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The many Deaths of Harry Potter by ShayneT
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Harry P., Hermione G., Words: 242k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 4k+, Published: Mar 2, 2017 Updated: Jun 15, 2017 3,851Chapter 42: Class
"If there had been more time they'd have had the students from the other schools here already," Malfoy was telling the other Slytherins at the table. "But since it's a rush job we won't see them for another three weeks."
Apparently now that the announcement had been made he no longer had to whisper. He seemed to enjoy having all the others listening to him, even the upper years.
Harry was scowling.
"Won't they be at a disadvantage?" One of the Slytherins was asking. "Since they won't have a chance to put their names in the Goblet."
"They be giving their applications to their Headmasters who will drop them into the goblet in one great lot," Malfoy said.
Harry stiffened. Why were they bothering with an age line and magical protections and all the other easily bypassed foolishness when they could be doing what the other schools were doing.
After all, the age line could easily be bypassed by a long stick. The purebloods might not think of a simple muggle solution like that, but the muggleborns and some of the halfbloods assuredly would.
The assumed one simply couldn't levitate an application across, have an older owl deliver it, or simply bribe an older student. Harry could think of a half dozen ways around the age line in the first few minutes...he was sure he could come up with a few more given a month to plan.
As everyone began filing out of the Great Hall talking excitedly, Harry stayed behind, hoping to talk to the professors who were talking among theirselves.
"Um...Headmaster," Harry began.
"Yes Harry?" Dumbledore said, turning away from the new Defense Professor.
Harry scowled. "You know this is a bad idea, right? They're going to find a way to put my name in the goblet and force me to risk my life."
"You still have three years to go before you'll be eligible," Dumbledore said.
"I still have enemies among the older Slytherins," Harry said, staring up at the man. "Sixth and seventh years who would think it clever to put my name into the Goblet and hope that things go...poorly."
The other professors were listening to him now, as well as a few of the students who had remained behind.
"Should that happen, the Goblet would choose the strongest candidate," Dumbledore said. He looked at Harry. "Someone who has fought multiple adult wizards and survived might not have as hard a time as he thinks."
Harry stared at Dumbledore, feeling a sudden cold sweat. How much did he know? Sirius and Mr. Weasley were both loyal to him; had they told him, or had he pieced it together because he had used a spell not normally used in combat, one known to be used often by him?
"The age line will be easy to get around," Harry continued. "Especially by muggleborns."
"Anyone clever enough to get around the Goblet's protections may be a fine candidate. If not, the cup will know."
Harry stared at the man. It was like talking to a stone.
"Shouldn't all the schools use the same methods to present candidates?" Harry asked suddenly. "The other schools are giving their applications to their Headmasters, who are checking applications for suitability. In the interest of fairness shouldn't we use the same method?"
"And spoil the anticipation?" Dumbledore asked. He smiled down at Harry. "The Ministry wishes for us to bring back the majesty of these games! The excitement and opportunity for anyone to participate is part of that."
He meant that the Ministry wanted people to lose their minds over this the way they did professional Quidditch, hoping to distract from their current troubles. They wanted the students writing home to their parents, getting their parents excited about the chance that they might get chosen, even though all but one of them never would.
It was a little like a lottery, except the prize was death.
"You aren't going to change your mind?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore shook his head. "The game will play to its conclusion."
It was all Harry could do to avoid cursing.
Despite the cloud of doom that was hanging over Harry, the school year began normally. Sprout had them squeezing bubotuber puss, which was apparently an excellent treatment for acne.
Harry was surprised they needed as little as they did. In a school with eight hundred teenagers who ate a diet that would make Dudley proud, he'd have expected to have needed tens of gallons of the stuff a week at the very least.
Hagrid continued to show poor judgment by breeding weird mutant stinging lobster things that would apparently shoot fire from their butts when they were older. The fact that he had five hundred of the things and the fact that they looked like they were going to at least the size of a man did not bode well for the school at all.
Harry hoped he didn't have to preemptively end Hagrid's experiment with these; he'd been so inconsolable after the death of the dragon hatchling. He'd blamed himself.
Neville exploded a cauldron in Professor Snape's class. That had gotten to be a rather rare occasion, actually, since he'd begun getting help from Hermione and occasionally Harry. Snape seemed particularly in a bad mood, however, and this had set Neville off.
Harry wondered if Snape was disappointed that reporting on Lupin hadn't got him the Defense job that he wanted. It was obvious that he hated teaching potions, and he'd shown as much skill in dueling as he had in potions.
He would probably be a quite competent teacher, and if he was happier not dealing with the minefield that was forty students dealing with chemical concoctions that could explode at any time he might be nicer to everyone.
However, from the expressions of the older Slytherins who had Moody, it didn't look like he'd get the chance. They seemed impressed, and given that they'd spent years learning not to show their emotions that was impressive.
Harry couldn't help but feel a little anticipation as he approached the day of his first class with Moody. None of the other students had been willing to tell him what it was like. Hermione and Neville weren't any help, since they'd have the class only a little before he did.
He got a seat early, sitting next to Malfoy and Nott.
As the man limped into the room, Harry could see everyone becoming quiet, with a sense of anticipation that wasn't there with the other professors.
Moody took role and then said, "Put the books away. We're studying curses this year, a subject I suspect many of you have an intimate knowledge of, although not from class."
Harry frowned. It was probably true, given that most of the Slytherin class was composed of purebloods and had probably learned things from their families that Muggleborns never would. Still, it was impolite of him to say.
"I'm sure I don't have to tell any of you what the Unforgivables are," Moody said. "But for the sake of the hopelessly clueless, will someone tell us what they are?"
"The Imperius, the Cruciatus and the killing curse," Malfoy said quickly.
"Anyone know why these are punished more severely than any of the other curses?" Moody asked.
The room was suddenly silent.
Moody unveiled a spider.
"Imperio," he said.
A moment later he made the spider dance. He made it jump through hoops, perform a number of tricks. The room was dead silent.
"The Gryffindor classes I've showed this to laughed," Moody said. "But not you. You lot know what it means, don't you? Too many family stories about people forced to do things they'd never do...or forced to bend to your will. You could force someone to do anything..."
He leaned forward. "Or you could wake up to realize you were the one who had been controlled."
Harry shuddered. His life was difficult enough without the ability to control his own will. One of his greatest nightmares was being locked away somewhere, unable to die as everyone he loved was destroyed.
Moody waved his wand and muttered "Engorgio."
The spider swelled in size until it was larger than Harry's fist.
"Crucio," Moody said.
The spider danced again, but this time it was different. It finally rolled over and its legs twitched horribly. If it had had a voice Harry was sure it would have been screaming.
The class was silent, watching dispassionately, although Harry could see some subtle signs of people being upset. There was a tenseness in people's shoulders, and some of them were holding desks tighter than they should have been.
Their faces they kept impassive. Slytherin was all about control, after all.
"Cold blooded lot, aren't you?" Moody asked. He reduced the spider. "Pain...but I'd suppose you'd all know a great deal about this one as well. I'm sure you've all had family members on one side of the wand or the other."
"Avada Kedavra," he said.
Green light flashed and a moment later the spider was dead.
Moody left the spider on the table, mute testament to the power of the curse.
"No shield can block it...there's no countercurse. There's no forgiveness...only one person is known to have survived, and he's in this very room..."
It wasn't the first time Harry had seen the killing curse, of course; it wasn't even the first time he'd experienced it. He was probably the only person who knew what it felt like to be killed by it.
He could feel everyone's eyes on him, but he ignored them.
"It requires powerful magic behind it...you have to mean it. If the entire Gryffindor class cast it at me I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. Some of you, though..."
His eyes strayed over to Harry, who stiffened.
Did he know what Harry had done too?
What did it mean that Harry didn't feel particularly guilty about having done it, but he felt ashamed at the thought that other people might know? Even by Ministry law he had been defending himself.
"Well...we're not teaching how to cast the unforgivables. This class is called defense for a reason. I'm sure that some of you will learn the unforgivables on their own and when you do you'll face the consequences."
"Why are they unforgivable?" Harry asked. "You can do nearly the same thing with other spells."
"Oh?" Moody asked. "Why don't you explain?"
"Well, instead of using the killing curse you could jinx someone to vomit slugs and then jinx their mouth shut until they drowned," Harry began. "You could turn them into a small animal and feed them to an owl. You could even just cut a leg or a hand off and watch as they bleed to death...all of those seem worse than a painless death from a flash of green light."
The students around him looked a little green, including Malfoy.
"You could use the bone breaking curse on their bones one by one...there's more than two hundred and thirty bones in the human body. It's really quite easy to heal the bones, so you could do it over and over."
"Given it a lot of thought, have you, Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm a little morbid."
One of the ways in which his thoughts tended to wander was thinking of new ways in which he might be forced to die in the future. It wasn't that he was looking forward to doing so; quite the contrary. He was always trying to think of countermeasures.
"Even the tickling charm can be used for torture if you put enough power into it," Harry said. "Especially if the victim can't move."
Moody stared at him inscrutably. Other professors would have given him the Look...that look that Harry had been getting from teachers since first year every time he said something they thought was disturbing.
"All of that is true," Moody said. "Yet it is the Unforgivables that cause you to get a lifetime in Azkaban. I want a foot on why you think that is by the next class."
As the class groaned, he said, "These spells aren't pretty...they certainly aren't nice. But there may come a time when you are facing the wrong end of a wand and knowing how to defend them will be all that keeps you alive. You need CONSTANT VIGILANCE if you are going to survive."
He woke, gasping. There was something wrong with his vision; it was twisted and distorted. It wasn't blurry the way it was when he wore his glasses, it was something else.
Breathing was strangely hard, and when he reached up to the low ceiling above, his hand was strange and deformed.
"My loyal servant," he hissed. "Have the plans proceeded?"
A tall, thin, rangy man stepped into his field of vision. "They have, Master. The others all know their parts and they are ready to serve."
"It has been so long...thirteen long years..."
"You will be restored to your former glory, Master, all it takes will be patience." The man reached down to adjust something around his neck, and as he did, his sleeve slid up. The dark mark shone on his arm, still faded but brighter than it had in the past.
It would become fully restored when he became restored, a sign to all his loyal followers and to those few who had strayed that his power was ascendant.
"It seems a risky plan...what if he is not as skilled as we expected?" It was a moment of indecision that he wouldn't have allowed himself to show in front of his other followers, but in front of this, his most loyal and capable of followers he felt free to do so even in his current state.
"The first two tasks don't matter," the man reminded him. "All he has to do is survive. It is only the third task that he will be required to succeed."
"He will survive...that is all he ever does..."
Harry woke with a start, wondering why he was having strange dreams about Voldemort as a baby with the mind of an adult.
It was a strange dream even for him; his scar hurt. He reached up and grimaced.
Getting paranoid even in one's dreams was a sign that one was too paranoid. After all, he'd never shown any signs of being a seer before. Sometimes a dream was just a dream.
However, given the pain in his scar and the lingering feeling of doubt, it was a long time before he got back to sleep.
Over the next two weeks, excitement about the upcoming arrival of the students from the other schools began to run high. Despite Harry's pessimism, everyone else seemed to be catching a fever at the thought of the contest, even some of the Slytherins who had originally been doubtful.
There were rumors about just who had put their name into the contest. Some of the Slytherin sixth and seventh years were discussing whether being a contest winner would be good for their eventual careers in the Ministry, and if it was worth the risk of even trying.
Classes grew more difficult. Some was of course things he had studied ahead, mostly in Defense, Charms and transfigurations, but no matter how much he'd tried to study ahead he found there were things that he'd skipped or missed.
In the other classes he was as completely clueless as all the other students. Arithmancy was particularly hard. Herbology and Astronomy were easy. Care of magical Creatures continued to grow more dangerous, especially as the blast ended skrewts grew at an alarming rate. Although they'd been the size of lobsters when Harry had first seen them, they were the size of medium dogs already. Harry hated to think what size they would eventually become; he had images of them setting the entire Forbidden Forest on fire; that would be something even the muggles couldn't ignore.
Potions was more difficult than usual, as Snape became even more of a demanding taskmaster than he usually was.
Defense class he discovered that he enjoyed. Moody's attitudes seemed tremendously sensible to Harry; he saw things in ways that other wizards didn't. He was a demanding taskmaster, but a good one.
Some of the lessons were harder then others.
"We've received special dispensation from the Ministry," Moody said. "To learn how to resist the imperius."
Harry could see that the other Slytherins were becoming agitated, talking in low voices among themselves. It took him a moment to realize what they already had...and when he did he found himself almost as outraged as they were.
"We're doing it in the classroom among all your other classmates so that everyone can see that I don't give any secret commands or any that are inappropriate."
Although that seemed to calm some of the students, Harry wasn't as reassured. He wasn't certain how many of his classmates he could rely on to actually protect him, even though a few had made secret overtures toward him.
One by one, Moody called the students forward, asking them to do the strangest things. He made some dance; others he made bark like a dog.
Each of them looked red faced and embarrassed afterwards, presumably because they'd been hoping to be the one student who could fight off the effects of the spell.
Finally it was Harry's turn.
"Imperio" Moody said.
Suddenly Harry felt wonderful. The weight of his anxiety and fears suddenly vanished, leaving him with a vague feeling of bliss.
Why didn't wizards do this all the time? Imperio themselves into feeling better than they ever had. It would be addictive, part of Harry thought, even as the rest of him gave up his thoughts.
"Give me your wand," Moody said.
Immediately, the bliss washed away. He was back to himself, and the anxiety that had gone away all too shortly returned in full force.
"Give me your wand," Moody said.
Harry scowled.
"You can have my wand when you pry it from my cold, dead hands."
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The many Deaths of Harry Potter by ShayneT
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Harry P., Hermione G., Words: 242k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 4k+, Published: Mar 2, 2017 Updated: Jun 15, 2017 3,851Chapter 43: Pagentry
The other students looked shocked, and Harry realized that he was holding his wand pointed at his professor.
Moody was holding his wand pointed at Harry in return.
"A dangerous one, are you Potter...even more than the usual snake," Moody said. "I'd suggest that we both lower our wands at the same time, and then you go back to your desk."
Harry watched carefully, but slowly lowered his wand as Moody did the same. He cautiously returned to his desk.
"As you can see, it IS possible to resist the Imperious," Moody said. "I suspect that if I'd chosen something that Potter was less opposed to he might have struggled more with it, but he'd have eventually broken through."
"What does that mean, then?" asked Pansy Parkinson from the back. "Does that mean that all those people who got off because they were imperiused just didn't mind what they were doing as much?"
"Without a strong will no amount of repugnance will make a difference. Parents can be made to kill their children, people can be made to jump to their deaths...but with such a will you have a chance."
"So does this mean those of us who failed to resist it are doomed?"
Moody leaned forward. "If it was something you either had or didn't, I wouldn't be teaching you this. I'd be off teaching divination or some other such nonsense."
He began to stride back and forth, his prosthetic foot clumping along the floor. "The mind...the will is like a muscle. It can be trained and grow stronger, or it can be allowed to weaken and falter. Will all of you be able to resist the impirious by the end of the year? It's doubtful. But if even a few of you can, even if it's only when it is most important I'll have done my job."
Harry nodded. A little bit of a defense was infinitely better than none.
"Bring me two pages on methods of resisting the Imperius by next session," Moody said. "Potter stay behind."
Harry caught a sympathetic look from Malfoy as all the other students filed out of the room.
"Yes, professor?" Harry said.
"If you ever point your wand at me again you'd better be ready to use it," Moody said, glaring at him.
"Who says I wasn't?" Harry asked. "I wasn't exactly myself and it was a natural reaction, but I know I shouldn't have pointed my wand at a teacher."
"Not the first teacher you've done that to, is it?" Moody asked.
Harry felt a sudden surge of anxiety. Was he talking about his murdering Quirrell or his attacking Lockhart?
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Harry said carefully, keeping his expression composed. "I'd never attack the staff of the school without a very good reason."
"And that's the difference between you and the other students. They'd have just said that they wouldn't even think about attacking the staff."
"I don't have the option of being like the other students," Harry said. "What with the bounty on my head."
"It's not a surprise, Potter, given what you've gone through," Moody said. "I've been talking to Dumbledore...he wants you to know that we will support you no matter what happens."
"But he still won't take my suggestion about the cup," Harry said.
"The cup has to be seen...it has to generate excitement to draw attention away from what happened in the Quidditch World cup."
"That wasn't my fault," Harry said. "I don't see why I should be punished for it."
"Blood on the ground says different," Moody said. "Some aurors think you're a hero for leaving that many Death Eaters dead...I worry about being a killer at fourteen will mean for you."
Harry shook his head. "I don;t know what you're talking about."
If the man knew he'd killed, even if it was just indirectly by the time he was eleven he'd be even more horrified.
"The Slytherin way...deny, deny, deny..." Moody scowled. "You lot never admit to anything unless it will fit your interests."
"Are Gryffindors brave when there's nobody around to see it?" Harry scowled. "We aren't so different.."
Moody stared at him. "At least you have the right attitude toward danger."
"Constant vigilance," Harry said. He nodded, then hesitated for a moment. "Say...if I'm going to be railroaded into this contest, then I may need some extra training out of class."
If the man expected him to try to take advantage, he might as well do so.
Wizards were addicted to pagentry.
As Harry stood in front of the castle watching the gigantic, house sized carriage landing, he knew this to be true. France was close enough to Britain that they could have connected the floo networks without any sort of problem.
Instead the other school had chosen a wholly impractical but very impressive method to transport their students. Having been inside wizarding tents and having looked up expansion charms out of an uncharacteristic sense of curiosity, Harry knew that they could have used a regular sized coach and simply had the interior be larger.
The woman who stepped outside of the coach was a giantess, fully as tall as Hagrid. Unlike Hagrid, who had rather course features, hers were much finer and she looked intelligent. She worse fine black satin and wore jewels around her throat and on her thick fingers.
Well, perhaps the coach needed to be bigger so the door could be bigger, but the size of a house was still unnecessary.
Dumbledore began clapping, and the students followed politely.
Harry wondered if allowing a half-human to become Headmistress of a prestigious school meant that France was less prejudiced toward half humans than Britain.
The students who followed were a dozen boys and girls shivering in silken clothing.
Another example of Wizarding obsession with appearance. The clothing was not designed for comfort but to impress and intimidate. The students were all dressed the same way and so it couldn't be a coincidence.
Harry knew nothing about the weather in France, but he couldn't imagine that it was that much warmer than it was in Scotland. Of course, given his ignorance of anything not involving combat he could be very wrong.
Even if it was that much warmer, couldn't someone have called ahead and asked about the weather What surprised him was that no one had cast warming spells. Didn't they learn them in France?
The Headmaster talked to the Headmistress of the French school for a short period before there were shouts from some of Harry's classmates.
Half the reason the French were shivering was that they had waited until well after dark in the moonlight to bring the other school's children to the school. It was cold in Scotland in October after dark. It wasn't particularly warm even in the middle of the day, but it was infinitely worse at night.
Yet the sight of a skeletal ship rising out of the lake wouldn't have been nearly as impressive in the middle of the day. By night it had an eerie sort of finality, as though a ghost ship was visiting.
Harry suspected that Durmstrang had insisted on the time simply so it could make this sort of impression.
The Durmstrang students seemed to be overdressed for the weather, with heavy cloaks of fur. As they stepped off the platform, Harry wondered just how large an object it was possible to apparate. Could someone apparate an entire house? If they could apparate an entire ship, they'd be able to move at least a small house.
He had sudden fantasies of apparating whatever lair Voldemort was working out of right in front of the Ministry. He'd simply sit back and watch the fireworks after making sure no one could apparate away.
After all, he was still angry with the Ministry for insisting on open enrollment. He'd asked his Slytherin contacts and they revealed that the matter had been forced on Dumbledore by the Ministry.
Dumbledore was simply trying to save face by pretending the idea was his own.
All the other schools had only brought the candidates that had been chosen by the Headmasters; a dozen in each case. They had all had their names dropped into the Goblet already, and they were only awaiting the choosing..
Harry blinked as he realized that he recognized one of the players. Viktor Krum had been the Bulgarian seeker who had been impressive during the World Cup. Harry hadn't known that he was still in school.
From the murmuring of the students around him, no one else had either. Quidditch stars were celebrities in the Wizarding world. In a world without movies or television, and with only very limited radio, that left authors and sports stars to be the celebrities.
Having someone around who was almost as famous as Harry itself might be useful or it might be an annoyance. Harry wasn't quite sure.
As they entered the Great Hall, the Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table, which made for a tighter fit than usual.
"You are Harry Potter," Krum said. He's sat between Harry and Malfoy even as his classmates had divided out among the Slytherins.
His accent was thick but servicable.
Harry nodded. "Krum...you did a brilliant job at the world cup...too bad about the loss."
Malfoy looked smug that Krum had sat next to him. Harry couldn't understand why. He wasn't even sure how the Durmstrang students had known to sit at the Slytherin table, although from their reputation the entire school was composed of people who would follow Slytherin values.
Krum shrugged. "It is game. If one side always win there would be no fun."
The French were sitting with the Ravenclaws. Harry wondered if this was also a considered, political decision, or simply because the Slytherin table was closest to the door and the Ravenclaw table was the second closest.
"Life's a little different," Harry said. "Always play to win and make sure the other guy stays down."
Krum nodded approvingly.
Apparently this philosophy was very much in line with what was taught at Durmstrang, because Harry could see some of the other Durmstrang students nodding as well.
Malfoy seemed a little star struck by Krum. He began peppering Krum with questions about Quidditch even as Harry began trying some of the new, foreign dishes that were being served for dinner.
It was a nice chance from Hogwarts usual fare. Hogwarts food was usually so heavy that Harry wondered why more wizards weren't keeping over from heart attacks on a daily basis. He'd been a student here for years and he'd never seen a single salad.
But now there were lighter, French dishes mixed in with heavier dishes from...wherever Durmstrang was. He'd never gotten a serious answer from anyone. Some people said that its location was hidden even from its students, a philosophy Harry agreed with completely.
If no one knew where it was, then former students now turned dark wizards wouldn't know exactly where to go to attack. Given that Durmstrang seemed likely to turn out a lot of dark wizards, it wasn't a surprise that they took precautions.
Harry was careful to keep his questions toward Krum polite and perfunctory, especially as he could see that Malfoy's questions were irritating him. He had some experience with how uncomfortable it was to have all eyes on you.
He could see the Gryffindors staring at least, especially Ron Weasley, who from all reports was an even bigger Quidditch fanatic than Malfoy.
Harry watched as a couple of Ministry officials joined the teachers at the head table.
The rich food suddenly seemed to settle in a lump at the pit of his stomach. He was no longer hungry,. The arrival of the officials meant that the feast was almost over, and that at the end of the feast his life of terror would begin again.
Harry barely noticed as Dumbledore introduced the officials. The moment he heard the names he forgot them, so wrapped up was he in his own misery.
Even Dumbledore's explanation of the tasks was frustratingly vague. Three tasks, spaced out over the course of the school year. It sounded so romantic and brave, at least according to the expressions on the faces of the Gryffindors.
The Goblet was carried in by people Harry had never seen before. His hand itched to grab his wand. Had these people been properly investigated? Presumably they worked for the Ministry, but that didn't give Harry a lot of confidence.
Over the past two months the Ministry had been in turmoil. There had been a great deal of political infighting over the appointment of successors to the people who'd been killed during the world cup. The purebloods were lobbying hard for their candidates, but the other side was lobbying just as hard.
Harry suspected that this was part of the reason that Dumbledore hadn't fought harder over the issue of open enrollment for the Tournament. He was using every bit of political capital he had to try to get his candidates in place so that the entire balance of the government didn't shift in Voldemort's direction.
This, at least was what Harry's Slytherin informants were telling him, although usually in a highly biased manner. Harry was forced to read between the lines to figure out what was really happening.
Whatever happened, the Ministry was in turmoil now, and Harry suspected that Voldemort was using the confusion to full effect. He was likely making inroads in areas that no one was looking.
Dumbledore explained that when candidates were chosen they were do go through the door beside the teacher's table to await further instructions.
He held up his wand, and with a motion every candle in the room was extinguished at once, leaving the room lit by the light of the Goblet and the lights from inside their carved pumpkins. The room was plunged into semidarkness.
It was a brilliant piece of theatrics, as every voice in the hall suddenly fell silent. Even Harry, cynic that he was couldn't help but hold his breath a little as the light from the Goblet flared.
Red light flared from the Goblet, along with sparks. The crowd gasped and a charred slip of paper floated from inside the Goblet to be snatched out of the air by Dumbledore.
"The Champion from Durmstrang is Victor Krum," Dumbledore announced.
Ron Weasley made a loud comment about how this wasn't a surprise. While everyone likely thought so, Harry thought it was rather crude of him to mention it.
Krum rose from his seat and graciously stepped forward.
The cheering and applause was loud and enthusiastic. Krum was apparently popular with almost everyone, something that even the Gryffindors and Slytherins could agree on.
As he stepped through the door, Dumbledore plucked another piece of paper from the air.
"Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore said. "Is the representative of Beauxbatons."
The clapping was considerably less enthusiastic for her than it had been for Krum. This changed when she pulled the scarf off her head and a full hair of beautiful blonde hair emerged like a waterfall.
She was one of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. If he hadn't attended the World Cup and seen actual Veela he'd have said she was the most beautiful.
The clapping became considerably more enthusiastic, mostly from the male students.
"Is she part Veela?" Malfoy asked. "They'll let any sort of riff raff into the school these days."
Despite his statement, he didn't stop staring at the girl. Harry would have made fun of him except that he too could barely look away.
Until the night of the World Cup he hadn't thought much about girls. He'd thought of them as simply something to be either manipulated or avoided. Even after the seeing the Veela he'd simply assumed that it was the result of magic, no different than the warm happy feeling the Imperius spell gave him.
However, looking at her now, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was finally becoming interested in the opposite sex.
It would be a massive inconvenience if it was true. He was almost a year and a half more advanced mentally than physically/ If this continued, he would eventually outpace all the girls his own age, and he doubted that older girls would be knocking down his door.
Worse, from what he saw from the older students, boys tended to become fools around girls. They did things, took risks, and acted in ways they normally would never have acted simply to get a girl's attention.
He couldn't afford to be distracted that way. Unfortunately, from the way his eyes didn't leave Fleur until she left the room, he wasn't sure he'd get a choice.
The other French girls weren't even trying to have the appearance of being good losers. Some of them were openly crying.
It was probably for the best they hadn't sat with the Slytherins.
Harry grimaced as Dumbledore held up his hand. The murmuring in the Great Hall quickly subsided.
"I would like to thank all of you for your enthusiasm for the tournament. Without your support, and that of your parents, none of this would be possible."
The Goblet was sparking again, and Harry felt his stomach drop.
"Not me, not me, not me, not me..."
One of the other Durmstrang students leaned over and asked Malfoy, "What is he doing?"
"He's convinced that the Goblet is going to choose him even though he is not remotely old enough," Malfoy said. "He's a bit dramatic."
"Not me, not me, not me..."
"The champion for Hogwarts," Dumbledore began. "Is..."
He stopped, and looked visibly surprised.
Harry grimaced. The only reason Dumbledore would look surprised was if the result was something no one could have predicted.
"Harry Potter."
The entire room sat in stunned silence. Harry was well known to be too young, and he'd made his objections to the contest known to everyone who would listen.
Slowly the crowd began to clap, beginning with the Weasleys. Harry suspected they were doing it to mock him, but the rest of the crowd seemed to be more honest in their enthusiasm.
The Gryffindors probably thought he'd found a way of the age line, that he'd pretended not to want to participate in order to throw the attention off him. A few of the Slytherins thought the same thing, likely. Most knew, however that he was going to be a reluctant participant.
Malfoy looked shocked.
Harry scowled and fought the urge to flip all of them the bird. With his luck this would be the moment that didn't reset, and he'd have to live with the consequences of it.
He stood slowly and heavily. Each footstep felt as though it was heavier than the last. The fact that Dumbledore looked a little shocked wasn't much of a consolation.
The fact that he'd been expecting this for weeks wasn't the consolation that he'd thought it would be. Instead, he felt a little sick, although he fought to keep it off his face.
It felt like he was walking to his execution.
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The many Deaths of Harry Potter by ShayneT
 Books » Harry Potter Rated: T, English, Harry P., Hermione G., Words: 242k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 4k+, Published: Mar 2, 2017 Updated: Jun 15, 2017 3,851Chapter 44: Dangerous
It was strange that more of his classmates weren't looking at him angrily. After all, he'd apparently cheated the system that half of them had been trying to cheat and he'd succeeded. Worse, he was a Slytherin and he was going to represent the school.
As he glanced at the Gryffindor table he saw the Weasleys grinning at him. Hadn't they listened when he'd told them it was all a plot?
Apparently his killing of the troll the first year, the basilisk the next year and most especially saving everyone from the dementors had bought him more goodwill than he'd thought. It was a far cry from the way he'd been received the first year.
Harry suspected that if he'd been a glory seeking Gryffindor everyone wouldn't be quite so accepting. However, he'd been making his opinion known about this the entire time and no one could accuse him of being a glory hound.
It was strange. Harry was taking the first steps toward dying again and he felt like the entire school was cheering him on.
Not everyone was cheering; there were some Slytherins and some Gryffindors who weren't. Ron Weasley was one of them, although even he didn't look as angry as Harry would have expected. He simply looked constipated.
Harry reached the table, took one look at Dumbledore and said, "What did I tell you?"
With that he turned, walked along the teacher's table and headed for the door the other champions had gone through.
The other two champions stared at him as he entered.
"It looks like we have our champions," the Ministry official said, beaming.
He looked too happy for it to have been a coincidence. Harry wondered for a moment if Scrimgeour had gotten his name placed in the Goblet, either as revenge or as a publicity stunt.
It'd be strange to be killed simply because a politician wanted to make headlines.
"He's too young," Krum said bluntly.
The Ministry official shrugged. "His name came out of the cup...it doesn't seem as though we have a choice."
"I'm underage," Harry said. "Doesn't that invalidate my selection?"
"The Goblet predates the age limit," the official said. "Which was only put in place this year as a formality. No one thought that someone as young as yourself would prove worthy, although we shouldn't have been surprised."
"No you shouldn't," Harry said dryly. Considering that he'd been telling everyone exactly that for the last month, there shouldn't have been anyone in all of Scotland that was surprised.
"This seems irregular," Madam Maxine said, sweeping into the room.
She was followed by Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Snape and Moody. They had apparently already been arguing.
"If Hogwarts wishes to put themselves at a disadvantage by having a child compete, the blood will be on their hands. I am satisfied." The Durmstrang headmaster seemed almost to gloat.
Madam Maxine seemed troubled. "It does not seem fair, and it does not seem safe."
"I have heard of Mr. Potter," Fleur said. "Isn't he the one who killed a troll in his first year, and fought off a hundred dementors only last year?"
Apparently his legend had begun to spread outside of the country. Harry fought the urge to scowl at Fleur. He was trying to get out of the contest, not stay in.
"Perhaps it would be best if we had the Goblet choose someone else," Madam Maxine said. "No matter how capable, he won't be a match for an adult wizard."
The Ministry official stepped forward. "The cup has gone out, and it will not relight until the next ceremony. The choice has been made."
The three headmasters were silent for a moment before nodding their heads.
"Who thought a magically binding contract was a good idea for this sort of thing anyway?" Harry asked. "And what would happen if I just said no?"
The Ministry official leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
Harry felt the blood run out of his face. He wasn't sure if that would follow him through a reset either. Damn...he was trapped.
"So what do we have to do?" he asked. "Kill a dragon?"
The headmasters glanced at each other, giving each other significant looks that Harry didn't have to be a legilimens to interpret.
A dragon was likely to be involved in one of the tasks.
"Part of what is being tested is your ability to think on your feet," Dumbledore said. "As such, you will not be allowed to know what it is. The first task will occur on November twenty fourth in front of a panel of judges. You will face the first challenge armed only with your wands."
He looked at Harry. "Other...equipment will not be allowed."
Harry supposed that he was talking about the Peruvian Darkness Powder. He hadn't used any in quite some time, but it kept indefinitely. He wouldn't be able to use the wall walking shoes, or any of the other Weasley gadgets to help him get through the challenges.
He scowled. The things he carried with him were part of what kept him alive. He'd feel naked and defenseless without them.
"Fine," he said. "But don't expect me to play fair."
The party was in full swing by the time Harry arrived back at the dungeons.
Although Harry could never be openly popular with his classmates for political reasons, they were overjoyed to have a Slytherin become champion. It was better than winning the House cup, and it was the perfect thing to push into the faces of the Gryffindors.
No one could say that Harry was anything but a Slytherin either. He wasn't brave or friendly, and although he worked hard on magic, he didn't love knowledge simply for the love of learning.
Yet saving everyone from the dementors had been noticed.
Harry hadn't paid attention to the slow changes in people's attitudes toward him because he'd been more concerned about his own affairs, but the contrast from first year was astounding.
As Harry walked into the room, everyone stared at him. The sounds of merriment stopped and everyone looked at him almost with an expression of sympathy.
The Gryffindors might have thought that he'd jinxed the Goblet somehow, but not a single Slytherin was likely to believe that he had.
He walked straight to his room.
As he began digging into his trunk, Malfoy stepped into the room behind him.
"I thought you were being paranoid," he said. "but you were right about everything."
"Ministry or the Dark Lord," Harry said, "It doesn't matter who set me up. I'm in it, and I'm going to survive."
"What do you have there?" Malfoy asked, looking over his shoulder.
Harry pulled out a thick book. On the front of the book was a picture of a massive fireball.
"Explosive materials: Classification, composition and properties," Malfoy read out loud. "That doesn't look like any book I've seen in Diagon Alley."
"It's not," Harry said shortly.
"Why are you reading a book about things that explode?" Malfoy asked uneasily. Harry noticed that he was slowly edging his way out of the room.
"I'm figuring out how to kill a dragon," Harry said. "Since they are mostly immune to magic."
"That seems like overkill," Malfoy said. He hesitated. "You aren't going to practice whatever it is in here, are you?"
Harry had the feeling that if he said yes that Malfoy would be requesting a room transfer. While he didn't particularly care whether he did or not, that would mean that he was replaced by someone who didn't understand the rules as well as Malfoy did.
Malfoy at least had a decent sense of self preservation.
"No...I'll find a place," Harry said. He glanced at the windows. "Probably not a good idea to risk flooding the entire Slytherin dorms and drowning everyone."
Another humiliating way that Harry didn't plan on dying...not that he'd have a choice if someone else did it. He didn't have to hasten his own death along however.
He had three and a half weeks to learn what he had to learn. If he didn't he'd be in trouble and he might have to repeat it all again, something that he did not want to happen.
Finding a safe place to conduct his experiments was harder than he'd thought it would be. The dungeons were out due to the risk of massive flooding, and places higher up were more difficult because they were always being watched.
Harry finally settled on the Astronomy tower on nights when class wasn't in session. He began sneaking out at night and using muffling spells and transfigured walls to block the visible light from what he was doing.
Even so, he only dared practice on minuscule amounts. If he did more he risked killing himself or revealing what he was doing to his teachers.
Although he carefully checked the map each night, there was always the chance that a teacher would see something through a window that they weren't meant to see, or that they'd take a sudden detour when he wasn't looking at the map.
Despite this, he found learning what he had to learn easier than he'd thought. Transfiguring inanimate objects to inanimate objects was much easier than turning hedgehogs into pincushions. Dealing with life in either direction was very difficult, but changing objects to object was relatively easy.
He'd had to risk slipping away to Hogsmeade to meet with Sirius in secret. The things he wanted to transfigure he couldn't learn without a sample, and he didn't want to run the risk of a school owl being intercepted.
It had taken Sirius three days to find the things he needed and some of the things were difficult to find because they were used to make methamphetamine and other drugs. The explosive nature of the materials also made them under strict controls.
Fortunately Harry only needed a small sample of all the different things he needed to learn how to transfigure more.
However, with only three sessions he was still struggling. The worst thing was that given the small amounts he was forced to use, there was no way to know just how much he could use and still be safe. If he'd been a muggle he'd have worried about losing a hand, but fortunately he could do everything from a distance.
Still, he had to worry about shrapnel and he was acutely aware of just how dangerous what he was doing was.
As the next weekend approached, Harry became more and more irritable.
Malfoy and Weasley were at it again.
Taking endless delight in taunting Weasley about Harry's being Champion, Malfoy didn't seem to know when to let it go. He kept picking away at him over and over until even Harry could see that Weasley was ready to explode.
Harry ducked as the voices suddenly got louder and angrier; he had taken to ignoring both boys since neither had anything he wanted to hear.
Spells went flying in the hallway and Harry quickly dodged. Unfortunately he heard a scream from Hermione, who was holding her teeth behind him.
Already unfortunately large, her teeth were growing at an incredible rate. The expression on her face was one of horrified incredulity.
"Who cast that?" Harry asked. His voice was cold, and it took him a moment to realize that his wand was in his hand.
Both of the boys looked up at him, and they blanched at something they saw on his face.
Hermione's teeth kept growing and growing and her agitation was becoming more and more obvious. The thought that she had been hurt because he'd ducked brought up feelings he'd thought he'd left behind about Creevy and Pucey.
Malfoy and Weasley both stepped back.
"We didn't mean anything," Malfoy said cautiously. "It's nothing that's not easily fixable."
Harry took a step forward, suddenly irrationally angry. "I didn't ask if it was easy to fix. I asked who cast the spell."
He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but something within him made him want someone to hurt.
Before he could take another step, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.
"What's going on here?" Snape asked.
"These two were fighting in the hall and they hit Hermione," Harry said, without looking at the older man.
"And why is your wand out, Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked up at him. "They started it...I was planning to finish it."
"I've seen what you consider to be finishing things, Potter, and I suspect that no one would be happy with what would happen if you did."
The looks on everyone's' faces suggested that they thought so as well. The fact that even Hermione looked frightened suggested that Harry might have looked at least like he was going to go to far.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape said. "And Weasley and Malfoy I'll see in detention. You, Mr. Potter will come with me."
Hermione was covering her mouth and Goyle was gasping like a fish out of water.
"Both of you go to the Hospital wing."
Snape led Harry into his office and carefully closed the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I know I shouldn't..."
Snape looked at him and said, "You've had bad experiences with dementors before."
Harry blinked. That wasn't remotely what he'd expected Snape to say, and he wasn't sure what it had to do with anything that had just happened.
He nodded after a moment.
"Felt how they suck every small bit of happiness out of you to your very bones," Snape said. "No happiness, no light, simply agony and pain for as long as they are around you."
Harry didn't say anything, simply staring at him.
"Why would you risk going to Azkaban for a schoolyard squabble?" Snape asked. "You've killed before, and so far you've always gotten away with it for one reason or another. But this?"
Snape moved to stand next to him, and Harry's fingers twitched toward his wand.
"You are dangerous, Potter," Snape said. "The Ministry accepts this...is even pleased about this because it means that you are a better weapon against the Dark Lord. That tolerance has its limits."
Harry flinched as Snape leaned closer to him.
"You are a loaded weapon with a hair trigger, and I can only hope that no one you care about will be caught in the cross hairs."
Harry blinked, surprised that Snape would use a muggle analogy.
Snape stepped back and said, "Three nights of detention Potter, next week."
The fact that Harry had gotten more detention than Weasley or Malfoy didn't bother him much. Snape had been right. He had been getting more and more angry and irritable.
Harry couldn't help but feel that it was only a matter of time before something set him off.
"We've got to weigh your wand to make sure it is operational and in good order," Bagman said.
Having been pulled out of potions while learning antidotes, Harry was irritated, especially to learn that this was for pictures. Antidotes were a particular favorite of Harry's.
Harry caressed his wand. "I can assure you that my wand is very operational."
The thought of giving it to anyone else, even for a moment gave him a moment of anxiety. He needed to start thinking about carrying a back up wand, just in case he was ever disarmed. He was making some progress with wandless versions of some spells, but results were never as satisfactory as he'd like.
The woman beside him tittered. "Such a naughty boy. Can I quote you on that?"
Harry shrugged. "Who are you?"
"I'm Rita Skeeter, with the Daily Prophet. I'm doing an article on the event and I'd like to do an interview with you. From what I've seen, you aren't any stranger to interviews."
"I'm not sure I can do the event justice," Harry said.
He was unhappy with Scrimgeour, but spouting off about how it was all a plot by Voldemort would make him seem like a crank. Without any kind of proof, he might as well accuse the Ministry.
"I'm sure we can work something out," Skeeter said, smiling. It didn't reach her eyes. "Can I have a quick moment to interview him?"
Bagman nodded.
Before Harry could protest, he found himself pulled into a broom closet. He could have pulled away, tried to fight, but he knew that the press had powers that even wands couldn't conquer. Attacking a member of the press would be tantamount to committing suicide, and with his luck he'd reset after it happened and he'd be stuck with it.
Pulling up a stool, she said, "Do you mind if I use a quick quote quill? It'll leave me free to ask you questions..."
"I'd prefer that you not," Harry said. "Those things aren't particularly accurate, and I'd like to be pilloried in the public for things I actually said instead of what I didn't say."
The other reporter had used a quick quote quill; after Harry had seen what the quill was writing, he'd forced him to write it out the old fashioned way.
The fall of Fudge's administration had proven him right.
She scowled. "Most people aren't so picky."
Harry shrugged. "I've got more at stake than most people."
Pulling out a pad and quill, she asked, "What do you say to people who believe that you are the next Dark Lord?"
Harry smiled unpleasantly and said, "I say let's worry about one dark lord at a time. It's not as though I have much of a following."
"People are concerned that your classmates are...not reliable after the incident with the dementors."
"You mean where I saved them?" Harry asked. "Popularity is fleeting. I'm like any other student. I've got friends, but I've got enemies too."
"More than most," Skeeter said. She leaned forward. "Who do you think put your name in the Goblet?"
Harry looked her in the eye and said, "I don't know, but when I find out I'll make them regret it."
"A threat, Mr. Potter?"
"A promise."
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