days Harry suffers through a passive-aggressive anti-Harry campaign from the other Hogwarts Houses — and the visiting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons don’t seem too happy with him either — but at least Harry’s friends are on his side, keeping close to him and acting as buffers between him and the rest of the school. 

Even Crabbe and Goyle have taken to cracking their knuckles threateningly whenever someone says something rude to him. 

And the girls reluctantly stop fawning over Cedric Diggory in public as a show of support to the Slytherin champion, which surprises Harry more than anything. He wonders if Draco has talked to Pansy finally, because the girl is obviously making an effort to be nicer to him and he’s almost disproportionately relieved about that. Mostly because it means that there is at least one place at the school where he can relax besides the dormitory, even if it is the Common Room…

Professor Snape seems to have had enough of the tensions in the school, because he stalks around looking more grim than ever and snatching any and every opportunity to snap at the students. So when Ludo Bagman sticks his head through the door of the Potions classroom without knocking, the atmosphere in the room freezes over quicker than the ground in a Dementor’s wake. 

”Hey ho, Severus!” Bagman calls out jovially and tops it off with a wink. 

Snape glowers at him, the effect hightened by the dramatic swirls of potion fumes in the air.

”Mind if I borrow Harry for the Wand Weighing ceremony?” Bagman asks, seemingly oblivious to the fact that if looks could kill he’d already be cold on the ground. ”Also Rita Skeeter is here from the Daily Prophet and want to take some photogr—”

”Fine!” Snape snaps. ”Harry! Go with Mr Bagman!”

”Yes, Sir…” Harry mumbles. 

He grabs his book bag and shuffles out of the door, falling into step with Bagman and wincing slightly when the older wizard claps him on the shoulder. 

”Well, this is exciting, isn’t it, Harry? The fourth champion! And only fourteen years old — golly, imagine the odds! — I mean! — Who would have thought it?” he clears his throat carefully. ”And you’ll be fine, won’t you, Harry? From what I’ve been told you’ve got quite used to adventures, haven’t you, eh?”

”Yes, Sir”, Harry mumbles. 

”Your Head of House is a little high-strung, eh?” 

Clapping Harry twice more on the back, Mr Bagman chortles merrily like he’s just told a hilarious joke. Harry reins in the scowl on his face and just mutters another Yes, Sir. 

They reach the ground floor and Bagman steers Harry towards a classroom door. Inside the three other champions are already waiting for them, Miss Delacour and Diggory standing off to one side talking quietly with each other while Krum stands in a corner on the opposite side of the room, looking particularly moody but perking up slightly when Harry and Mr Bagman enter. 

”Here we are!” Bagman exclaims happily. ”The fourth champion! Now, who else are we missing? Ah, yes, the other judges of course — they’ll be here any minute now, don’t worry! — Harry, may I introduce you to Rita Skeeter, writer for the Daily Prophet?”

A blonde witch Harry hadn’t noticed at first, steps out from the shadows, trailed by a bored-looking wizard holding a smoking camera. She is wearing magenta robes and horn-rimmed glasses and her lips, smiling widely at Harry as she extends a well-manicured hand for him to shake, are painted blood red. He shakes her hand quickly, feeling slightly perturbed by the intensity of her unwavering and unblinking gaze as it rests on his face. 

”Lovely… Mr Bagman, I wonder…” she murmurs, still without tearing her eyes away from Harry. ”Could I perhaps have a quick word with Harry before we start? The youngest champion — the fourth champion — you know, to add a splash of colour to the piece?”

”What a marvellous idea!” Mr Bagman exclaims. ”You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”

”Er…”

”Excellent—!” Ms Skeeter says and grips Harry’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip and pulls him out of the room again. ”Come along, let’s find somewhere a little more quiet… Ah, here we are, nice and cosy, what do you say?”

Harry stumbles slightly as she pushes him into a broom cupboard before squeezing in next to him, her bulging bossom level with his face and making him feel hot and clammy. He squirms away from her as much as physically possible in the cramped space, but not wanting to appear rude he gives her a pinched smile. 

”You won’t mind if I use a Quick-Quote Quill, will you, dear?” she asks sweetly, opening her handbag and pulling out a long green quill and a roll of parchment. ”It leaves me free to talk to you normally, you see…”

”Fine”, he mumbles. ”I don’t care…”

”Lovely…” she simpers, then turns to the quill now poised above the parchment. ”Testing… my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.”

As Harry cranes his neck and looks down at the quill it begins to flutter frantically, scribbling on the parchment, ”Attractive, blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations…”

”

”Lovely”, Ms Skeeter says again and Harry snaps back to her face politely. ”So, Harry… what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

”Er —” 

The quill has begun its frantic scribbling once more. Harry can hear the scratch of it as it soars over the parchment. Glancing down quickly, he can make out the beginning of the next sentence, ”An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face…”

”Just ignore the quill”, Ms Skeeter says sharply. 

”Sorry”, Harry mumbles quickly and looks up at her again. 

”So, what made you decide to enter the Tournament, Harry?”

”I didn’t”, Harry says.

”Come now, Harry… I know you weren’t really supposed to, but you’ve got away with it, haven’t you? You don’t need to worry about getting into trouble, so tell me the truth…”

”That is the truth”, Harry says firmly. 

”Now, now, Harry… I get it, I do. You’re worried about your reputation. But let me let you in on a little secret… Our readers love a rebel”, she says in a hushed voice, then gives him a slow wink. ”Speaking of which, how do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous? Concerned?”

”Y-Yeah I…”

”Champions have died in the past, haven’t they? Have you thought about that at all?”

”Ehm…”

”Of course you’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you?” she says offhandedly, but her gaze remains intense and pinned on his, catching his every blink and every muscle-twitch in his face. ”Do you think that it was the trauma of your past that made you keen to prove yourself in this Tournament? To live up to your name?”

”What?”

”How do you think your parents would feel if they knew you were competing? Proud? Worried? Angry?”

”They do know”, Harry bites out. 

The witch blinks in surprise and the quill stops whizzing across the parchment for the first time. But as realisation filters into Ms Skeeter’s eyes, it starts up again, scribbling even more frantically than before. 

”Ah, yes, of course… Do forgive me… You were raised by your parents’ friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, isn’t that right?”

”Yes”, Harry says shortly, glaring at the quill, but before he can get a look at what it’s written, the parchment angles away. 

”Yes, of course… And is it on their insistance that you call them your parents or are they, to your mind, in fact your true parents?”

”What?” Harry says icily. ”What kind of a question is that?”

”Do you remember your biological parents?” Ms Skeeter ploughs on swiftly.

”No —”

”But you know they gave their lives to save yours?”

”Yeah, but —”

”Do you then think perhaps that it might be perceived as ungrateful that you—”

”I don’t want to talk about this anymore!” Harry snaps, heart pounding in anger inside his tight chest. 

Suddenly the door of the broom cupboard flies open and, blinking in the sudden sunlight, they both turn to see Professor Dumbledore standing outside, peering at them curiously over his half-moon spectacles and smiling serenely. 

Rita Skeeter snatches up the The Quick-Quote Quill and parchment and quickly stuffs them back into her handbag, before she extends her hand to Dumbledore with a brilliant smile. 

”Dumbledore! It’s been an age! I hope you saw my piece on the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference this past summer?”

”Ah yes”, Dumbledore says and shakes her hand. ”It was enchantingly nasty. I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat…”

Harry stares in shock between the Headmaster’s twinkling eyes and Ms Skeeter’s unwavering grin. 

”I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street—”

”I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita”, Dumbledore interrupts with a cordial little bow. ”But I’m afraid it will have to wait. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannor do so if one of our champions is hidden away in a broom cupboard…”

His twinkly eyes flicker over to Harry and the smile softens slightly. 

”Are you ready, Harry?”

Harry frowns, but nods and hurries out of the broom cupboard and back into the classroom. While they’ve been gone, more desks have been cleared from the centre of the room and a few of them have been lined up at the back of the classroom and covered in velvet drapes and turned into a provisional judges panel behind which four of the five judges are already sitting. 

Harry quickly looks around and sees the other three champions seated closer to the door and quickly pulls up a chair for himself next to Krum. He clasps his hands together tightly in his lap to stop them from trembling. Torrents of anger are still coursing through his body. He feels Krum’s sidelong look, but keeps staring at his own hands. 

Dumbledore joins the other judges and then introduces Mr Ollivander the wand-maker, who proceeds to inspect the champions’ wands. He looks exactly like the last time Harry met him in his wand shop in Diagon Alley, with watery pale eyes and tufty white hair. And just like that time, he gives Harry the creeps. 

After all of their wands have been inspected satisfactorily, Rita Skeeter and her photographer start arranging the champions and the judges for the photos to go with the article, which takes a lot longer than Harry would ever have imagined. 

First there is the matter of logistics, with Madam Maxime being so much taller than everyone else she seem to cast at least half of the others into shadow whereever she stands and also there isn’t enough space in the classroom to allow the photographer to back far enough away to get all of her in the shot. Finally, they decide to have her seated in the middle of the shot, with everyone else standing around her.

Secondly, the photographer keeps dragging Fleur Delacour to the front of the group, but Ms Skeeter immediately jumps in and rearranging them so that Harry has the more prominent position. 

Lastly, she insists on separate shots of all the champions, before they’re free to leave. 

Harry can’t get away from it all fast enough. He’s aware of Krum approaching him through the corner of his eye, but pretends not to have noticed and slips out of the classroom as soon as he’s able. He just needs to get away from it all. Especially Rita Skeeter and her unwavering smile that doesn’t quite reach her piercing blue eyes. 

His mind keeps flashing back to the questions she asked him and every time he remembers a particular one, or the way her eyes bored into him almost hungrily as she waited for him to spill his inner most thoughts and feelings, his anger spikes again… 

Despite his stomach growling with hunger, Harry doesn’t think he can deal with everyone’s looks and jibes on top of everything else right now so he decides to skip dinner in the Great Hall. But when he’s halfway to the Common Room, he remembers his daddy showing him the secret entrance to the Hogwarts Kitchens and takes a detour. 

Dobby the house-elf is delighted to see him again and despite being in the middle of the dinner rush, he takes a moment and fixes a sandwich for Harry to take to the Common Room and that’s where Draco, Blaise and Seamus finds him an hour later. 

”There you are!” Draco says and shoves him lightly in the chest as he plops down on the sofa next to him. ”Don’t disappear like that!”

”I didn’t disappear…” Harry mutters and shoves him back. 

”What’s wrong?” Draco asks seriously. 

”Nothing… I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

If Harry had hoped a good night’s sleep (or even a restless one), would make him feel better and maybe even put things into perspective for him, he’s in for a big disappointment… Even before he sees the paper, he knows something’s wrong the minute he and his friends step inside the Great Hall. 

Every head turn to stare at him as he enters. People are pointing and whispering, some aren’t even whispering but making comments and quoting the article loud enough for him to ’overhear’ them when he walks past, but he pretends not to. 

One of the Daily Prophet’s delivery owls swoops down from the rafters as soon as Draco sits down at the Slytherin table and drops a rolled up copy of the day’s issue into his empty porridge bowl, then sticks out its leg with the money bag tied to it. Draco pushes a Knut into it and the owl takes flight again. 

Harry watches disquietly as the blonde onrolls the newspaper, his stomach already in knots as his mind begins to race with possibilities of what that horrid witch and her quill might have cooked up together. 

His worst fears are almost immediately confirmed when Draco flattens the paper on top of the table and they can see that, except for the headline, the whole front page is taken up by a large photograph of a frowning Harry, trying to move out of the shot but being pushed back in by a couple of mannish hands with long, sharp nails. Harry remembers those nails digging into his arm. He was even left with four small bruises as a souvenir. 

Draco quickly begins to scan the article on page two and tells Harry it isn’t so bad, it’s mostly about the Triwizard Tournament even though the focus seems to be on him as the fourth champion (Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour mentioned only in passing, and with Delacour’s name misspelled. Cedric Diggory not mentioned at all.) The continued article on pages six and seven on the other hand is all about him, apparently. 

”How bad is it?” Harry asks warily, feeling like a large stone has fallen into the pit of his stomach as Draco’s eyes flicker over to his and instead of answering, the blonde just licks his lips nervously. ”That bad then…”

”No…” Draco says uncertainly, then quickly ploughs on breezily. ”I mean, it’s okay! It’s not — It’s just — just a stupid article, isn’t it? You don’t believe half of what’s in the paper, do you, everyone knows that, so…”

”Let me see…” Harry mumbles and reaches for the paper. 

”You don’t want to read it”, Draco says instantly, hugging the crumpled paper to his chest. ”It’s stupid…”

”Draco, let me see it.”

”No—”

”Draco!”

”Fine…” the blonde mutters and hands it to him.

With dread pooling in his stomach, Harry begins to skim the article quickly. He feels like someone has put his ribcage in a vice and the more he reads, the tighter it gets and when he gets to the end it’s got so tight he can barely breathe. 

”When asked about his biological parents, James and Lily Potter, Harry becomes distant and even cold, claiming not to remember them at all and insisting on bringing the conversation back to his adoptive parents, stating fiercely: ”They are my real parents, and that’s all I have to say about the matter!” 

But this reporter could not help but to detect a flicker of fear in those startlingly green eyes and it begs the question, is all really as it seems in the life of Harry Potter, or has growing up under the care of confirmed werewolf Remus Lupin had a much deeper impact on this young rebel?”

She then goes on to write about werewolves being notoriously short-tempered and emotionally unstable, but Harry slams the paper down on the table before he gets to the end, unable to read any more. He clambers off the bench and ignoring all the stares and whispers, and Draco’s worried voice as he calls out his name, he runs out of the Great Hall and doesn’t stop until he’s back inside his dorm again. 

Images of his dad and daddy eating breakfast and reading the Prophet at the kitchen table keep flashing in his mind and he realises he needs to let them know that it’s not true, that he didn’t say any of those things; in fact he didn’t say anything at all — all he said was ”er” and ”ehm” — that stupid quill made up the rest! 

With tears stinging his eyes and stomach in knots, Harry fumbles with his quill and nearly spills the entire contents of his ink well over the parchment in his haste to compose the letter, but he manages to jot down the message without incident and quickly folds it up and heads for the owlery. 

Hedwig returns within an hour and Harry struggles to untie the letter from her leg, his hands are shaking so badly. Finally he manages to get it off her and with his heart lodged in his throat he unrolls the small parchement.

”Harry, 

Please don’t worry! Your dad and I didn’t believe for a second that you said any of those things. I’m only sorry that you had to go through that. I will be writing to Dumbledore to let him know that you won’t be giving any more interviews, okay? 

We will see you on the 21st, but in the meantime, if there is anything else you need, don’t hesitate to contact us!

And remember, we love you more than anything!

Yours always

Remus”

The next few weeks seem to go by in a blur and on the one hand Harry is dreading the First Task so much that he wishes there was some way of slowing down time or stop it entirely… But on the other hand, he is counting down the minutes until the Saturday before the First Task — the twenty-first — because that’s the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year and that means he can go home and spend the day with his dads and Selina. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever needed that more than he needs it right now… He’s even taken to carrying his daddy’s letter around with him, just so he can take it out and read it whenever he feels particularly homesick or someone says something nasty to him in the corridors… 

Finally Saturday morning rolls around and before even opening his eyes Harry pushes himself up to sitting and tumbles out of bed. He can hear a strangled snicker that sounds like it’s coming from Seamus but pays him no mind, just steps into his boots and pulls his cloak on on top of his pyamas and then with a face-splitting yawn he grabs his glasses from the nightstand and bumbles blindly towards the door. 

”Harry!” Draco calls after him. 

”Not now, going home”, Harry mumbles sleepily and bumps into the doorway on his way out.

He’s stumbling out into the Common Room when another voice calls his name, but this time it’s coming from ahead and Harry’s recognises the voice as Blaise’s, although he’s never heard the other boy sound so worked up before. Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Harry finally puts his glasses on and blinks at the other boy. 

Blaise is slightly out of breath and there’s an almost wild look in his eyes. 

”I have to talk to you”, he says in a hushed voice, throwing a furtive glance over his shoulder towards the dormitories. ”Where’s Draco?”

”In the dorm”, Harry croaks. ”Can it wait, I’m going home to see my dads—”

”No, it can’t wait”, Blaise says quickly, grabbing Harry by the arm and steering him towards the door. ”I’ll tell you on the way to Hogsmeade. Let’s go—”

”But, what about Draco?” Harry protests feebly. ”You said—”

”No, no, no, Draco can’t hear about this… Come on, before he gets here!”

What Harry had initially read as excitement in his friend’s face, he now realises it’s closer to distress than anything and if the cool dungeon air outside the Common Room wasn’t enough to wake him up then this realisation does the trick. 

”What’s going on, Blaise?”

”I know what the first task is going to be…” Harry blinks at him and nearly stumbles over his own feet, but Blaise takes no notice, just continues pulling on his arm.  ”Keep walking…”

”What do you mean you know—?”

”Not here!” Blaise hisses, glancing over his shoulder.

They make it out of the dungeons and outside the castle in record time, then wait restlessly in line to have their names ticked off by Filch at the gates before they can finally start the trek down the winding path into town. 

Harry gives his friend an impatient look, still half-expecting the whole thing to turn out to be some poor attempt at a joke, but Blaise keeps throwing covert looks at the other students around them and doesn’t say anything. His grip on Harry’s arm tightens before he slows down and forces them both to fall behind, so that they can have some privacy. 

He then gives Harry an apologetic look and Harry swallows a sigh, thinking it was all a practical joke after all…

”Dragons…”

”What…” Harry snaps. 

He’s so caught up in his exasperation, and ready to tell the other boy off for wasting his time with stupid jokes, that the word doesn’t even register at first — and when it does, he does a mental double-take — but swiftly tells himself he must have misheard.

”Dragons!” Blaise hisses again, his wild eyes fixing on Harry. ”Now do you see why I didn’t want Draco to find out? He’ll slip off the broomstick!… They’ve got one for each of you. Krum and the Beauxbatons girl already know about it as well, so—”

”What”, Harry says again, in a hollow voice. 

”Harry! Focus!” Blaise grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a small shake. ”You’re going to have to face a fucking dragon, now I don’t know how you’re going to get out of that in one piece, but you better come up with something, because Draco will kill you if you get yourself seriously hurt—!”

”How…” Harry croaks. ”How do you know?”

”I just know, okay?”

”No! Not okay! How do you know?” Harry insists. 

”I…” Blaise lets go of Harry’s shoulders again and turns away slightly, sighing harshly. ”I can’t tell you exactly, but I know someone who… knows the guy who brought the dragons here from Romania… and I might have blackmailed them…”

Harry gapes at the other Slytherin. 

”Oh what…” Blaise huffs. ”Like you’ve never blackmailed anyone! Anyway, lucky for you I did, because now you know what the first task is so you can prepare—”

”Prepare?” Harry repeats incredulously. ”How the Hell am I supposed to prepare for something like that, Blaise?”

The other boy just shrugs awkwardly. For a moment, they just stand there in the middle of the road, halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, staring helplessly at each other as the weight of the situation settles over them. Blaise, whose pathological nonchalance is usually evident by the seemingly permanent smirk on his face, now looks drawn and the grimace that twists his lips in lieu of a smile fills Harry with a hopelessness he hasn’t felt since Narcissa Side-Alonged him to that pub at the end of the summer and left him there. 

And just like that time, the only thing urging Harry on is the need to get home, and so, despite feeling like his boots have suddenly filled with lead, he manages to put one foot in front of the other until he gets into Hogsmeade. 

Blaise immediately falls into step with him but doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t offer any comforting platitudes or even a good bye as they part ways outside of the Three Broomsticks, and in a way Harry is grateful for that.

Remus and Sirius are standing outside the front door of the cottage when he gets there and the grins pulling on their faces is the only thing preventing Harry from collapsing at their feet, but propels him instead into their waiting arms. He feels Selina brush up against his legs and stoops to scoop her up into his arms, taking comfort in her low purring as he carries her inside. 

He takes his seat at the kitchen table, still cradling the cat to his chest and although he’s aware of his dads worried looks, he can’t bring himself to meet them just yet. He just lets Remus dote on him, while Sirius chats away about Quidditch (the one safe subject, whatever else is going on in their lives.)

”Harry, put Selina down while we’re eating at least…” Remus says softly, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. 

Harry blinks, really noticing the set table for the first time. The cat struggles a little, but he manages to put her down and Remus quickly distracts her with a bowl of food of her own. 

They’re halfway through lunch by the time Harry brings himself to tell them about the dragons. Remus’ glass explodes in his hand, showering the table with red wine that soaks into the white table cloth and gives a blood red tint to the gleaming shards where they’ve scattered. Selina streaks out of the kitchen, spooked by the sudden noise. And Sirius and Remus both jump to their feet, Remus swearing furiously under his breath as he begins to clean up the mess with shaky hands and Sirius shouting ”It’s okay!” in such a panicked manner that, even if Harry had thought things were okay, he definitely doesn’t think so anymore. 

”It’s okay, it’s just a table cloth —” Sirius says, reaching for his husband’s hands and trying to still their frantic movements.

”— I’ve got it —!”

”— Just leave it, Moony —!”

”— I’ve got it, Sirius!”

Remus wrenches his arm out of Sirius’ grasp and throws the shards of glass he’s carefully gathered up against the sink with such force that half of them bounce right out of it again. Harry jumps, staring in fear as his daddy’s hands curl into fists in his hair and he more or less collapses into his seat again, hyperventilating quietly. 

Sirius puts a cautious hand on his shoulder. When the other man doesn’t flinch or shrug him off, he carefully takes the seat next to him again and starts massaging the shoulder gently. 

No-one says anything for a long time. Harry just stares as his daddy — the strongest man he knows — is physically fighting to keep it together, feeling his own heart pound desperately in his chest. 

Sirius leans in closer and whispers something softly in his husband’s ear, his hand moving in wider and wider circles over the man’s shoulders. Remus nods silently, still struggling to get his breathing back under control. Finally he relaxes his fingers again and lets go of his blood-smeared hair and breathes in deeply, blinking tears from his eyes. 

Sirius curls his hand around his neck and gives it a gentle pull. Remus immediately allows himself to be hugged, burrowing his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. 

”I’m sorry Harry…” he says in a choked-up whisper, still hugging his husband. 

”It’s okay…” Sirius whispers against the side of his face. ”Harry understands… Right, Harry?”

”Yeah”, Harry croaks. 

Taking another deep breath, Remus lets go of Sirius again and sits back in his own chair. He wipes the tears from his face, smearing some blood on one of his cheeks in the process. Sirius snorts softly and shakes his head, before reaching out to wipe it off for him. 

”What?” Remus says, frowning in confusion. 

”Let me see your hands”, Sirus mutters. 

Remus holds out his hands and looks slightly surprised to see the small cuts in his palms, still bleeding freely. Sirius gives his husband an exasperated sigh but his lips twitch fondly. Grabbing his wand from his pocket, he heals the cuts and then plants a quick kiss on the pad of Remus’ left thumb once he’s finished. 

”Dragons we can deal with”, he tells Remus firmly, then turns to Harry with a reassuring smile. ”Really.”

”How?” Harry says hopelessly. 

”There’s a spell —”

”That’s too advanced for him though, Sirius”, Remus protests. 

”He’ll be fine. He’s strong. Remember he’s already done more stuff than most wizards do in a lifetime —”

Remus immediately shakes his head, ”That’s different. None of those situations required any advanced spell work!”

”He’s got three days to practise the spell, he’ll be fine!” Sirius insists. ”Harry, you’ll be fine. I have every confidence in you, okay? The spell is called the Conjunctivits Curse and if done correctly it will temporarily blind the dragon… Are you with me?”

Harry nods quicky.

”Good lad… So the incantation is Conjunctiva, that’s easy enough. But the wand movement is a bit trickier. You’ll need to swing it in a slower, sort of semi-circle and then do a quick downward flick, okay? Like this… And it needs to be very precise, or the spell won’t work, okay?… See how I’m doing it? First slow, then —”

Remus lets out an impatient huff, ”Sirius…”

”— quick, like that! — yeah, what?”

”You’re not doing it right…”

”What do you mean? It’s like this —”

”—No, you’re —”

”—Slow and fast, like this —”

”—No! You’re not doing it right! Stop! Stop it! — I’ll teach it to him — Harry, grab your wand. Let’s go into the lounge.”

Remus and Harry pratise the spell for most of the afternoon and by the time they take a break, the sun is already setting outside. Harry feels a bit better about the first task. He’s not necessarily confident that he’s got the spell down, but his daddy seems a bit calmer which can only be a good sign. If only there was some way of knowing whether he’s actually mastered the spell or not… But there really isn’t any way for him to test it out.

They move into the kitchen again for some tea before Harry has to return to the castle. Sirius looks smugly between the both of them, and asks them if they feel better. 

”Harry is doing really well”, Remus says, throwing Harry a kind smile. ”But I still think we need to come up with a back-up plan, just in case he can’t get the hang of the spell on Tuesday… It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Harry. It’s just a really complex spell, way beyond NEWT level…”

Harry nods his understanding and blows on his tea. 

”But keep practising the wand movement, you’re doing really well… and your dad and I will try and think of something else that might help you, as well.”

”I’m not really supposed to accept help”, Harry mumbles. 

”From your teachers”, Remus says. ”There’s nothing in the rules about accepting help from friends or family. And even if there was, I wouldn’t care. We’re not helping you win this Tournament, Harry. I hope you don’t have any ideas about winning, because if you get reckless so help me Merlin —”

”I won’t”, Harry says quickly. ”I don’t care about winning.”

”Good…” Remus says, relieved. ”That’s good… Just make sure you stay safe and leave the competition to the other three.”

”It would be awesome if he did win, though —” 

Remus shoots his husband a sharp look. 

”I’m just saying —!”

”Well, don’t!”

Harry smiles wryly, looking between his dad’s cheeky grin and his daddy’s flustered frown. It reminds him of when his daddy was yelling at Dumbledore and Mr Crouch, except compared to then, there’s no real heat behind the glare he’s directing at his husband. 

Then Harry remembers the moment when Barty Crouch had mistaken Remus for Sirius. He’d been surprised to hear it, and when he’d looked over at Professor Snape he’d seemed confused as well. But Remus hadn’t been confused at all, merely frustrated. 

”Daddy…” Harry says slowly. ”Why did Mr Crouch think you were Sirius?”

”What’s that?” Sirius says, looking curiously from Harry to Remus. 

”At Hogwarts, when daddy was — erm — talking to Dumbledore and Mr Crouch from the Ministry, Mr Crouch kept calling him Mr Black, like he thought he was you.”

”Did he…” Sirius says lightly, still eyeing Remus thoughtfully. 

”I didn’t exactly introduce myself”, Remus mumbles, blushing slightly. ”I think he just assumed I was you when Severus went to fetch Harry’s guardian and returned with me…”

Understanding flickers into Sirius face, but Harry is still confused. 

”But why though?” he insists. 

Remus and Sirius exchange a look and when Sirius gives Remus a half-shrug, he sighs and slumps over his folded arms on the table. He meets Harry’s eyes calmly and gives him a small smile. 

”Because — technically — Sirius is your only legal guardian, Harry.”

”What?” Harry says, numbly. ”What do you mean?”

Remus sighs again, ”The Ministry would never allow someone like me to adopt, Harry… It’s okay!” he adds quickly. ”It’s just a piece of paper, really… I’ll always be your daddy… Okay?”

”But… But… No — no, it’s not okay, you’re my dad — you’re both my dads — they can’t just decide you’re not like that, that’s not fair—!”

”Harry, it’s okay”, Remus says firmly. ”It’s just a stupid piece of paper! In every way that matters, I am your dad, just as much as Sirius… Come here, pup…”

He leans back and holds out his arm. Harry scrambles to his feet and hurries around the table to eagerly snuggle into his daddy’s waiting embrace. 

”That’s the least of our worries right now, pup…” Remus murmurs, hugging him tightly. ”You’ll never have to worry about that, ever… You hear me?”

Harry nods silently.

”You’re right, though”, Sirius says seriously, combing his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. ”It is unfair… Merlin knows anyone would be hard-pressed to find a better dad than Remus. He’s definitely a better dad, and man, than I am —”

”It’s not a contest”, Remus mutters, but Harry can hear the smile in his voice. 

”But that just goes to show you, that certificate means nothing”, Sirius adds. 

Harry leans back, resting his hands on Remus’ collar instead and catches his dads smiling lovingly at each other, before turning those smiles on him. He feels a surge of warmth and happiness in his chest, so strong it almost leaves him breathless. 

”All right, pup?” Remus asks carefully. 

Harry can’t find his voice, and just nods. 

He’s never felt more reluctant to leave home and head back to Hogwarts, but the sky is steadily darkening outside the windows and his curfew is looming closer. Sirius offers to drive him up to the castle on his motorcycle, which gives him a few extra minutes but finally, Harry has to say good bye to his daddy. 

”I’ll see you after the task on Tuesday, okay? Just promise me you’ll stay safe until then”, Remus murmurs passionately as he hugs him. 

”I promise”, Harry chokes out. 

*

Waving good bye to Sirius from the the other side of the gates, Harry turns around and makes his way up to the castle feeling a lot better than he felt this morning. He’s still extremely nervous about facing the dragon on Tuesday, but at least he won’t be facing it empty-handed so to speak… And even if he can’t get the Conjuctivity Curse to work, he’ll just have to get to safety and wait for help. He doesn’t have to win.

As Harry reaches the castle, he spots Diggory and a his friends in the courtyard and remembers Blaise telling him that Krum and Fleur knows about the dragons already. Which means Diggory is the only champion who has no idea what’s coming… That’s not fair, Harry thinks. As much as he dislikes the Hufflepuff (and if he’s honest with himself, that dislike isn’t even based on anything but envy anyway, especially since he saw Draco and the girls fawn over the older boy), he is the real Hogwarts champion, after all and since Harry has no intention of winning, the prize really should go to Diggory, he reasons. 

Mind made up, Harry picks up his pace and calls out the boy’s name. The group of Hufflepuffs slow down and look around. Diggory’s gaze finds Harry and he raises his eyebrows in surprise as Harry approaches. The other Hufflepuffs scowl at him suspisciously, but Harry ignores them. 

”I need to talk to you”, he tells Diggory. 

”Ehm… Okay…” Diggory says uncertainly. ”What’s up?”

”In private”, Harry grumbles, shooting a glare at the glaring girl standing so close to Diggory she’s almost shielding him from Harry.

”Where do you get off—?” the girl scoffs.  

”It’s important”, Harry tells Diggory firmly. 

”All right, fine”, the boy mutters. ”You guys go ahead, I’ll see you in the Common Room…”

After the other Hufflepuffs have disappeared inside the castle, Diggory leads Harry into the courtyard and they find a secluded bench half-hidden behind a birch tree. Neither of them actually take a seat, just stand opposite each other and subconsciously sizing the other up. 

”Look…” Harry says finally. ”I don’t care about winning the Tournament. I’ll just be happy to get out of it alive.”

Diggory gives him disbelieving look. 

”If you say so…”

”I honestly don’t care if yoou believe me”, Harry says. ”But I’ve found out what the first task is, don’t ask me how because I can’t tell you. Anyway, apparently Krum and Fleur know as well, and I thought it’s only fair if you know as well, that way it’s all equal you know…”

Diggory’s eyes have widened steadily during Harry’s short speech and when he trails off, the older boy just blinks at him, clearly at a loss for words. 

”It’s dragons”, Harry adds unceremoniously. 

”What?” Diggory hisses incredulously. 

”Yeah. I know”, Harry mumbles grimly. ”Apparently they have one for each of us…”

”Are you serious?”

”Yeah… Anyway, now you know so it’s a level playing field for your guys.”

”You really don’t care about winning?” Diggory asks curiously, looking like he’s actually ready to believe Harry for the first time and Harry simply shrugs. ”Then you… you really didn’t put your name in—?”

”No”, Harry says firmly. 

Eyes twinkling with genuine interest now, Diggory opens his mouth to say something else but quickly shuts it again as they hear the familiar clunking of Moody’s approaching footsteps. Harry turns around just in time to see the man limp into view from behind the tree, his magical eyes whirring madly in its socket. 

”Diggory… Potter… Cutting it close to curfew…” he grumbles. 

”Yes, Sir”, Diggory says immediately. ”We were just heading inside—”

”That’s grand”, Moody says. ”You go on ahead, Diggory. I want a word with Potter…”

Diggory’s eyes flicker back to Harry’s, but he doesn’t say anything else. Moody watches him walk out of sight before he hobbles over to the bench and lowers him onto it with a heavy sigh. 

”That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter…”

Harry tears his eyes away from the clawed foot of the professor’s wooden leg and meets his good eye politely. The magical one flicks round to zoom in on him as well. 

”Have a seat…”

”Sir? What about the curfew?”

”Won’t take a moment. Sit down.”

Harry gingerly perches on the opposite end of the bench and watches the ex-Auror apprehensively. 

”So… You’ve found out about the dragons”, Moody says seriously. ”Got any ideas how you’re going to get past yours yet?”

”Yeah…” Harry mumbles. ”Ehm, my dads told me about this spell, I’ve been practising it all day…”

”A whole day, eh? And how long does it usually take you to learn a new spell?”

”Wh-what?”

”In Charms”, Moody clarifies. ”How many lessons does it usually take you to learn a new spell?”

”Er… Well, it… it depends, I guess…”

”Hmm…” Moody says, his magical eye swivelling quickly. ”From what I hear, Charms isn’t your strong suit.”

Feeling slightly indignant, Harry frowns. 

”Don’t look so offended”, Moody grumbles. ”I’m just going to give you some good advice, and it is this: play to your strengths… Now, if spell work isn’t one of them, then may I suggest that a complex spell, way above your level, isn’t the best strategy for getting past this dragon?”

”Then what do you suggest?” Harry snaps, then quickly catching himself, adding a Sir.

”I’ve already told you. Play to your strengths —”

”What if I don’t have any strengths —?”

”Excuse me, you’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Just think. What are you good at? What are you best at?”

”Nothing…” Harry says dully. 

”Think—!”

”I dunno!” Harry exclaims in frustration. ”Quidditch? I guess I’m a decent flier? But a fat lot of help —”

”That’s right”, Moody interrupts him abruptly, his good eye staring at him very hard. ”You’re a damn good flier, from what I’ve heard.”

”Yeah, but…” Harry blinks. ”But I’m not allowed my broom, just my wand —”

”My second piece of general advice”, Moody interrupts him again, speaking loudly and clearly. ”Is to use a simple spell, that you can actually learn in two days, that will enable you to get what you need…”

Harry continues to stare at the man. The magical eye flits into place so that both eyes bore into him. But he just gives his head a small shake. What do I need? 

”Come on, boy…” Moody hisses. ”Put them together… It’s not that difficult…”

Suddenly it clicks. He’s a good flier, a lot more coordinating in the air than on his feet, his dads have always said so and Draco even hinted at him being as good of a flier as Krum once. So what he needs is to face the dragon in the air, and to do that he needs his Nimbus. And to get his Nimbus, he needs to summon it… 

”Professor…” Harry says, feeling sightly breathless with excitement. ”Do you know any simple summoning spells?”

”Accio”, Moody says with a grin. 

When Harry returns to the Common Room, his friends are sitting oin front of the fireplace, Blaise and Theodore are playing wizarding chess and Seamus is watching them idly, but Draco is nowhere to be seen. When Seamus doesn’t ask him if he wants to play Exploding Snap, Harry knows something is up. 

”He’s in the dorm”, Blaise says in an undertone. ”I didn’t tell him anything…”

Harry mumbles a thanks and walks over to the boys dormitories. Draco is lying on top of his bed, reading a book and doesn’t look up when Harry walks in. 

”Hey…” Harry says lightly, perching on the side of his bed. 

Draco says nothing, just turns a page in his book. 

”What’s wrong?” 

”Nothing.”

Harry huffs and rubs his forehead tiredly, ”Well, clearly —”

”Do you mind, I’m trying to read.”

”Draco… Draco, put the book down and look at me… please? Look, I’m really tired and I don’t want to go to bed thinking you’re angry with me, so can we please talk about whatever —?”

”No thanks…”

”Draco, for fuck’s —!”

Slamming his book shut with a snap, Draco looks up and meets Harry’s gaze finally. 

”I haven’t seen you all day”, he says icily. ”Not since you literally walked straight past me this morning, without as much as a good morning, before you fucked off to Hogsmeade without me, so excuse me if I don’t particularly feel like talking right now!”

”Draco, I spent the day with my parents”, Harry says. ”You knew I was going to —”

”Fine”, Draco says in a clipped tone. ”What about the evening?”

”What?”

”Did you spend the evening with them as well? Because I distinctly remember seeing you and Cedric Diggory walking off together, as I was coming back from Hogsmeade and considering how far into this stupid book I’ve got, you spent quite a long time with him as well!”

Harry justs stares at him. 

”Well?” the blonde demands. ”What have you got to say for yourself?”

”I needed to tell Diggory something about the first task — no, listen! — I found out something about the first task today and I wanted to let Diggory know, but we only talked for about five minutes! Then Professor Moody showed up and wanted to speak to me — I swear — Diggory went inside and I spent all that time talking to Moody!”

”Why?” Draco asks, narrowing his eyes suspisciously. ”Why did Moody want to talk to you?”

”I’m not realy sure. He overheard me helping Diggory and I suppose he just wanted to help me, I dunno…”

”He helped you? How?”

”Oh, he gave me an idea about how I’m going to — erm — deal with the first task”, Harry says vaguely. 

But when the other boy gives him a hard look, he sighs and spills everything. Draco’s eyes widens almost comically and by the time Harry has finished talking, he’s hyperventilating in a similar fashion to Remus when he found out about the dragons, so Harry takes a leaf out of his dad’s book and tries to calm the blonde down by rubbing circles on his back and murmuring reassuring nonsense. 

”What are you talking about?” Draco exclaims. 

”Just… It’s… It’s going to be fine, I know what to do —”

”You know what to do?”

”Well, yeah… Even if I can’t get the blinding spell to work, I can just summon my broom like Moody suggested… You know I’ll be fine to get around the dragon if I can just fly!”

Draco just shakes his head, but his breathing is getting under control again and at the mention of Harry flying, the panic disappears from his eyes again as well.

”Let’s go to bed…” Harry says softly, brushing a kiss into the dip under the boy’s cheekbone. ”What do you say?”

”All right…” the blonde mumbles. ”But why was Moody helping you, though? The teachers aren’t allowed to help the champions!”

Harry shrugs, ”Moody doesn’t exactly care about doing what he’s supposed to…”

”I guess”, Draco mumbles, but the frown line between his eyebrows doesn’t fade from his face until Harry kisses it away.