Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament

Tazz2006

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 31/08/2007
Last Updated: 31/08/2007
Status: in_progress

Voldemort is planning an attack on Hogwarts, and with the Tri-Wizard tournament, a deadly challenge for mutliple teams of three, fast approaching it is the perfect opportunity. Harry, unaware of what awaits him, is given several ancient scrolls from the Toad Hermit Jiraiya in an attempt to prepare him for what he will undeniably have to face. Loose Naruto/HP crossover.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Chapter One: The Legendary Jiraiya

1. Prologue

A/N: Rewrite of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and renamed The Tri-Wizard Tournament. This idea hit me and just won't leave me alone, and it will be a crossover of sorts with elements of my other favorite shows and such. There will be far more schools, more magic, more battles and there will be teams of three involved (Try and guess who will be thrown together), hence Tri-Wizard. Enjoy...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters are property of JK Rowling. Jiraiya, Gaara, and the likes are property of Masashi Kishimoto.

Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament
Prologue
The Dark Plan

Standing upon a hill overlooking the town of Little Hangleton was what, to this day, still called "the Riddle Manor," even though the previous inhabitants had died over half a century before. With many of its windows boarded, tiles missing, drainage gutters hanging, and ivy spreading unchecked all abroad, the villagers stated that it was the very definition of the word "creepy." Once a Manor revered throughout the land, for it was no doubt easily one of the largest and grandest structures throughout the land, it was now dilapidated, decaying, and deserted... or so they thought.

If one were to pay enough attention, squint hard and look near the top floor ot the monstrous house towards the far left, a dim glow could be seen in the dead of night, as if a cozy fire had been lit. But, with so many believing in the "Curse of the Riddle Manor," the villagers paid the house no more than a glance every few days, and that was during the height of the sun. Look at it at night you say? Bah! That was inviting death to your doorstep. For you see, when the Riddle family was murdered, a rumor had began going around. Allegedly, a team of doctors had examined the bodies of the family members and concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or even harmed at all. In fact, the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health.... apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note, though, that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon their faces.

Now, whether that particular story was true or not remained to be seen, but it was enough to spook all of the residents and they refused to even go near the haunted mansion. Which was perfect for the current occupiers, who didn't wish to have anything to do with those below and were trying their best to remain hidden. For within the manner, an especially feeble looking man shuffled about the massive kitchen, muttering to himself through a pair of thick front teeth and stepping over the dead body of the old house keeper Frank Bryce while busying himself with a bottle of an oddly thick liquid.

"WORMTAIL!"

The high-pitched voice echoed through the halls, reaching the squabby man whose ears twitch annoyingly. The man now recognized as Peter Pettigrew, otherwise called Wormtail, cursed and spat to himself as he readied the bottle before hurrying out of the kitchen.

"Coming my lord!" He called back, his stubby legs carrying him up the winding stairs as fast as they could. He finally reached the room emanating the warm glow and entered, approaching a large, ornate and cushioned chair turned towards the fire, embroidered with silks of red and gold. He bowed down next to the arm and held the bottle out, wincing for a brief millisecond at the sight before him and silently praying it went unnoticed.

It didn't.

"Do I revolt you so, Wormtail?" Came a slithering voice, and instantly the sniveling little man went into a fit of sputters, shaking his head and bowing compulsively. "You seem disgusted every time you look upon your master."

"No... of course not my Lordship... I..."

"Liar. I can always tell, you fool... or have you already forgotten that after your years of hiding like a rat?" Wormtail was cut off, and he simpered cowardly, hoping that what he thought was coming didn't come. "I must inform you, my current state is not of my own choosing. But out of necessity. But why should I have to explain myself to an unfaithful rat such as you."

"Lord! My devotion to you... my faithfulness..."

"Is out of nothing more than fear. Hurry up and give me my food. I can feel myself getting weak. The traveling has taken its toll on me."

"O... of course my Lordship," Wormtail nodded and held the bottle out, and a loud sucking soon followed. The short wizard was forced to look away towards the fire, and after a minutes ticked by, he finally ushered up the will to speak. "If you don't mind asking... how long are we to stay here?"

After a few more moments of silence, Wormtail finally pulled the bottle away as his master released a satisfied hiss, and the servant tucked the the food away into his pocket.

"A week," came the answer in a cold voice. "Maybe longer. No one will notice that pathetic grounds keeper missing, so we're safe. And this place is comfortable enough. Besides, we cannot proceed with the plan yet as it is. Not with that pathetic Quidditch World Cup going on. With wizards pouring in from all over the world the Ministry is stressing security more than ever. Our minion's movements would be noticed too easily."

Wormtail nodded in agreement, not daring to question his lords plans. He then got up and hobbled towards the fire, pulling a long stick out of his pocket and pointing it towards the flames. With a few choice murmers, the fire intensified, illuminating the entire room and cutting away the shadows coiled around form of the creature seated within the chair behind him, revealing something slimy... something cold... and somehting evil. Seated within the chair was a creature in the shape of a crouched human child... except it was hairless, shriveled, and a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snake-like, with gleaming red eyes. The look of revulsion on Wormtail's face was unmistakable again, but the demon paid it no attention as he stared into the flames.

"Have you heard word from our opperative? How goes dealings with Suna?" The snake-child questioned, and Wormtail grinned triumphantly at finally being able to deliver good news to his master.

"Well, my lord, good news indeed! He has sent a message that they are willing to cooperate and will be sending three of their very best for the.... Hogwarts 'games.' They will also place several of their top wizards under your order."

"Superb!" The child cackled, and Wormtail recoiled as the horrorific sound bombarded him. "This plan is unraveling perfectly. By the end of the year, Hogwarts will be rubble and Lord Voldemort shall make the pathetic wizards and witches who once stood before him quiver! What a glorious day that shall be!"

"Of course, my lord. But... I must speak. Why Harry Potter? Why the boy? This task could be accomplished so much more quickly if you would allow me to merely find another suitable person."

"Without Harry Potter?" breathed Voldemort, staring into Wormtail's eyes with a dangerous glint. "You do not understand."

"You... you will not allow me to My Lord," Wormtail sputtered. "It makes sense. Laying hands on the boy is most dangerous! He is always under the eye of that muggle-lover Dumbledore. I would gladly volunteer to find you a substitue..."

"You volunteer? Or perhaps you just mean that the task of nursing me has become a burden to you. Could you possibly be making this suggestion of abandoning the plan to cover up nothing more than an attempt to desert me? I wonder."

"No... My Lord... I mean no such thing!"

"Liar!" Hissed the child, waving a frail, bone-thin arm at the rat. "Lord Voldemort knows! He always knows! You are regretting that you ever returned to me."

Wormtail simpered and fell to his knees, bowing his head and turn his face to the dusty floor. "I am sorry my Lord! I am weak!" The Dark Lord rolled his eyes at the gesture and snarled, the sight of his servant disgusting him.

"Get up you fool. There will be plenty of time to bow and beg for forgiveness later. Right now... I have some good news for you. After tonight you will no longer have to tend to me because I will be strong enough."

"My Lordship?" Wormtail's curiosity was peaked. He looked up towards Voldemort who closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to drift off, his breathing deep and ragged. For a moment, Wormtail believed the Dark Lord had used up all his strength and had fallen asleep, like he had done so many nights before. But this was not the case, and the snake-child's eyes shot open again, and he motioned towards the door with his crippled hand.

"Bring me Bertha Jorkins. I believe she has been able to enjoy her stay here long enough. I have use for her."

"What do you...?"

"That is none of your concern fool!" Voldemort cut him off, and Wormtail stumbled back as if stung. He reached down towards his forearm and grasped at the Dark Mark is it began to pulse, sending sharp pains throughout his arm. "You did good for capturing her, even though you knew nothing of the valuable information she possessed. But even though it was pure, dumb luck... you made it possible for me to seek out my most loyal of minions. For that... will be rewarded! But you are questioning me Wormtail... and my patience is running thin! I will tell you, though, that I have learned many things from my previous experiments. And I believe it is time to test it. You just worry about readying the potion! And it must be perfect! If it is not..."

Wormtail held his hands out before him in defense and he nodded before scurrying off to retrieve his master's 'guest,' and Voldemort sat back into the chair and breathed tiredly. But as soon as the rat had vanished, the fires coughed and sputtered, a face quickly taking form, and the snake grinned ever-so lightly at the sight.

"The idiot is finally gone," the fire spoke, and a twisted grin upon Voldemort's face was unmistakable. "I've been waiting for a while."

"Ah... Crouch... how goes the task? Wormtail says it is running smoothly," Voldemort breathed, and the flames laughed, spitting embers into the air.

"Well... the filthy rat is right," he stated, the place where his eyes should be glowing brightly. "The three Suna is sending to Hogwarts are most fearsome. One of them is particularly powerful. I can assure my lordship that he will not be disappointed."

"And I believe you," The creature nodded, glancing at the door, hoping to see his rat returning with his test subject soon. "And what of the old Auror?"

"I shall be getting to him within the next three days. He will not be a problem."

"Good. You shall be handsomely rewarded for your efforts."

The flames before him nodded and flared, casting a magnificent glow and warmth upon the dark lord's shriveled body. "My reward is to serve you and the cause, My Lord."

"Superb. Now go... before the fool returns. I suspect I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"Of course, my lordship."

The two shared a loud laugh before the opperative's face vanishes, and Wormtail chose this time to return with a struggling young woman in his grasp, her arms bound magically to her sides. And as she is placed before the snake-child, she attempted to scream except her mouth was stuffed with a thick, choking cloth.

"Ms. Jorkins..." the demon spoke to her, what looked to be a sinister smile in place across his flat face. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay in my house. However, as sad as it is, I must request your assistance in the matter. And by request... I really mean you have no other choice."

Her eyes went wide as the creature lowered himself from the chair and slunk across the floor like a sloth, boney arms flexing at odd, inhuman angles as he moved. Wormtail turned away in disgust and horror, not wishing to see this particular sight as the Dark Lord drew near.

"Wormtail... remove the cloth! I want to hear her scream."

Wormtail winced but obliged nonetheless, sympathy for the woman filling his mind, and the beautiful Berth Jorkins released a deathly, blood curdling shriek into the night as the hideous creature neared. And two hundred miles away, the boy who Voldemort and Wormtail referred to as Harry Potter awoke with a gasp, his scar searing like hot iron upon his forehead.

Chapter One: Harry Potter's life at Privet Drives continues to drive him insane... until an odd, old pervert appears in his backyard, claiming to be an apprentice of Dumbledore's. Next Chapter, entitled 'The Legendary Jiraiya, Wizaring Pervert Extraordinaire,' will see a few new spells learned and the lead in to the dramatic Quidditch World Cup. And just what will all his friends have to say about his dream? Stay tuned!

2. Chapter One: The Legendary Jiraiya

A/N: I'm trying to get the story up to a decent speed... don't want it floundering about and losing people's interests. And trust me... the story WILL pick up. No doubt about it. And also, in case you're wondering what a certain character looks like (if you don't already know), just google his name of course.

Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament
Chapter One
YO! The Legendary Jiraiya, Pervert Extraordinaire!

Harry Potter touched his index finger to the lightning bolt shaped scar upon his forehead and immediately regretted it, wincing in pain as a sharp sting ran across his brow. He cringed lightly and sat up in bed, searching around blindly on his bedside table in the distorted darkness for his glasses. As he finally felt the familiar frames under his fingers he picked them up and put them on, breathing a sigh of relief as his familiar bedroom came into focus and not the dreary room of the house in what was apparently a dream.

"A dream?" Harry mused, touching his forehead again and noticing that the pain was slowly ebbing away, now replaced by a dull burning instead of a fire-hot prick. He breathed out heavily and stood up from his ruffled bed and padded across the room, briefly attempting to open the door before realizing his lovely Uncle Vernon locked it every night. Forgetting that idea, he returned to his bed and parted the curtains, looking down onto Privet Drive and scanning the dully lit street in search of anything out of place. Could Voldemort be near? That, afterall, was the only reason his scar had been set ablaze before. The Dark Lord had been close. But... he couldn't be here. Certainly not. So... why?

After noticing nothing other than a cat dart across the street, probably owned by his batty neighbor Ms. Figg, he sat back in his bed, leaning lazily against the wall and chewing on his thumb in contemplation, attempting to go over the dream in his head. To him... it had all seemed too real, and it actually felt as if he were there, standing in the room with them and watching it all transpire. There had been the creature that was undeniably Voldemort... it was too hideous not to be. And he and Pettigrew were discussing something... a plan... Hogwarts! They had talked about Hogwarts! But as he was trying to remember it, the dream was slowly slipping away, just as all dreams seemed to do. Apparently this vision was no different. But what else was there? A man in the fire... what was his name? Harry cursed mentally to himself at not being able to remember and lightly banged his head against the wall, eliciting a deep grunt from his cousin Dudley a room over. Harry stilled himself for a moment, waiting to see if he had woken anyone up. But once no furious roars of "QUIET POTTER" came, he went back to his musing.

But, try as he might, he just couldn't grasp more than miniscule details from the dream, and in defeat he slowly got up from his bed and walked over to his closet, throwing open the door and removing the white T-Shirt he had slept in. He tossed it into the heap he had piled up and took a chance to glance at his reflection in the mirror hung on the door, looking up at his scar and noticing the pale flesh around it had become a tender pink. It still stung, and it was something Harry was going to have to figure out soon. His scar hurting because of a dream? That was new.

He sighed and moved his gaze away from his forehead and down to the rest of his body, flexing a lanky bicep with an unsatisfied frown. Harry Potter knew he was a scrawny, one-hundred and thirty pound, fourteen year old nothing, much smaller than anything his whale-sized cousin Dudley put away in one sitting. So he wasn't surprised with the reflection that currently stared back at him, all though it was still quite disheartening. But, he began thinking with a grin, there was something that made him stand out from those he was currently in the company of, and it was something that constantly had them on edge. If you really must know... Harry Potter was a wizard... and a right good one many would bet. After all, he had set about to secure the famed Sorcerer's Stone from falling into Lord Voldemort's hands in his very first year at Hogwarts. His first year! And in his second year he had thwarted Voldemort yet again, albeit a younger and artificial reincarnation, but still Voldemort nonetheless. Oh, and he slayed a giant snake while he was at it... even though it was a pure stroke of luck and good timing. And just last year he had learned the Patronus charm, fended off a horde of Dementors, and rescued his Godfather Sirius Black from having his soul removed from his body with the help of his best friend Hermione Granger and a Hippogriff named Buckbeak. Yes, he was an accomplished wizard at that, though he would deny it to his grave.

The thought of his Godfather laid a light frown down upon his face and he ran a hand through his thick, raven-black hair, still somewhat reeling over those particular events. Sirius Black had been a feared prisoner of the monstrous wizarding jail known as Azkaban, which was guarded by soulless creatures called Dementors. Sirius escaped early in the year somehow, and had come to Hogwarts to kill Harry... or so all had believed. The papers reported that he was one of Voldemort's most loyal followers and had killed a dozen Muggles as well as one of his best friends, Peter Pettigrew, before he was captured. Harry had also been told that Sirius was the one who sold his parents out to the Dark Lord, and at the moment, the "Boy-Who-Lived" couldn't help but ball his hands into tight fists in anger. The situation, however, couldn't be more different. Apparently, it was Peter Pettigrew who had turned his parents in and killed the street full of muggles... and he had been hiding as Ron's rat Scabbers for years upon years.

"Bastard," Harry couldn't help but spit, and he remembered how he had been the one to allow Pettigrew to live, and that had lead to his escape which meant that they had no way of clearing Sirius' name. And now... Wormtail, if his dream was true, had reunited with the Dark Lord and was free, while Sirius, wrongfull accused, was forced into hiding from the Ministry. Because of that, Harry had been forced to stay at the Dursleys yet another summer instead of living with his Godfather like it had been proposed. That wasn't what was important though... Sirius being hunted like a fugitive was.

With another throaty exhale of breath, Harry turned his attention onto his own emerald eyes in the mirror and traced his scar again, not feeling much other than a dull tingle now. He finally shrugged it off and closed his closet door and turned to his room, looking for something to occupy his time with now that he was probably no longer going to be getting anymore sleep. He looked towards his desk and at all the various parchments and books scattered about and briefly thought about doing his homework. Ever since the Dursleys had learned about Sirius Black being his Godfather and thus sent into a fearful panic, they had been somewhat tolerable towards him, even allowing him to keep his school supplies in his room. And even though he was still locked in at night, he didn't really mind now that he was able to send out his owl Hedwig and keep himself busy with his reading.

'You really should write to someone about your dream Harry,' he could almost hear Hermione telling him, giving him advice on the best course of action. 'Dumbledore... or Sirius... someone really ought to know about this. They may know what to do. And doing a bit of research yourself wouldn't hurt at all.' Yeah... that would be Hermione's advice all right. Tell an adult and read some books. He smiled to himself at the thought and sat down at his desk, taking a quill and dipping it in an ink jar. But where to begin? How could he possibly word this to Sirius? Considering he had just learned about his Godfather two months ago, it still felt a bit awkward when telling him such personal things. But what else could he do?

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for your last letter... I really appreciate it. Although try sending an owl next time instead of an eagle.

Everything here is fine. That's all I can say. Chores... cooking... the usual... but it's much more tolerable this time around. Thanks to you that is.

Something weird happened this morning, though. I had a dream with Lord Voldemort, Wormtail, and a man I couldn't recognize. They said they had plans for Hogwarts. And there was a woman. I can't remember though... it caused my scar to hurt too much. What does this mean? Do you think it was real. Perhaps you and Dumbledore can discuss it and what to do about it.

I hope you and Buckbeak are doing well. I know it must be unbearable to still know you're being hunted. I... kind of know the feeling.

I hope to hear from you soon
Harry

He sealed the envelope and layed it down on his desk, knowing he couldn't send it until Hedwig returned from her nightly hunting. So, knowing it was the only thing to do, he returned to his bed and layed himself out, staring at the ceiling and attempting to remember bits of the dream again. It seemed to be like grabbing at air though, and before he knew it he was drifting off, the darkness overtaking him. And he slipped back into a deep slumber, and didn't have a single dream the rest of the night. Rather... his mind was filled with Quidditch and brunnettes.

Harry awoke with a start to a loud pounding on his door, and he jumped up instantly and pulled out his wand, ready to defend himself. But remembering where he was, he thumped himself on his head and placed his wand down on his desk, glad that Petunia or Vernon hadn't simply come straight in. They probably would have ended up with their noses on their arses.

"Boy! Get up this instant! If you want any breakfast, I expect to see you in the backyard in five minutes! Do you hear me!" Came the voice of his rhino of an uncle, Vernon Dursley, the Head of House of Number Four, Privet Drive.

"I'm coming! I'll be down in five minutes!" Harry called back, opening up his closet door and dressing without looking over at his reflection again. He heard his uncle thump away and grimaced audibly, grinding his teeth together. This was a prime example of why Harry preferred the three of his relatives when they were asleep. They never opened their big mouths then.... unless it was to snore. He was about as welcome in their house as mold or wood rot, and it had been that way since he could remember. And he also expected it would never change. But with Sirius, it had become much better... and a bit of yardwork for a good breakfast was nothing.

He rushed downstairs two steps at a time and headed directly into the backyard, not even bothering to pay any attention to his horse-faced aunt, Pentunia, or their son Dudley, who was currently seated at the table in two chairs of his own with a large meal in front of him, his massive girth threatening to turn the chairs under him into kindling. And standing on the porch with a shovel in his hand was none other than his uncle, waiting for Harry's arrival, his face a thick purple and his mustache twitching as if it had a pulse of its own.

"It's about time boy," he said rudely when Harry finally came before him, taking a moment to glance into the kitchen at the meal being prepared. But he quickly turned his attention back to Harry and squinted down at him angrily, causing the young wizard to take a step back. "Now see here... if you want any breakfast, you'll have these four rose bushes planted over by the fence in good time." He motioned with his grapefruit sized hands to the bushes behind him, their roots wrapped carefully in trashbags, and then pointed towards . "And no funny business! Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yes sir," Harry nodded unenthusiastically and barely caught the shovel that was thrown at him. And as Vernon reentered the house, the Boy-Who-Lived set about looking for a pair of working gloves, hoping that the big oaf had left some. But finding none, he prepared himself for a handful of blisters and set about his task. It proved to be rather easy, if not a bit hot, to dig the first hole, and he made quick work of the rose bush, although he pricked his hands more time than he could count. The second was a bit more rough on him, and he could feel his muscles burning as they worked, and his hands grew raw against the old wood of the shovel.

The second one was burried soon after, and Harry leaned against the shovel while wiping the sweat from his forehead. It was already scorching this summer morning for some odd reason, and as he watched the Dursleys inside, sitting around their table and eating a well cooked meal, he felt like breaking the shovel across his knee. Not that he could... he just felt like it. But that was the price, he supposed. He didn't want to tell Sirius though, because what type of man would that make him? Well... he was only fourteen, but still... running to Sirius and whining that they were making him work a bit? Yeah... he'd seem like a real tough guy.

He laughed lightly to himself and set about digging the third hole, his muscles working themselves harshly as he shoveled scoops of dirt into the large pile he had created.

"Wouldn't it be easy to just do magic?" Came a gruff voice from above him, causing Harry to jump up in surprise and clumsily slip his foot into the hole, sending himself flat on his rearend. He looked up, though the glare of the son prevented him from making out any feature of the source of the voice. But whoever it was, it was definitely a man, as he could tell from the broad shouldered sillhouette currently crouched upon the Dursley's fence. And apparently, held loosely within his left hand, was a monocular. What he had been using it for... Harry didn't know. "You seem to be doing it the hard way."

"Who are you?" Harry fired off, jumping to his feet and dusting himself off. He felt around in his pocket, but remembered he left his wand up in his room. Real smart Potter!

"I'm just a visitor," the man shrugged before standing up tall and folding up his spying glass. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and placed his hands on his hips, and Harry squinted up through the suns beams in order to get a good look. "Been here for about fifteen minutes. And watching you plant those bushes, I must say, wasn't all that fun."

He chuckled lightly and scratched his nose, although Harry didn't seem to be amused. He clutched the shove tightly in his blistered hands, ready for a fight, and Jiraiya rolled his eyes with a light 'sheesh.'

"All right! If you really must know."

Harry frowned as the silhouette suddenly hopped up on one foot and began dancing along rather expertly, balancing himself on what Harry concluded was a pair of large, wooden sandals. He skipped around for a bit, 'Woo-ing' and 'Aah-ing' rather oddly, before planting himself firmly with a palm placed out before him and the other thrown out behind.

"I am the all-mighty Toad Hermit and Chick-Magnet.... the unbeatable and all-powerful Sannin... the Legendary Jiraiya!" And with a manic grin a ploom of smoke was dramatically sent up into the air behind him, and Harry was finally able to take in just what this loon looked like, and he honestly couldn't believe his eyes.

Was this man really a wizard? He was dressed like he had danced right out of one of those Japanese Kabuki theatres Harry had read about in his History of Magic book. He wore an extravagant, sleeveless red coat with broad shoulders, and underneath was a gray shirt with rather baggy arms that stopped at the forearm and lead into matching black wrist quards. His pants were baggy as well and were cut off mid-shin where they ran into skin tight fishnet. And Harry was correct... he had been dancing about on a pair of wooden slippers. To say the least, the outfit was the oddest he had ever seen in England, even for wizards, and he wasn't even counting the odd nicknacks hanging from 'Jiraiya's' belt, the massive piece of metal protecting his forehead, or the gigantic "tube" he was currently carrying on his back. Harry couldn't help the current twitch that had overtaken his right eye.

"Are... you for real?"

The older wizard faultered from his difficult pose and returned to his crouching position, eyeing Harry in distaste while the Boy-Who-Lived eagerly returned it.

"And just what do you mean by that?" Jiraiya huffed indignantly, swinging his long ponytail over his shoulder theatrically.

"Well... what're you doing here?" Harry questioned, holding onto the shovel tightly in case he had to defend himself. Although... what it could possibly do against a wizard... he had no clue.

"You're Harry Potter right?" The older man asked, leaning forward and getting a closer look of the boy. As he did, Harry could tell he was older... probably around fifty or sixty... and his pure white hair was even further evidence. "Nice clothes," Jiraiya sniggered in response to Harry's current appearance, and the young boy was brought out of his current train of thought.

He looked down at his attire and glowered, not thinking it was something that should be made fun of. He was currently dressed in a pair of Dudley's old elementary school clothes, and that fact alone was embarrassing enough without an old man laughing at him. Even then, the sleeves had to be rolled up five times just so he could use his hands, and the jeans had to be painfully tightened with a belt that had about a dozen extra holes added to it.

Harry glared at him, though the goofy smile never left Jiraiya's face.

"You don't look all that impressive."

Harry's face turned red in anger at the insult, but before he could fire something back, there came a bewildering roar from the Dursley household and Harry knew exactly what was coming by the sound of it. And he could recognize the sound of that stampede from anywhere.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR FENCE YOU... YOU MISCREANT?! WHY I HAVE THE RIGHT MIND TO CALL THE AUTHORITIES!" Vernon roared, his face looking like a blue berry as he waved his fists in the air. Jiraiya looked at him curiously, completely unfazed, and then glanced over at Harry for confirmation.

"Muggle?" He asked, and Harry nodded. Jiraiya smiled an all-knowing smile and proceeded to look Vernon in the eye, suddenly taking on an air of well-mannered maturity. "You see sir, I was just waiting for Harry to get done with his chores because I have very important matters to discuss with him. Nothing more really. I knew it'd take him atleast an hour though, soooo... I thought I'd get a good look at some of your neighbors and see if I could get some research done."

He again pulled out the monoscope that Harry had seen before and turned away from both of them to look in the opposite direction, and the only thing both Harry and Veron could think to do was wait for him to finish. "I write books you see... and I'm always looking for new data to include in my next best seller. My fans are always craving new and better material. Locations, situations, images... and I must say, you've got an especially pretty girl about two houses down. Woo... I'd like to see just how she could bend. Nice heart shaped bum too," he proclaimed as if it was the most common of topics to be discussed, and Harry's jaw dropped as Jiraiya mimiced the shape of the girl's posterior with his hands, wondering just what these novels of his were about. Vernon was practically at a loss for words as well, though he atleast managed a few unintelligable sputters and spits.

"Th... that's Alicia! You PERVERT!" Petunia suddenly called scandalously, having heard the conversation from a few feet away, bringing Vernon and Harry back to their senses with her shriek.

"TH... I... WHA..." Vernon tried, and Harry knew he was furious when he couldn't even form a complete though. "GET OFF OF OUR FENCE YOU LOW LIFE! GET OFF OF MY PROPERTY PERIOD! OUR NEIGHBORS...."

Vernon reached out and took the shovel Harry had been holding and tried to raise it into the air. But suddenly there came a massive explosion of smoke and the robust muggle found himself pinned to the ground, trapped underneath what looked like a giant piece of pink gum. But as the smoke dissipated, everyone except Jiraiya gaped at the massive, ten foot tall, red frog that now rested quietly in the Dursley's backyard, its massive tongue extended and currently lazily laid upon Vernon's backside, restraining him effortlessly. When the smoke fully vanished, the creature looked around at its current wearabouts, its massive yellow eyes swirling before looking directly at Petunia, and she promptly fainted across the kitchen table, though Dudley failed to care and just continued to eat around her.

"Wicked!" Harry couldn't help but say, looking the creature over. It wore a vest resembling Jiraiya's and two massive swords were crossed across its back. Jiraiya grinned triumphantly at the adoration and hopped to the ground, kneeling down next to the struggling form of Vernon Dursley.

"WHY YOU! WHEN I GET OUT FROM UNDER THIS... THIS..."

"Toad?" Jiraiya finished lamely, digging his pinky finger into his left ear dully, searching for a waxy build up. "And just what will you do when my little spirit friend here is gone? I'm a wizard you know."

At the sound of his particular word, a word that Vernon hated oh-so-much, all the previous color drained from his face and he found himself speechless, simply looking up at the older man as he examines a large clump of wax before he flicks it into the fat man's forehead.

"And don't worry about your neighbors. I have this house under a disillusionment spell... which means they won't notice a thing. And if they do... I doubt they'll think much of it. It's all the power of magic, you see. A very wonderful thing."

"FREAKS! FREAKS THE LOT OF YOU!" Vernon began screaming, spitting pieces of unchewed egg at Jiraiya's feet. The 'Sannin' finally shook his head and motioned towards the Toad, who nodded before picking the plump man up and throwing him into the air as if he were a rubber ball. But before Vernon hit the ground, which would undeniably spell his doom, he found himself safely back into the clutches of the monster toad. And by now, he was nearly beside himself, and he whimpered as Jiraiya approached him.

"Now... are you going to be quiet and behave?" the wizard quirked an eyebrow at the Dursley, and the fat man nodded hastily. "All right. I'm going to talk to Harry in his room, you see. And you're not going to bother us. Unless... that is... you want me bringing one of my even bigger friends down upon your house."

Vernon shook his head like a mad man and Harry was actually surprised it didn't roll off. And with a satisfied smile, Jiraiya snapped his finger and the toad was gone in another explosion of smoke, leaving Vernon lying on the ground on his belly. He didn't even bother to move as Jiraiya walked past him and towards the back door, though Harry didn't even dare follow him, not yet knowing if he could actually be trusted. Though... if he were to be logical about it, this man could have just wiped out the entire block if he wanted to. There was no doubt about that.

"Oh... but since you've been such a good sport," Jiraiya mumbled thoughtfully before pulling out a dark, redwood wand and pointing it at the two rose bushes left over. They buried themselves perfectly in no time at all and Vernon's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "So... you coming Harry?"

The two thus entered the kitchen and Jiraiya helped himself to a bit of food before taking the plate upstairs with him, as if knowing exactly where to go. Harry grabbed some toast for himself before following, and when he reached the top of the stairs he found Jiraiya seated cross-legged upon his bed and shoveling food into his mouth rather crudely. Harry watched him until he finished, and with a massive burp that echoed throughout the house, Jiraiya leaned back comfortably with a relaxed sigh.

"Wonderful family you've got," the 'toad wizard' said, and Harry rolled his eyes before taking a seat upon his desk.

"Who are you?" Harry questioned, but before Jiraiya could leap up and do the dance again, Harry waved him off. "I mean... really... who are you? Coming into my back yard... making some giant Toad appear out of thin air.... what is all this about?"

Jiraiya smiled and leaned back once again, picking at his teeth. "It's really quite simple. I was sent here by Dumbledore. He wanted me to give you a few things."

"Ooooookaaaaay," Harry spoke, suddenly interested. Jiraiya rolled his eyes and sat up with his elbows on his knees and his chin rested on his hands. He seemed rather professional at the moment, though Harry wondered just how long that would last.

"Well... Dumbledore was my teacher back in the day. He was what? 80? I dunno. But I was about 14... your age in fact. And he wanted me to give you a few of the teachings he passed down to me. He said it was about time you learned just how powerful you are. Though....." he looked at Harry with sharp scrutiny. "Nevermind."

Harry bowed his head and gritted his teeth, almost having enough of this old man insulting him. Dumbledore was his teacher? How could Dumbledore stand such a person? Well, Harry thought, Dumbledore does keep around Snape. So, if this man had been trained by Dumbledore, it was probably best to keep on his good side. So he decided, in good judgment, not to retort back.

"And?" Was all he said, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown. "Is there anything else?"

"Must you ask so many questions?" Jiraiya frowned, but then dug into one of the pouches lining the sash around his waist and tossed what looked to be two scrolls onto the desk beside Harry. "Study them well. Because I'll be back before the summer is over to test you. I'm your new teacher after all."

"Teacher?" Harry blinked, not sure he heard correctly.

"Yeah... teacher. Personal favor to Dumbledore. If I had my way, I'd still be in Japan. So don't think I recognize you as a good wizard or anything like that. You don't look special at all," Jiraiya stated, looking Harry over beadily and sending the young man into a huff once again. That makes three! "So I'll be back before you get on the Hogwarts train. Remember that."

"Wait.... you're leaving?! But... you just said you're my teacher."

"Yeah... so? There aren't any hot girls around here to help with my data collecting. They're all ugly prudes.... like the old cat lady down the street. And..... your aunt.... it makes me want to throw up in my mouth. They won't do at all. Not for my notes. I need.... fresh figures." He looked around the room and his eyes shifted to Harry's desk, right onto the letter addressed to 'Sirius Black.' Harry noticed this and placed his palm upon the face of the envelope and calmly picked it up, never taking his eyes off of the Toad master before him. Jiraiya stared back at him for a moment, the air tense, and Harry thought for a second that he was actually going to have to explain why he was about to send a letter to a known murderer. Afterall... how would Jiraiya know he was innocent?

But Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the old man's eyes began wandering again, and he picked up a nearby picture resting on the Boy-Who-Lived's bedside table, and his eyes seeming to get a tad bit glossy. Harry's eyebrow twitched, knowing exactly which picture that was. "Woah... who is this hotty?" Yep... that confirmed it.

"That's my mom," Harry managed to get out through clenched teeth, glad for the distraction and yet furious that that was the distraction. And Jiraiya laughed sheepishly, putting the picture back in its place and picking up another.

"And who is this?" The old man whistled, and Harry bristeled even more.

"That's Hermione... my best friend..." He clenched the edge of his desk harshly, threatening to splinter it with the magic that was currently rushing through his body.

"Oh... Dumbledore told me about her. Smartest witch in your year right? You do her yet?" Jiraiya asked in a deep tone, a goofy grin set about his face as he eyeballed Harry.

"WHAT?!" The boy blushed furiously, snatching the picture right out of the older wizards' large hands.

"I'm just kiddin'... sheesh. You don't look like you have a pair anyway. Look... learn those spells and I'll see you then. Ta'," And with a wave, in another puff of smoke and a coughing fit from Harry, Jiraiya was gone, and the young wizard's anger vanished rather with him.

Curiously, he scooped up the two scrolls that Jiraiya had tossed him and set down on his bed, staring at them curiously as the clock struck eleven o' clock behind him. But he didn't open them immediately, but rather turned and looked at the two pictures Jiraiya had oggled, heaving heavily and shaking his head.

"Pervert."

CHAPTER TWO: Harry Potter sets about studying the two scrolls given to him by the Toad hermit. However, he remembers the fact that he isn't allowed to do magic. What a road block! But as a plus, he recieves an invitation from the Weasley family to attend the Quidditch world cup. The Dursleys, however, are in no mood to be trifled with and prove more difficult than ever. Will Harry make it out of the house? You bet he will.... but read it anyway!