It had finally arrived. Harrison 'Harry' James Potter, Gryffindor fourth year, Boy-Who-Lived, orphan and unwilling fourth competitor 'slash' champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been preparing for this day for the past three weeks. The day of the first task.

Actually, he'd been preparing for this moment for a lot longer than that, but that had all been psychological.

Just over three weeks earlier he was sitting at the Gryffindor House table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle, hoping against hope that this school year, his fourth at the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in south-western Scotland, would be free of threats to his life. If it was, it would be the opposite of his first three.

This year, at the Welcoming Feast of the first of September, the Headmaster had stood and announced, among other notices, to the school that the school Quidditch competition had been cancelled. He announced that in its place would be the Tri-Wizard Tournament held between the so-called three major schools of Europe - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic of France and the Durmstrang Institute of Bulgaria.

He was very thankful when the next part of the announcement stated only those wizards and witches of-age - that is, those over seventeen - would be permitted to enter. It meant there was then supposed to be no chance of him being a competitor in what was clearly a very dangerous competition.

When representatives of the other two schools arrived on the thirtieth of October, the students were then only given twenty four hours to submit their names to be considered for their school's champion and competitor in the Tournament. That's how he'd found out the draw to determine those names would occur on the thirty-first of October.

And how did they submit their names? Why, it was by dropping a slip of parchment on which was written their name and school into a magical artefact called the Goblet of Fire.

The thirty-first of October, Hallowe'en. That day had been particularly nasty for the young man. It was the day of the year his parents had been killed and he had been marked by the jagged scar on his forehead.

It was day when, in first year, the possessed Professor Quirinus Quirrell had burst into the hall screaming about a troll being loose in the school; the troll he subsequently helped kill on the second floor while rescuing a fellow first year Gryffindor, Hermione Granger.

In second year it was the day the caretaker's cat, Mrs Norris, had been petrified in a corridor on the second floor not far from that same bathroom; and began the nine months of Harry being accused as the Heir of Slytherin and shunned by practically everyone in the school except for Granger and another boy, Ron Weasley.

And in third year, it was the day they had to sleep on the floor of the Great Hall because a supposed psychopath killer had attacked the portrait of the fat lady, the guardian to the Gryffindor common room, and believed to be trying to kill Harry.

Now it was fourth year and, on that same day, his name had somehow come out of that powerful magical artefact as the fourth name of three to declare him a competitor. He should have anticipated it.

He did.

Harry Potter was not foolish; though he had given every indication of himself being just that since the day he first stepped foot into the school back on the first of September, 1991. He knew he was being manipulated. He knew he was being used. And he knew his primary manipulator was the powerful Albus Dumbledore A man who was Headmaster of his school; Chief Warlock of magical Britain's legislative body, the Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump of the magical world's version of the United Nations, the International Confederation of Wizards; supposed Leader of the Light and his so-called magical guardian.

He did not have the magical power or knowledge to directly confront the man. So, he bided his time. He needed evidence against the man of his misdeeds. And he needed that evidence to be so resoundingly proven or provable the manipulative old man would not be able to use his authority or extensive knowledge to skate free of the crimes for which he should surely be convicted. Plus, he needed to present that evidence in such a way that the old man could not shut him up before he presented it, in full.

The first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament gave him that golden opportunity and he seized it with both hands.

_‗_

―==(oIo)==―

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Growing up with his maternal aunt, Petunia, her abusive bully of a husband, Vernon and their only child and son, Dudley, Harry knew he was different.

His aunt and uncle had tried to have him believe his parents were drunks and a whore who died in car crash. The same car crash they told him left him with the jagged scar on his forehead. By the time he was six he knew both of those 'truths' were, in fact, lies.

They tried to tell him magic didn't exist and he'd be beaten and tossed into his cupboard every time he slipped up and mentioned something about it. He knew this 'truth' was also a lie.

Then came the day his first Hogwarts letter arrived. Again, he'd slipped up. Stunned at receiving a letter, he'd carried it with the rest of the mail into the dining room. His cousin had seen it and snatched it out of his hand, loudly decrying Harry had 'stolen' a letter.

When his aunt and uncle had seen it, both had paled in not a little fear. His uncle immediately burned it in the fireplace and he was again tossed into his cupboard for the day.

However, when he was let out he was told to move into 'Dudley's second bedroom'; which led to Dudley throwing a massive tantrum.