Chapter Text
September 1st races at them at breakneck speed. It feels like it was just days ago that they were here on the platform last, coming home from their third year, and now they’re suddenly here again, diving right into year four.
“And you’ve got all your books? Cauldron and all that? Severus would come strangle me if I sent you off to his lessons unprepared, especially with your N.E.W.Ts coming up. We bought all your ingredients, right?”
“I have everything, Sirius, don’t worry,” Harry reassures. “I double-checked everything yesterday, and before we left.”
Thankfully, all he has to really handle is Sinestra and her cage; the rest has been packed in the pouch on his hip. Sirius sighs and runs a hand over his face.
“I know, I know, I’m just- You know I hate it when you have to go. I mean, obviously, it’s school and I’d never stop you from going, I just- I miss you, you know?”
Harry’s smile softens. “I know. I miss you too. But I’ll be back for Christmas, and I’ll write all the time, and maybe I’ll even go home over Easter.”
Again, the man sighs. Harry understands. It was only about a year and a half ago that he was locked away in Azkaban, never to see the light of day again. And now, he has a new lease on life and it only makes sense he wants to spend as much of his time with Harry as he can, to make up for lost time and all that. Harry does too; if he could, he’d love to stay home and just keep experiencing what it’s like to have a real family, or as close to it as he’s ever had, anyway. But school is school, and Harry is loathe to compromise when it comes to his education. Hell, he didn’t compromise for the bloody Dark Lord, he’s not about to start compromising now.
Sirius tugs Harry to him by his shoulder, hugging him tight to his chest for a very long time. “I love you, Harry, always know that. Lily loves you, James loves you, and I love you.”
Harry’s heart aches, but it’s the good kind. He hurts with how much he loves and misses his parents, and with how much he loves Sirius and is going to miss him during the school year. “I love you, too, Sirius.”
They part; Sirius cups the boy’s face in his hands, regarding him with soft eyes. “You look just like them. They’d be so damn proud of you, Whiskers. I know I am.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to Harry’s head. If it were anyone else (except for Draco), Harry would kick them for getting close to him, but with Sirius, he simply shuts his eyes and imagines it’s his mum and dad kissing him too, even if they have to use Sirius as a conduit.
“Go on, then,” Sirius finally says once he pulls back, a mixed expression of both joy and grief on his face. “Have loads of fun, and take care of yourself, and watch out for Draco, he’s such a gentle boy, he needs someone on his side sometimes, and don’t forget to feed Sama or yourself, and- Uch, I’m turning into an awful mother hen, aren’t I? Just go, Whiskers, before my anxiety has me dragging you back home again!”
Laughing, Harry gives him a last, quick hug, before picking up Sinestra’s cage and hurrying to the closest entry line. Once he’s on the train, Draco flags him down from a compartment down the way. Harry hurries over, greeting him with a brief press of lips before they step inside. They both go to the window and locate their separate families. Harry waves at Sirius like crazy; Sirius waves back, even through his seemingly almost hysterical tears. Harry only just sees a flash of Narcissa hurrying to hug her cousin tight and comfort him, as the train is pulling out of the station.
Once they’re properly out on their way, the boys sink into their seats. Draco slumps against Harry, who wraps his arm around him.
“Can’t believe we’re gonna be fourth-years.”
“Me, neither. Can’t believe you’re doing the N.E.W.Ts with the seventh-years. I was sure they’d make you wait.”
“Apparently, Severus was ready to fist-fight the whole Ministry if they didn’t let me. Especially after how my O.W.Ls went.”
Draco snorts. “Well, yeah, you’re only, like, the tenth student to ever take all twelve, and the only one to get Outstandings on all of them.”
“Mh, well, suppose defeating the Dark Lord as a twelve-year-old has its advantages.”
“Did you know my father went to bat for you, too?”
Harry frowns. “He did?”
“Yeah. Said it was the least they could do for you for sparing us all another war.”
“Hm. I had no idea. I’ll have to write him something for it.”
Though the ride is several hours long, it seems to pass in a pleasant haze; they spend the whole time chatting about everything they did over the summer, about what the year will be like, their classes, dreading homework and exams and all that. Sama finally wakes up after a few hours and comes begging for attention, which they both gladly give. They gorge themselves of treats from the trolley, and go over highlights from the World Cup for the hundredth time.
It seems like it’s hardly been any time at all when they pull into the Hogsmeade station and start making their way up to the castle by carriage. None of them know this year will be vastly different than expected until they’re making their way across the Covered Bridge, when someone calls out and points.
Everyone looks, of course.
Even Harry stares in awe as the massive powder blue carriage descends from through the clouds, drawn by a whole dozen of beautiful, pale-coated Abraxans. The carriage bounds across the sky, crossing far above the Bridge and rounding the castle to land somewhere on its front-side. The cogs and gears are spinning wildly in Harry’s brain. Blue carriage? A dozen Abraxans? Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. That’s literally the only organization that prefers that mode of transportation. Loads of people use carriages, loads of people use Abraxans, but none have a powder blue carriage drawn by a dozen Abraxans, except Beauxbatons. What are they doing here? Why would a delegation from Beaubaxtons come to Hogwarts like this? At the very start of the school-year, too.
Someone else in the crowd of curious on-lookers shouts and points, drawing everyone’s attention again. To…the Black Lake? Harry finds the small dingy there, just like everyone else, and is just as confused.
Until the rest of the ship erupts out of the water. It’s a whole galleon ship! But…how did a galleon ship appear out of nowhere in a lake not connected to the ocean? Duh, Harry! Magic, obviously! But why? The ship is almost ghostly in appearance, dark and gloomy with tattered sails, and a nearly skeletal look over the whole thing. Harry can see, even from such a distance, people moving about on the deck doing whatever it is sailors do. The crest on the flag is easily recognized; Durmstrang Institute. And why are they here, too? At the same time as Beauxbatons?
Three magic schools meeting like this… Why?
Hm. Harry has theories.
The crowd starts pushing to move again. Buzzing with brand new excitement, everyone rushes into the castle and split off to their different houses to change into uniform and prepare for the feast. Just like everyone else seems to be, Harry and Draco are quick about it, running to the Great Hall to find good seats. Harry isn’t the only one to notice the extra tables up by the professors, nor the extra seats being filled with Ministry employees. Even Crouch is there. Interesting. They all wait impatiently for the rest of the crowd to trickle in, every single one of them on the edge of their seats.
Things move at lightning speed and a snail’s pace at the same time. It feels like an eternity before Dumbledore steps up to his lectern to speak. “Well, now we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well.” Filch comes running down the centre aisle as Dumbledore speaks. “You see, Hogwarts has been chosen-” Filch runs up next to Dumbledore; the confused students exchanged glances while they whisper for a few moments, before Filch runs back down and out the doors. Dumbledore clears his throat and goes on. “So. Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. The Triwizard Tournament.”
Bingo. That was one of Harry’s theories; one of the far-fetched ones, given how there hasn’t actually been any tournaments since the late 1700’s, but you never know what idiotic ideas the Ministry will cook up.
“For those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear. If chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted. But more on that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress Madame Maxime.”
The doors of the Great Hall are thrown open.
A troop of beautiful young women, all dressed in matching powder blue uniforms and hats, seem to float through the centre aisle. Wordlessly, wandlessly, they conjure beautiful blue butterflies from thin air, that drip in glittering fairy dust as they spread through the Hall. The last girl among them performs lovely pirouettes as she moves after the group, and she is joined by a much younger girl performing light feats of acrobatics alongside her. Very last in line, follows an enormous woman, much taller than even Hagrid, Harry would guess, yet she still exudes an easy elegance, seemingly floating forth just like her students.
The two performers bow at the end of the line; Madame Maxime greets Dumbledore with a warm smile, and he bows to kiss her hand, leading her for a moment to the side of the Hall to make room. Then, he steps up near his lectern to continue, quieting the applause and cheering with a simple gesture.
“And now, our friends from the north. Please greet, the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their high master, Igor Karkaroff.”
Again, the doors of the Great Hall are thrown open. This time, the troop consists of tall, muscular young men (wow, Harry is very gay, look at those muscles), dressed either in uniforms in brown shades, or long coats and furred hats. Each one carries a long staff, which they slam into the ground in time with their almost chanting battle-cries. Everyone seems in awe, when the Durmstrang boys all lay their staves down to instead perform their own short acrobatic routine, which ends with two of them breathing fire! Last in the line is none other than Viktor Krum, straight out of the Bulgarian National Team, followed by the headmaster dressed in a fine white coat to contrast the darker colours of his students.
He and Dumbledore greet each other warmly, as well, with a tight embrace.
Extra tables appear, now that the visitors have all been introduced; one at the Ravenclaw table and the other at their very own Slytherin table. At Dumbledore’s invitation, the headmaster and headmistress join the professors at the head table, while the Beauxbatons girls join the Ravenclaws and the Durmstrang boys join the Slytherins. The first-years must be freaking out being seated so close to their guests. Harry has to snicker at the many blushing eleven-year-olds awing at their new neighbours.
As usual, the feast itself is a wonder of its own, all the food is just as perfect as every other day they’re served. It’s nice, actually, to sit here surrounded by his housemates and all, chatting about their summers and so on. The next highlight of the evening comes towards the end of the meal, however, when four carriers bring out a large gilded and jewelled casket, or case, of sorts, directed into position by Filch.
Again, Dumbledore steps up to speak.
“Your attention, please! I’d like to say a few words. Eternal glory. That’s what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mister Bartemius Crouch.”
As he is being introduced, Crouch makes his way from his seat around to the front, standing up on the podium just in front of the casket.
“After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that, for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament. However, by personal request of both the Bulgarian and French Ministers for Magic, as well as several others, Harry Potter is the only exception to the age restriction. He may enter his name into the Goblet, if that is his personal wish. This decision is final.”
Damn you, Oblansk! Mentally, Harry shakes his fist at the sky, cursing the man’s name.
Of course, no one is too pleased with any part of this announcement. While he hears plenty of booing and complaining, he can also feel a very large number of dagger-like looks cutting into him, even from people of his own House. Delightful. Really just setting him up for victory, here, huh?
The crowd quiets again, thankfully, when Dumbledore vanishes the casket to reveal the Goblet inside. It really is an ugly old thing, isn’t it? Only pretty thing about it is the vibrant blue flames burning from it.
“The Goblet of Fire,” the headmaster goes on. “Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament, need only write their name upon a piece of parchment, and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there’s no turning back. As from this moment, the Triwizard Tournament has begun.”
*
Harry makes a tactical retreat to his dorm as soon as he is able.
Fucking shit, what the hell is he supposed to do?
Should he enter? Should he not? What would cause the least amount of trouble? If he enters, there are two possible outcomes; he is chosen, or he is not chosen.
If he is chosen, he is forced to participate. The school will likely be in somewhat of an uproar that he gets to participate when no one else his age even got the chance for it.
If he is not chosen, people will likely harbour some contempt for him anyway, for being an exception to the rules, requested personally by several foreign Ministers for Magic.
If he doesn’t enter, he’ll still draw contempt for not taking advantage of the opportunity handed to him on a silver-fucking-platter.
There’s no winning this.
Shit. He pulls parchment and quill from his pouch to write to Sirius. He bloody begs for advice on what to do, updating him on this whole insane situation he has somehow tripped face-first into.
“There you are!” Draco says as he enters the room. “How are you? Are you okay?”
Harry sets his quill down, laying the letter to dry on the nightstand so he can send it tomorrow. He throws himself down on his bed with an almighty sigh.
“What am I supposed to do, Draco? What the hell do I do? Already written to Sirius, sending it tomorrow, but he’ll probably tell me it’ll be another fun adventure. If he doesn’t cry himself into dehydration with worry first.”
The blond chuckles. He shuffles over, sits down on the edge of the bed, then lays down almost completely on top of Harry, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder blade. “Who cares what you’re supposed to do? What do you want to do?”
Harry groans into his pillow. “I don’t know! I mean... Maybe it’d be cool, but...”
“You’ve read about the tournament, right?”
“Loads, yeah.”
“Think about all the cool different things the tasks could be! You love a good challenge, right? And you’ll probably get to do loads of sneaking around and scheming, too.”
“Mh. I do like scheming...”
“And wouldn’t it be amazing to remind everyone, including the Ministries of several different nations, how incredible you are? Show ‘em all they can’t ever mess you around?”
“I do like the sound of that... Oblansk probably issued this as a challenge of sorts. Probably wants to see for himself what I’m made of. Might even think I’ll back down...”
“Can’t let him keep thinking that, can you?”
And just like that, Draco has convinced him to throw his name in the Goblet.
“You do realize you could probably talk me into doing just about anything, right?”
Draco hums. “It’s a grave responsibility and I take it very seriously.”
Harry is the first to start laughing, but Draco is only moments behind.
*
Classes start as normal. Interestingly, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs are joining in on some classes with the seventh-years, auditing Hogwarts’ selection during the mornings before retreating to private classrooms to hold their own lessons. Makes sense, to be fair; they will be spending most of the school year here, but it’s not as if they can just skip school completely even if they’re away from their home-schools.
Because of his upcoming N.E.W.Ts, Harry is also in attendance with the seventh-years. He spends most of the classes doing the assigned homework, since he’s already learned most of what’s being taught on his own. Still, the lectures and in-person instruction does come in handy at times, offering new insights not available in textbooks.
Viktor is…weird. Harry has nothing against him for his quiet-and-broody persona, he totally gets it, and the language barrier probably contributes as well, but what makes him weird is that… Well. He seems to insist on sitting next to Harry. If anyone other than Harry takes the seat next to him, he just sort of stares at them until they get creeped out enough to leave. And if Harry sits next to someone else, he stares at them until they leave so he can swoop in and take their seat.
At least he doesn’t talk much. He asks Harry questions now and then, mostly help with understanding a word or a sentence the professor used during their lecture, which is easy enough to help with. Otherwise, he just sort of…sits there. And watches.
It hasn’t even been a week yet and Harry is already on the verge of losing his mind.
On Wednesday morning, when Harry walks determinately up to the Goblet to drop his name in, Viktor is there the moment it becomes very clear Harry is way too short to reach the rim. He gives a slight smile to Harry as he takes the slip of parchment from Harry’s hand and drops it in for him.
Harry might blush. When he sits down next to Draco to eat, Draco stares into his food and doesn’t say anything. Hm, bad morning, maybe?