Tabula Rasa by reptilia28

Rating: PG
Genres: Humor, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 26/10/2007
Last Updated: 01/12/2008
Status: Paused

Soon after Harry returns from King's Cross station after dying, Harry is killed again and
sent to Death's office, who is far from happy to see him. After learning that this is not the
first time that this has happened, Harry is sent with his memories intact to...somewhere in time.
H/Hr. Formerly known as "Somewhere in Time".




1. Waiting Room
---------------



Geez! These stinking plot bunnies are breeding like...bunnies! I can't seem to stop new
ideas from coming into my head. Oh well, might as well make the most of them.

Guess what? I'm taking yet another of my own challenges!

I own the plot and any OC's. The rest belongs to Rowling.

----

Chapter 1 - Waiting Room

“NEXT!” a voice bellowed in Harry' ears.

Harry groaned and opened his eyes to find himself in a strange environment. It seemed like he
was in the waiting room of a hospital, but the walls were completely bare of decoration, and a
single row of chairs stretched on in either direction as far as the eye could see.

“NEXT!” the disembodied voice shouted again. A couple of seconds after the word was spoken, the
room seemed to slide to the left several feet. Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember what had
happened, tuning out the periodical screaming and the feeling of inertia as the room shifted. Okay,
he had been hit by a Killing Curse, and ended up at King's Cross, with Dumbledore waiting for
him. He spoke to Dumbledore, and found out that his scar was an accidental Horcrux, and had taken
the brunt of the curse for him, so he could return to the living. Harry returned to life, and
fought off the Death Eaters for several minutes before he felt something hit him in the back, and
his world went dark. When he woke up, he found himself here.

“Oh crap, the bastard killed me again,” Harry groaned, cradling his head in his hands.


“Bad day?” a voice next to him asked. Harry looked up to see an old, pale man dressed in a hospital
gown.

“You could say that,” Harry sighed, slumping in his seat. “It's not every day when someone
gets killed twice in under ten minutes,” he added glumly. Beside him, the old man chuckled
lightly.

“No, I suppose it's not,” he agreed. For a moment, they sat in silence, watching the blank
wall slide slightly every few seconds. “This place wasn't what I expected it to be,” he said
conversationally.

“What did you expect it to be?” Harry asked curiously. He figured he might as well make
conversation with the man since it looked like they would be there for a while.

“I'm not sure, really,” the old man said, shrugging. “I just thought it wouldn't be
so...boring,” he said, hesitating as he tried to find the right word to describe the seemingly
endless room.

“Last time, I was at the train station that led to my school,” Harry said conversationally.
“I'm starting to wonder if I had stepped onto the train, if I just would have gotten here a few
minutes early. If Dumbledore had told me that this was my fate, I wouldn't have been so eager
to die,” he continued, grumbling bitterly.


“Why were you so eager to die?” the old man asked. “If you don't mind my asking,” he added
quickly.

“A madman killed my parents when I was a baby,” Harry said sadly, “and he's spent the past
six or seven years trying to kill me too. Looks like he finally succeeded. Now that I'm dead,
though, I'm not sure how to take it.” Harry sighed and turned to his neighbor. “What about you?
How'd you die...if you don't mind my asking.” The old man shook his head and straightened
up in his seat.

“Liver cancer,” he said simply. “Guess I drank a bit too much in my youth, and it finally caught
up with me.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said sadly, looking down at his feet.

“Don't be; I'm not,” the old man said, shaking his head. “Near the end, things got
really painful, so when the time came, I was actually relieved. I clung to life long enough to say
goodbye to all my grandchildren, make peace with my Lord, and let go, and I never regretted it,” he
mused with a small smile on his face. “By the way, I'm John,” he added, extending his hand to
Harry.

“Harry,” he greeted, shaking John's hand.

For what seemed like an eternity, they talked about each other's lives. Harry spoke of his
life at the Dursleys, and John spoke of his life growing up on a farm, and how he fought for
England during World War II. He spoke of how he met the woman who would be his wife at a diner
right before he left for war, and how he had proposed to her as soon as he returned. Soon, they no
longer noticed the monotonous scream of “NEXT!” or the shifting of seats. However, eventually, John
looked to his right side to see that there was only a blank wall. He looked forward to see a plain
door in front of him.

“Well, this looks like my stop,” John said sadly as he stood up from his seat. “It's been
nice talking with you, Harry, and I hope I see you on the other side.” Tipping an imaginary hat,
the old man walked to the door and opened it, stepping into the next room with his head held high.
Harry watched sadly as his new friend disappeared, and barely noticed as the seat that John once
occupied slid into the wall.

“NEXT!” the voice shouted several seconds later. Harry sighed as he stood up and walked into the
next room, which he found was as bland as the first. The walls were completely bare of any
paintings or ornaments, save a door similar to the one he just walked through on one of them. In
fact, the only thing that kept the room from being completely bare was a wooden desk with a black
computer sitting on top of it. Sitting at the desk was a man that seemed slightly older than Harry,
with long, dark, unkempt hair and a scruffy beard. The man had his head propped up with one hand
while clicking at something on his computer with the other hand. The man briefly shifted his gaze
to Harry before straightening slightly.

“Please state your full name an—” he began, speaking in an American accent, but stopped as he
took a double take at Harry. Then the man's face adopted a resigned, almost bored expression.
“Oh, it's you again,” he said dully as he began to type on his computer. “You're starting
to become a permanent fixture here,” he muttered darkly as he continued typing rapidly. Several
seconds later, a dull whirring emanated from within the desk, a plastic card stuck out from a slot
on the desk, which the clerk plucked and handed to Harry. “Open the door with this,” the man
explained, pointing to the door, which Harry noticed had an electronic slot above the doorknob.
“Good luck man, you're going to need it,” he said, saluting Harry.

Harry, unsure of how to respond, simply saluted feebly back at the clerk and slid the card into
the slot in the door. When the light turned green, Harry turned the knob and opened the door,
entering the new room. When he walked in and saw who was waiting for him, his jaw nearly dropped in
shock.

“Mum?” he gasped.

----

That's the first chapter for you. Hope you liked it.

Point out the lame self-insertion and win a cookie! :^)

Don't forget to read and review!

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2. Shouting Matches
-------------------



To make a pot of plot bunny stew, mix two quarts of chicken broth with five large carrots and
five russet potatoes, all chopped. Cook until softened. Add meat of one plot bunny, and cook until
meat is cooked through. Add various herbs and serve. For best results, laugh maniacally while
cooking. Serves one.

I own any OC's that pop up, as well as the challenge that this story originated from.
Everything else belongs to J. K. Rowling.

----

Chapter 2 - Shouting Matches

In the center of the room that Harry had entered, a woman with red hair and green eyes was
sitting at her desk with a phone in her hand. While she seemed engrossed in a conversation,
Harry's outburst caught her attention, and she looked at Harry in shock.

“Brad, I've got a client here, I'll call you back,” she said quickly before hanging up
the phone. Turning back to Harry, her look of shock twisted into one of rage. “YOU!” she screamed,
causing Harry to flinch slightly. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” In the face of the
woman's wrath, Harry suddenly felt very small and timid.

“I thought you'd be happy to see me,” he replied meekly. Instead of placating the enraged
woman, it only served to infuriate her more.

“HAPPY TO SEE YOU?! WHAT IS GOING THROUGH THAT SQUISHY BLOB YOU CALL A BRAIN THAT WOULD MAKE YOU
THINK I'D BE HAPPY TO SEE YOU?!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her bared teeth and wide
eyes giving her a demented look. After inhaling deeply several times, the woman dropped into her
seat and began sobbing softly into her hands. “I don't freaking believe this,” she sniffled.
“I'm a good worker; what did I do to deserve this?” Unsure how to calm the distressed woman,
Harry quietly sat down in the chair standing in front of the desk.

“Don't cry, Mum,” Harry said soothingly. However, her reaction was not what he was
expecting.

“Stop calling me that!” she snapped, pounding her fists on the desk in anger. “I am not your
mother, damn it, yet you go through this every time you come here!” While she pulled out a box of
tissue out from a drawer in her desk and began blowing her nose, Harry looked down at the plastic
name plate on the desk. Instead of reading “Lily Potter” or “Lily Evans”, it read “Mara J.” While
the woman was continuing to clear her sinuses, Harry looked around and saw that unlike the previous
two rooms, which were bare of any decoration, the walls in this room were covered from ceiling to
floor with *Star Wars* posters, including those advertising movies with dates far into the
future. A soft coughing brought Harry back to reality, and he turned to face the now much calmer
woman.

“So,” Mara said shortly, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Care to explain how you
got here this time?” When Harry opened his mouth to question her, she held up a hand to silence
him. “Don't bother answering; you don't know what I'm talking about and I already know
the answer.” Standing up and walking to a filing cabinet in one corner of her office, Mara slid
open a drawer and pulled out a file before slamming it closed again.

“Harry James Potter, born July 31, 1980,” she read out of the folder. “Latest death logged, dead
due to being struck by an *Avada Kedavara* curse at 2043 hours local time. Sixth premature
death logged. Further premature demises will result in permanent demise of individual, as well as
the termination of current Death's employment and reassignment of his or her clients,” she
continued mechanically before slamming the folder on her desk, making Harry jump slightly. “So,
what do you have to say for yourself?” she asked as she sat back down, flashing an eerie smile.

“Wait, I died six times?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Oh yes, would you like to hear them?” Mara asked tightly. Without waiting for an answer, she
opened the file and began reading aloud to him. “Age eleven, crushed by a mountain troll. Age
twelve, died due to basilisk poisoning. Age thirteen, got your head smashed in from a hundred-meter
freefall. Age fourteen, burned to death by a Hungarian Horntail. Fifth year, knocked into the veil
at the Department of Mysteries from a stray curse. Sixth year, exsanguinated after being struck
with a *sectumsempra* curse cast by one Severus Snape,” she continued, her voice steadily
rising as her anger returned. “The only reason why you didn't show up here ten minutes earlier
was because this time, I left the Horcrux in your head intact to act as a buffer! Fat load of good
that did,” she grumbled as she closed the file. For his part, Harry was shocked that he had died so
many times, and in so many gruesome ways.

“Wait a minute, if I died all those times, why don't I remember any of it?” Harry questioned
Mara.

“Company policy,” Mara said, leaning back in her chair. “Whenever someone is sent back, their
memories of previous events are erased. Don't really know why, but those are the rules.” Mara
scoffed lightly as she crossed her arms in front of her. “None of this was supposed to happen,” she
muttered quietly. “You were supposed to grow up, kill Riddle and go marry your soul mate, some
Granger girl I think….” The last part of her rant caught Harry's attention.

“Wait a minute, are you saying that my soul mate is Hermione?” Harry asked. “I thought my soul
mate was supposed to be Ginny!” While Harry was still trying to absorb this latest shock, Mara
shrugged and smiled knowingly.

“Sorry kid, that was the love potion talking,” she said smugly. “Not really sure where she got
it, but the point is that girl's nothing but trouble. Same goes for her brother Ronald, so I
recommend that you cut off all ties with them as soon as possible,” she continued. Her latest
comment snapped Harry out of his stupor.

“What? But Ron's my best mate!” Harry exclaimed defensively.

“Best mate, eh?” Mara asked skeptically. “Tell me, would a real best friend turn his back on you
when your name came out of the Goblet of Fire in fourth year? Would a real best friend have gone
back home to a hot meal and soft bed when the fate of the world was at stake? Would a real best
friend constantly be jealous of your fame and wealth, yet never consider just what you went through
to get those luxuries?” Harry opened his mouth to answer, but stopped and closed his mouth when he
realized that he didn't have a good answer for her. “Thought so,” she quipped.

“Wait, if every time I died before my time, I was sent back, why wasn't Sirius sent back, or
Cedric, or Dumbledore or anyone?” Harry asked Mara.

“Must have been their time,” she said casually, shrugging.

“THEIR TIME?!” Harry exploded, standing up and knocking his chair over. “How the hell could it
have been their time? Dumbledore I can understand, he was old and probably was near the end of his
life anyway, but what about the others? Cedric was only seventeen years old!” he shouted
angrily.

“I don't know!” Mara yelled, standing up and glaring at the teenager before her. “I
don't write the rules, I just follow them. Besides, I don't know why you'd care about
that old crook, the way he manipulated you all these years,” she snarled, sitting back down. When
she saw Harry's look of shock and confusion, she chuckled to herself. “Oh, he wasn't evil,
far from it, but over the years, he began poking his nose into things that didn't concern him.
He did what he thought was best for you, but in reality was only harmful to you. You know, road to
Hell and all that jazz. However, he *really* dropped the ball on a few things, like
Sirius' incarceration. How could the head of the Wizengamot not know that a person had been
convicted and sentenced without a trial? Even if he thought that Sirius was guilty, he should have
at least held a trial in the interests of justice.”

After finishing her latest rant, Mara sighed tiredly and ran her fingers through her hair. “I
don't even know why I'm telling you all this, since you won't remem—” she continued,
but interrupted by her phone ringing. “Hold on one minute,” she told Harry while picking up the
phone. “Death and Resurrection, this is Mara,” she said professionally into the phone. While Harry
couldn't hear what was being said, whoever had called must have said something shocking,
judging from Mara's surprised face. “Yes sir, I understand sir, good day sir,” she said before
hanging up the phone and turning to face Harry again. “Well, it looks like the big man likes you,
because he just approved the use of a form that allows you to keep your memories,” she said as she
pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of a drawer. “Just sign your name on the dotted line,” she
said, handing the items over to Harry, who complied with her instructions.

“Here you go,” Harry said as he signed the form and handed it back to Mara.

“Thank you,” she said, plucking the paper from his hand and placing it inside his folder. “Now
remember, you're on your last chance, so *don't screw up*,” she hissed threateningly,
reaching over her desk and grabbing the front of his robe. Gulping nervously, Harry kept silent and
nodded obediently. “Great,” she said sweetly as she released him. “Have fun now,” she said as she
waved slightly.

Harry's vision was suddenly flooded by blinding light, and then suffocating darkness, and
then his world faded back into view. Harry looked around to find himself in the Great Hall. The
torches had been doused, and the only source of illumination in the room was the soft blue hue of
the flame within the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore seemed to be giving his closing speech about the
Triwizard champions when the goblet flared a crimson red and spat out a scrap of parchment.
Snatching the singed note from the air, Dumbledore unfolded it and read the name aloud.

“Harry Potter.”

----

For those of you who don't get the rather blatant *Star Wars* reference, Mara Jade is
the wife of Luke Skywalker post-*Return of the Jedi*, and bears a striking similarity to Lily
Potter in appearance. It was too good an opportunity to pass up, and I like the sound of the
name.

Don't forget to read and review!

Oh, and while this is a little late coming out, I just have to say that, Rowling announcing that
Dumbledore was gay, completely and totally unnecessary. That is all.

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3. Small, Slow Steps
--------------------



Ugh...I've been fighting writer's block for about a week now, so updates will probably
slow down for a while. I'll also be visiting the East Coast for a couple of weeks at the end of
the month, just FYI. On the bright side, my birthday was two days ago, and I got *Halo 3,
Legendary Edition*.

I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 3 - Small, Slow Steps

The students gathered in the Great Hall gasped as one as Dumbledore announced Harry's name.
As the crowd began to murmur amongst itself, Harry sighed exasperatedly and stood up, following
Dumbledore to the waiting room for the champions.

“Vhat is it?” Viktor Krum asked, standing up as Harry as well as the various Headmasters and
Ministry representatives came into the room. “Do they need us back outside?”

“I still don't really believe this,” Ludo Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and
shivering in barely contained delight, “but it seems that we have a first in Triwizard history:
*two* champions!” he continued gleefully. The anger from the two foreign Headmasters was
immediately evident.

“Zis iz an outrage!” Madame Maxine exclaimed in her thick French accent. “Zis boy cannot
possibly compete; `e is far too young!”

“I agree,” Harry said, surprising everyone in the room. “Professor, may I please see that note?”
he asked Dumbledore, holding out his hand. Frowning in confusion, the wizened man handed Harry the
scrap of parchment. Harry then made a show of inspecting the note.

“Vhat is he doing?” Igor Karkaroff snapped testily.

“This isn't my handwriting,” Harry said finally, handing Dumbledore back the note. “I refuse
to participate in a contest that I could very well die horribly in when I didn't even enter my
own name in.”

“I'm afraid that it doesn't work that way,” Barty Crouch said. “The magical contract
operates on the person's name, not their signature.”

“So you're saying that anyone with a quill and parchment could put my name into the Goblet,
*without my permission*, and I can do nothing about it?” Harry asked, his eyes seemingly
glowing as his anger surfaced. Crouch's silence had all but answered Harry's question.
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “just fan-bloody-tastic. If you need me, I'll be in the
Gryffindor Common Room,” he said as he walked out of the room, leaving the shocked adults behind
him. Cedric Diggory recovered first and ran after Harry.

“Harry, wait!” Cedric yelled as he quickly caught up with his significantly shorter competitor.
“For what it's worth, I believe you.” Harry smiled softly and nodded at the older
Hufflepuff.

“Thanks, Cedric, that means a lot to me,” Harry said, before lightly patting him on the arm.
“May the best man win,” he added before walking back to Gryffindor Tower. When he entered the
Common Room, he found it completely empty except for Hermione reading a book, Crookshanks purring
softly on her lap.

“What're you reading?” Harry asked, causing her to look up.

“*Hogwarts, A History*,” Hermione said, setting the book down next to her. “I've been
trying to find some loophole to get you out of this tournament, but I haven't found anything
yet,” she continued sadly.

“Well, Crouch said that the contract works with the name, not the signature,” Harry said as he
sat down next to her, “so it looks like I'm stuck.” For a moment, they sat in silence, only
Crookshanks purrs and the fireplace crackling making any sound.

“You didn't seem particularly surprised when Professor Dumbledore called out your name,”
Hermione said, breaking the silence, “why is that?” Harry sighed, running his hands through his
messy hair.

“Can I tell you tomorrow? I don't really feel like explaining everything right now,” he said
tiredly. He breathed a sigh of relief when Hermione nodded silently. “I take it Ron's not too
pleased with me right now,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

“No, he's not,” Hermione confirmed. “He thinks that you somehow managed to trick the age
line, and is upset that you didn't let him in on the secret.”

“Yeah, I figured that he would,” Harry said bitterly. “Might as well get it over with now;
I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione,” he said, hugging Hermione goodnight before walking up to the
boy's dormitory. As he had expected, when Harry walked into the fourth-year dormitory, Ron was
sitting in his bed, glaring at him.

“So, how'd you do it?” Ron asked coldly. Harry raised his eyebrow at the red-haired
teenager.

“If I said I didn't do it, would you believe me?” he questioned. Ron did not answer, but
glared at Harry evilly. “Didn't think so,” Harry quipped as he changed into his pajamas and
crawled into bed. Ron huffed angrily and slid the curtains surrounding his bed closed.

When Harry awoke early the next day, he saw that Ron's curtains were still drawn closed.
Briefly thinking about what Mara had said to him about cutting off his ties with Ron and Ginny,
Harry changed into his robes and walked down the stairs to the Common Room and found Hermione
waiting for him.

“Can we go somewhere a little more private?” Harry asked, looking around cautiously. When
Hermione nodded, Harry took her by the arm and led her down to the seventh floor and stopped in
front of a blank section of wall. Releasing his hold on Hermione, Harry paced back and forth in
front of the wall three times while thinking the words, *I need someplace to talk to
Hermione*. When he heard Hermione gasp in surprise, Harry opened his eyes to see the dark,
ornate door that led to the Room of Requirement. Harry held the door open for Hermione, then walked
into the room itself.

In contrast to the rather excessive way that the enchanted room had fulfilled his previous
requests, this room was rather plain. The walls were painted a dark blue, as well as the carpet and
furniture. The room was furnished with a pair of large overstuffed chairs and sofas, as well as a
large glass case containing a variety of beverages, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.

“Umm...want something to drink?” Harry asked awkwardly. Hermione shook herself out of her
shocked stupor and looked at Harry.

“Just tea, thanks,” she muttered as she began gawking at the room in shock again.

“Want any sugar or anything with that?” Harry asked as the room produced a teacup for him.


“Just a bit of lemon, please,” Hermione said as she sat down in one of the chairs. “Wow, this is
really comfortable. How'd you find this place, Harry?” Harry didn't answer immediately, but
instead finished preparing Hermione's tea and grabbing a butterbeer for himself.

“Hermione, if I told you something so incredibly strange, I couldn't possibly be sane, would
you believe me?” Harry asked as he passed Hermione her tea.

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said, frowning in concern. “Harry, what are you trying to say?”
Harry fidgeted nervously as he sat down.

“Well, I'm not quite what I seem to be anymore,” Harry said cryptically. “Firstly, I'm
from the future. Secondly, I'm...dead,” he said, hesitating as he mentioned his death. Hermione
was sipping her tea when he spoke, and nearly choked on it when he said he was dead.

“What?” she sputtered, still coughing. Harry then launched into his story, about what had
happened in the next three years, as well as how he had died, and the conversation he had with
Mara. However, he carefully omitted the detail of Hermione being his soul mate. When he had
finished, Hermione was simply sitting in her chair motionless, her now cold tea forgotten.

“Well,” she said finally, “that's certainly a strange story.” Wordlessly, she stood up from
her chair and sat back down next to Harry. Without warning, Hermione suddenly pounced over and
wrapped Harry in a hug. “I'll help you, Harry,” she whispered, tears trickling from her eyes,
“anything you need, I'll help you get it. I'll always be there for you.” Unsure how to
respond, Harry awkwardly pulled her into his arms, patting her on the back comfortingly.

“Thanks,” he whispered softly. For several minutes, they held each other tightly, until their
arms got tired and they had to relinquish their holds on each other.

“So...how are you going to break things off with Ron?” Hermione asked as they both lounged in
one of the fluffy sofas.

“I don't know,” Harry admitted as he took a gulp of butterbeer. “It would look suspicious if
I just suddenly stopped talking to him for no reason after being best mates for three years. I
don't know, I'll think of something.” Harry spared a moment to glance at his watch, and
realized that they had been holed up in the Room of Requirement for almost two hours. “It's a
good thing that today's a Saturday, or else people might miss us,” he said casually.

“Yeah,” Hermione said absently as she read a book that the room had conjured for her. “I just
can't believe that I fell for Ron,” she muttered so low that Harry almost didn't hear
her.

“Oh, who did you have your heart set on, then?” Harry asked teasingly.

“Just some boy,” Hermione said, shrugging indifferently, although Harry noticed that she seemed
to falter slightly when he asked. “We better show ourselves to the world before people start
thinking we're off snogging in some broom closet somewhere,” she said as she pulled herself out
of the chair. Chuckling nervously, Harry pulled himself onto his feet and held the door open for
Hermione.

“I've got something I need to do first; I'll catch up,” Harry said as Hermione began to
walk away. Once she had left, Harry walked back into the room and contorted his face in
concentration. *I need someplace to hide something*, Harry thought, and the room shifted into
the large, cluttered room that Harry had hidden Snape's potion book in his sixth year. Grinning
triumphantly, Harry requested a cloth sack and grabbed Ravenclaw's Diadem, quickly stuffing
into the sack before the Horcrux could exert its influence on him. Pushing aside some random
debris, Harry laid the sack into a corner of the room and shoved the junk back so that, while he
could clearly see where it was, it would remain hidden to anyone else. Satisfied with his work,
Harry walked out of the room and watched as the door melted back into the wall.

Harry casually walked back up to Gryffindor Tower and grabbed a quill and parchment, preparing
to write a letter to Sirius.

*Hey, Padfoot. Wherever you are, I hope things are better than they are here.*

*Someone got me into the Triwizard tournament...as a fourth champion. Apparently, there was
some fine print that stated that the contract that runs the Goblet uses names instead of
signatures, so I'm stuck. Lucky me.*

*Could you do me a favor? Could you call your old house elf and ask him to bring the silver
locket that no one can open from your grim old place to you, in a thick cloth sack? I know that
your opinion of your old place and your elf are rather low, but it's really important. I
can't explain it in a letter, but it's really important. And please TRY to be nice to your
elf; karma has that nasty habit of coming back to bite you in the ass if you're not careful.
Thanks.*

*Harry*

Satisfied, Harry stuffed it into an envelope and sealed it, leaving the front blank. Slipping it
into his pocket, Harry walked up to the owlery, where Hedwig swooped in with a mouse in her
beak.

“Hey, girl, want to deliver a letter for me?” Harry asked. Hedwig immediately dropped the mouse
from her beak and hooted in affirmation. Harry grabbed a piece of string and tied the letter to
Hedwig's leg. “It's for Sirius,” Harry whispered as he carried the snowy owl to the window,
“so be careful.” Hooting haughtily, Hedwig swooped out of the window and into the gray sky,
eventually disappearing completely.

Harry sighed to himself. He had told Hermione about his resurrection; he had started collecting
the Horcruxes; he had asked Sirius to get the second Horcrux, so what was left? Oh yeah, homework.
He had three years of extra experience, so he figured that there was no excuse to get such low
marks this time around. Well, he better head back to Gryffindor Tower; that homework wasn't
going to do itself.

----

I hope that you enjoyed that.

While I have my problems with the nagging bitch phase that Hermione was going through during the
first third of Deathly Hallows, and hold nothing short of utter contempt for Kreacher, Hermione did
have a point in saying that it was Sirius' own mistreatment of Kreacher that ultimately lead to
his death.

If I don't post anything more before I leave for the East Coast, I'll try to remember to
switch my stories to say paused before I leave.

Don't forget to read and review!

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4. Coverage
-----------



I'm leaving for the East Coast tomorrow. Oh joy.

As usual, I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 4 - Coverage

Over the next few days, the Hogwarts students had splintered predictably following the Triwizard
champion announcements. The majority of the Gryffindor students were supporting Harry out of house
pride, but there were some who did not, like Ron Weasley. The Hufflepuffs were unanimously against
him, feeling that Harry had stolen their chance at glory, despite Cedric's repeated attempts to
convince them otherwise. The Ravenclaws were fairly neutral on the subject, and the Slytherins
banded together behind the Hufflepuffs out of spite towards Harry. However, having gone through
these events before, the time-traveling wizard paid it little mind; even if he had not, then his
newfound interest in his studies would have most likely softened the blow.

Much to Hermione's delight, Harry had decided to take an increased initiative in his
studies, revising his previously done essays before beginning those that he had not yet started.
While his revisions were nowhere near the length that Hermione's novella-length essays,
Harry's works showed legitimate effort in his research, and would undoubtedly impress his
teachers (except for Snape, who would probably sneer and give the paper a failing grade out of
spite). However, at the moment Harry's mind was not on his studies.

Harry's mind was currently on the Horcruxes - particularly, the Resurrection Stone. Harry
had no idea where it was, and he could not simply walk up to Dumbledore's office and ask him
where the old Gaunt cottage was without raising suspicion. There was also the issue of
Gryffindor's sword, unattainable for similar reasons. Harry also doubted that after two years
of decomposing in the Chamber of Secrets, that there would still be any usable basilisk venom. And
of course, there was the small issue of the Horcrux contained within his scar. Mara had not
explicitly stated whether she had removed the Horcrux this time or not, and Harry did not wish to
find out.

Ultimately, Harry decided that on the next Hogsmeade weekend, Harry would Apparate to Little
Hangleton and dispose of the bones of Tom Riddle Senior, delaying Voldemort's resurrection.
Harry also made a mental note to tactfully ask Sirius whether the Black library contained any books
on Necromancy; it would help immensely to know about and appropriately counter any alternative
methods of resurrection that Voldemort might resort to.

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asked as she laid her hand on his arm, concern in her voice.
“You've been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I'm fine; I just got lost in my thoughts,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I need a
break,” he added, standing up and closing his book. While he wandered the hallways of Hogwarts,
Harry became lost in his thoughts again and bumped his shoulder into someone. “Sorry,” he muttered
absently.

“That's okay; the nargles can grab your attention like that,” a dreamy voice said behind
him, causing Harry to stop in his tracks. He spun around and saw a younger Luna Lovegood skipping
away, humming tunelessly to herself. Suddenly gaining an idea, Harry sprinted to catch up with
her.

“Excuse me, do you read the *Quibbler*?” Harry asked innocently as he walked with long
strides in order to keep up with the skipping girl.

“Yes, I'm the daughter of the editor,” Luna said, grinning dreamily at a distant sight, “why
do you ask?”

“I saw a copy for sale one day, and thought it looked interesting,” Harry lied, “but no one will
tell me how much it costs to get a subscription.” Luna's absent grin grew into a genuine smile
when she heard he was interested in her father's magazine.

“It's nine Sickles a year, are you interested?” she asked excitedly.

“Wow, that's cheap,” Harry muttered softly to himself. “Umm, sure, when do I pay?” Harry
asked, genuinely clueless.

“Just give the payment to the delivery owl when it arrives next week,” Luna explained, “it's
a one-time fee, you know.”

“Okay, thanks,” Harry said, waving goodbye as he walked away.

“Always a pleasure to help someone interested in finding the truth,” Luna said, skipping away
merrily.

The next several days had passed by with little incident. Ron still refused to speak with him,
but Harry paid it little mind. Even if he had not been advised to cut off his ties with the
redheaded boy, Harry had more important things to worry about than his petty jealousy.

In Potions class, Snape was teaching the class about poisons and their antidotes, as well as
making underhanded insinuations of poisoning Harry later, when a breathless first-year ran into the
classroom.

“Harry Potter...needed...champions...ceremony...” the winded first-year panted. Snape wrinkled
his nose in disgust at the display.

“Very well. Potter, leave your things and go do whatever they need you for,” the potions master
said, waving Harry off.

“Umm, Professor, there'll be an interview there too,” the first-year added hesitantly,
afraid of angering the greasy-haired man. Snape's features twisted into a scowl.

“Fine. Potter, take your things and get out of my class,” he snapped. Harry gathered his
materials and followed the first-year to the room where the other champions were gathered, as well
as Dumbledore, Rita Skeeter and Ollivander. After the wand inspections, Rita Skeeter had grabbed
Harry and dragged him away to conduct her “interview,” but Harry cut her off before she could fire
her first question.

“Before we conduct this interview, we need to get a few things clear,” Harry said firmly.
“Firstly, lose the Quick-Notes Quill; if you're going to write anything down, write it
yourself.” Skeeter sighed as she stowed away the bottle-green quill and drew a considerably plainer
vulture-feather quill. “Secondly, be honest. I don't mind you embellishing things a bit, but
don't put words in my mouth that I didn't say,” Harry continued. “Thirdly, don't devote
the entire article about me; I want the other three champions to have at least as much coverage as
me. Fourthly, keep your questions about the tournament; my personal life is just that:
personal.”

“And if I don't?” Skeeter asked, the reporter deciding to push her luck.

“Well...” Harry trailed off, smiling grimly, “let's just say that your new boggart will be a
flyswatter,” he finished vaguely. Skeeter chuckled nervously as she reaffirmed her grip on her
quill.

“So Harry, how do you feel about being in the tournament?”

------

For the rest of the day, Harry had remained tight-lipped about the interview, simply saying to
anyone that would ask to wait until the next day's *Prophet*. Even Hermione could not pry
any information out of Harry.

“It's just some stuff about the tournament; wait until tomorrow's paper comes out,”
Harry would say, frustrating his friend.

The next day, a delivery owl swooped in front of Hermione, a copy of the *Daily Prophet*
clutched in its talons. Hermione paid the owl and unrolled the newspaper, reading the bold
headline.

**A GLIMPSE INTO THE MINDS OF CHAMPIONS**

**By Rita Skeeter**

Below the headline, a photograph of the four champions posing for the camera. Hermione shifted
her gaze to read the article body.

*Yesterday, I had the opportunity to interview the four champions for the 1994 Triwizard
Tournament, currently taking place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The champions are
international Quidditch celebrity Viktor Krum (18) of Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour (17) of
Beauxbatons, Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory (17) of Hogwarts, and strangely, Harry Potter (14), also
representing Hogwarts.*

*“This is a mistake; I shouldn't even be in this tournament,” Mister Potter said when
asked about his entrance into the tournament. “Someone who wished me harm - which would be pretty
much everyone who supports You-Know-Who - entered my name, and due to a stupid law concerning
magical contracts, bound me to compete in this tournament.”*

*When asked about the rather fractured opinions about him within his peers, Mister Potter
merely shrugged. “They're entitled to their own opinions; what I think of them doesn't
matter,” he explained. “Some of the opinions, especially the Hufflepuffs, are not entirely invalid,
even if the circumstances are not what they think they are. I imagine that when I and the other
champions start the tasks, I'll be too busy trying to survive to worry about what other people
think of me.”*

*Mister Potter affirmed that Cedric Diggory was the true Hogwarts Champion before politely
ending the interview....*

Hermione set down the paper and turned to Harry, who simply shrugged innocently.

“I told you it was just stuff about the tournament; I don't know what everybody got so
worked up about,” he said as he sipped his pumpkin juice. Hermione sighed in exasperation and shook
her head.

“I guess I was half expecting her to write you as a blubbering, attention-seeking prat and
completely ignore the other champions,” Hermione said, looking back down at the paper.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “And I don't think
that'll happen anytime soon; we've come to something of an agreement,” he continued
cryptically.

“What sort of an agreement?” Hermione asked, partly in suspicion and partly in intrigue.

“I managed to find out a dirty little secret of hers,” Harry said vaguely. “She writes the
truth, I don't tell people about it. A fair trade, I think.” Hermione sighed and began
massaging her temples.

“My best friend is a bloody extortionist,” she muttered to herself, not caring that she had
cursed.

“And yet you love me anyway,” Harry chuckled, patting Hermione on the back.

----

Obviously this is more of a transition chapter. I'll try to make the next one longer;
hopefully, my writer's block will have cleared up by then.

Don't forget to read and review!

-->



5. Slight Differences
---------------------



Assassin's Creed…Command and Conquer 3…Orange Box…I have no life anymore….

I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 5 - Slight Differences

Knowing beforehand what the Triwizard tasks would be, Harry concerned himself little with
studying for the dragon that he faced…not that he was supposed to know that; Harry was still
waiting for Hagrid to invite him to “discover” the dragons. Instead, Harry placed his efforts
towards improving his studies. While the general idea for most things came to him easily, having
done them hundreds of times before, such things like definitions, as well as the detailed
explanations required for his essays still eluded him, and he quickly found himself residing in the
library nearly as long as Hermione, which was driving a larger wedge between the rift that had
already existed between him and Ron.

As Harry hit a block on his Transfiguration essay, his thoughts drifted to his former best
friend. While initially reluctant to simply discard his friendship with the redhead like Mara had
suggested, the more that her words about his jealousy made sense. Harry ultimately decided to give
the redheaded boy a second chance, but he would no longer tolerate his jealousy, and he would also
be wary around Ginny. The news about the love potion had hit him hard, even if he had not initially
shown it.

“How are you doing on the essay, Harry?” Hermione asked as she dropped a stack of books onto the
table before pulling out her quill and ink as well as a roll of parchment.

“Slowly,” Harry groaned, pushing aside his parchment and laying his head in his arms. “I think
I've fried my brain; I can hardly concentrate on anything anymore.” Hermione sighed and reached
over to grab his parchment.

“Might as well correct what you've already got down,” Hermione said as she analyzed the
contents of Harry's incomplete essay, jotting down a few marks here and there. “I'm
impressed, Harry, hardly any errors,” she said, obviously pleased with him. “Your handwriting could
still use some work though.” Harry snorted and looked up at her.

“Four years of correcting my homework and you still can't read my handwriting?” he asked,
mock glaring at her.

“I didn't say I couldn't read it,” Hermione scoffed back in response, handing back his
essay, “I just said it needs work.” Rolling his eyes, Harry opened his book and began scribbling
down his notes.

------

Harry breathed in the crisp autumn air as he and Hermione walked through Hogsmeade village. So
far things had been going well. Several days before, Hagrid had taken Harry out into the forest
under the cover of night to show him the “adorable” dragons. And just as before, Hagrid had
neglected to mention that the show doubled as a date with the Beauxbatons Headmistress, Madame
Maxine. The next day, Harry had discreetly sought out Cedric and warned him of the dragons. A
couple of days later, the fake Moody had cursed Malfoy into a ferret like before, which had
elicited a few chuckles out of Harry. Now, Harry was going to enjoy the last Hogsmeade weekend
before the first task, and headed straight for the *Three Broomsticks*. Harry and Hermione sat
down at the bar and drank a few butterbeers before Hermione had to use the lavatory. As Harry
continued drinking the warm, soothing drink, he vaguely saw someone sit down next to him from the
corner of his eye, but paid it no mind until he heard a familiar voice.

“I'll just have a bowl of chicken soup, and a glass of water,” the patron requested, and
Madame Rosmerta nodded before walking away to take more orders. Harry turned his head to see Mara
sitting next to him, grinning cheekily at him. “Surprise,” she said.

“Mara?” Harry asked in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm ordering lunch,” Mara said nonchalantly. “What else are you supposed to do in a place
like this?”

“But what are you doing *here*?” Harry repeated himself. “I thought you had clients to
watch over, like myself.” Mara just shrugged indifferently.

“I've got someone else watching the rest of my clients, and I'm here with you right now.
I trust you're not going to do something reckless in my presence now, are you?” she asked,
raising an eyebrow threateningly. Gulping nervously, Harry shook his head slightly. “Good boy,” she
said sweetly, thanking Madame Rosmerta as her soup arrived. “Besides, now that you know what's
going to happen, my life has been *much* easier so far.” Mara blew on her soup, cooling it
down before consuming several spoonfuls, followed by a gulp of water. “Now, I take it that you have
a few questions for me?”

“Yeah, like is the last…” Harry paused as he realized he almost spoke of the Horcruxes in
public. “Do I still have the…you-know-what in my head?” he asked, leaning closer and whispering
softly.

“Yup,” Mara said, drinking more of her soup, “I figured that you'd need the extra
shield.”

“But if it's still in me, how am I going to get it out?” Harry asked, slightly panicked.
Smiling knowingly, she leaned in to him and he leaned towards her.

“Let me worry about that,” she whispered conspiratorially, before leaning back. “So, anything
else?” she asked in a normal tone.

“Yeah, I don't have to do anything like try to keep Malfoy from turning dark or anything
like that, do I?” Harry asked. Mara, who was taking a drink when he had asked, choked on her water,
coughing loudly for several seconds.

“No,” Mara coughed after she had regained her composure. “I suppose you could try if you
*really* wanted to, but I doubt that it'd help. I think that the best that you could do is
get him into a position where he won't spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, but I don't
think you'd get much further than that. Despite what Dumbledore thinks, some people simply
don't change.” Mara gulped down the rest of her soup and threw a few coins onto the counter
before standing up. “Well, Miss Granger should be returning from the loo soon and I need to get
back to work, so I'll see you later, Harry,” she said as she patted Harry on the shoulder.
“Take care of yourself. Try not to die for the next couple of minutes,” she added as she walked out
of the pub and integrated herself into the crowds of Hogsmeade. True to her prediction, mere
moments after she left, Hermione returned from the lavatory and reclaimed her seat by Harry's
side.

“So, did anything exciting happen while I was gone?” she asked as she picked up her butterbeer
bottle.

“Not really,” Harry said, shaking his head lightly, taking a gulp of his own butterbeer.

------

Soon, Harry stood in a tent alongside his fellow champions mere minutes before they were to face
their respective dragons, and Harry felt the fear and anxiety that gripped him the first time
returning. Soon, the Headmasters, along with Ludo Bagman and Crouch Senior walked into the tent,
Crouch clutching a small purple satchel in his hands.

After the pre-game speech to the champions, Crouch opened the satchel and beckoned everyone to
reach in and pull out their respective dragons. Cedric drew a Swedish Short-Snout bearing the
number one. *No surprise*, Harry thought. Fleur reached her hand into the sack and carefully
pulled out a Welsh Green bearing the number two. As the bag was passed to Harry, he reached in and
pulled out his dragon, confident that he would pull out the Hungarian Horntail like last time.
Therefore, he was unpleasantly shocked when he saw a scarlet, serpentine figurine of the Chinese
Fireball hissing at him, a three hanging from its neck. Krum reached in and pulled out the final
dragon, the Horntail Harry expected to have. Resigned to his fate, Harry sat down on a bench and
awaited his turn.

As Cedric and Fleur clashed against their dragons, Harry was frantically trying to change his
strategy. Simply summoning his Firebolt was no longer and option, since Chinese Fireballs were
flightless. They were also smarter than the Hungarian Horntail; not significantly smarter, but
smarter nonetheless. They were also fiercely protective of their treasures…and their eggs. All too
soon, Harry's name was called, and the young man drew his wand and held back his fear, stepping
out of the tent with his head high.

As Harry walked out of the side cavern protecting the champion's tent and into the main
field, Harry scanned his surroundings nervously. He couldn't see the dragon, but there were
enough large rocks scattered around that it could be laying low, waiting for him to appear. Harry
carefully navigated the terrain, walking slowly and deliberately. Unfortunately, he was not
deliberate enough, for he slipped and knocked over several pebbles. The ground rumbled ominously
for several seconds before the giant dragon towered over him, growling ferociously. Both human and
dragon stared at each other for several tense seconds before the dragon released a blazing
fireball, Harry jumping out of the way just in time to avoid the flaming projectile, exploding
against the rock like a mortar.

Harry hastily cast a disillusionment charm on himself before mentally berating himself for not
considering the possibility of getting a different dragon, then tried to sneak past it. However,
the Fireball turned towards his direction and blasted another projectile at Harry, who had to dodge
it again. This course of action repeated itself for several minutes until Harry realized that the
Chinese Fireball must sense the body heat of its prey like a snake. Cursing himself for not
learning the spell for the bluebell flames that Hermione was so fond of using, Harry hastily turned
a few stones into torches before lighting them and throwing them away from his position, the heat
and movement distracting the dragon.

Taking his chance, Harry canceled the disillusionment charm and made a mad dash for the egg
cluster, snatching the golden egg in mid-run and sprinting into the secondary cavern leading to the
victory tent just as the dragon realized what was happening, and Harry managed to barely dodge one
final mortar-like fireball from his adversary before slowing down to a jog as he entered the
victor's tent, holding the egg up triumphantly.

After several minutes of getting cleaned up and being given a clean bill of health by Madame
Pomfrey, Harry was escorted by Hermione up to the spectator's stand to await his scores. Ludo
Bagman raised his wand and fired a ribbon from its tip, shaping itself into a ten. Crouch fired his
wand and gave Harry a nine. Dumbledore gave Harry a ten. Madame Maxine surprisingly gave Harry a
ten as well. Karkaroff raised his wand and gave Harry a four, eliciting groans and cries of protest
from most of the crowd, not that Harry was surprised.

Later, during the victory party in Gryffindor Tower, Harry was approached by Ron, who was
looking at his shoes nervously.

“Look Harry, I know I've been a bit of a prat lately…” the taller boy started before
trailing off awkwardly.

“A bit,” Harry agreed.

“…But I just want to say that I'm sorry, and hope that we can be best mates again,” Ron
continued, holding out his hand. Harry looked down at the offered hand, but did not take it.

“Ron, what you did hurt me very badly. I would think that being my *best mate*, you would
have believed me when I said I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire.” Harry felt a twinge
of guilt at the shameful look on Ron's face, but pressed on. “I'll tell you what, I'll
forgive you this time, but pull a stunt like that again, and I may not be so accommodating. I would
hate for our friendship to be thrown away over jealousy.” Harry waited for Ron to absorb this
information before the redhead nodded. Smiling, Harry shook his hand. “It's good to have you
back,” he said.

“So Harry, open the egg!” a random Gryffindor that Harry didn't know shouted. Suddenly,
Harry's smile left his face as he looked down at the egg in his arms. Sighing heavily, he
placed his hand on the clasp on the top. Mentally bracing himself, Harry twisted the clasp, opening
the egg and filling the room with the cries of pain from his classmates mingling with the piercing
shriek of Mermish song.

----

No, this is not me having a change of heart regarding Ron; this is me making what I feel is a
more realistic story (well, as far as realism goes in this fic). Ron may be forgiven, but he's
on thin ice; this is essentially his last chance.

Don't forget to read and review!

-->



6. Prelude to the Yule Ball
---------------------------



Okay, my X-Box 360 is back, and I recently purchased a load of games for it (G.R.A.W., G.R.A.W.
2, F.E.A.R. and Lost Planet: Extreme Condition, to be precise), accounting for my absence.

My new cat doesn't help things either.

I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Mara either.

----

Chapter 6 - Prelude to the Yule Ball

It had been almost two weeks since Harry had retrieved the golden egg from the dragon. Of
course, Harry already knew the next clue, but because it would not be in his best interests to
reveal that he was from the future, he feigned ignorance as to how to approach the artifact. He
made some halfhearted attempts to muffle the skull-rattling screech that emanated from it to make
it look like he was trying to figure it out, but his mind drifted elsewhere.

Harry had eventually remembered that, even though it had been two years since it had been slain,
the basilisk carcass deep within the Chamber of Secrets still had fresh venom. He then proceeded to
mentally and almost physically kick himself for forgetting that important detail.

Harry changed his mind about going to dispose of the senior Riddle's bones on the Hogsmeade
weekend; people would probably wonder where he had went, as well as the rather conspicuous sight of
a teenager desecrating a grave. He instead decided to sneak to the edge of the school wards under
cover of night and Apparate from there. He would still look strange digging up a grave, but at
least he had the cover of night to his favor.

Hedwig had managed to smuggle her precious cargo of the Slytherin horcrux into Hogwarts, so late
one night, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and snuck to the girl's bathroom, both horcruxes
in his pocket and the Marauder's Map in one hand. In the other, he held a hank of rope that he
had borrowed from Hagrid “for a special project.” The gentle half-giant had handed Harry the rope
without question.

Hissing the password into the sinks, they slid out of the way, revealing the opening into the
sewers. Harry tied one end of the rope onto one sink and pushed the rest of it over the edge.
Sighing in preparation, Harry breathed deeply and jumped into the hole, the mountain of rodent
bones somewhat cushioning his fall. Brushing himself off, Harry wandered through the sewers until
he found the blockade of rocks where the cave-in had occurred two years before. He drew his wand
and carefully blasted away the rocks until he had created an opening without collapsing the entire
tunnel.

A pathway made, Harry continued towards the Chamber of Secrets, opening the second doorway. His
footsteps echoed against the polished stone floor, and he had to cover his face with his robes as
he approached the decomposing carcass of the fearsome basilisk. Harry pulled the horcruxes out of
his pockets and placed them on the floor. He drew his wand and cast a summoning charm, a large fang
flying towards him. Harry quickly cancelled the charm before the deadly fang ran him through, and
it clattered harmlessly on the floor, a droplet of corrosive venom pooling at its tip. Donning his
dragonhide gloves, he carefully picked up the fang and quickly stabbed both horcruxes, destroying
the artifacts, as well as the soul fragments contained within. Tossing aside the fang, Harry began
to walk back to the opening in the bathroom and, after applying a mild sticking charm to the soles
of his shoes, used the rope to climb out of the sewer. After he exited, he untied the rope, closed
the sinks and cast a cleaning charm on himself to rid himself of the stench of sewage and rotting
flesh. After sneaking back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry stripped himself down and plopped
into bed, one thought on his mind:

*I'm so glad tomorrow's Saturday*.

------

While Harry's friendship with Ron had been temporarily mended, there was a definite air of
tension between the so-called “Golden Trio.” Harry almost never played chess with him anymore, and
did not play Quidditch unless necessary, instead spending most of his time studying. While the
redhead had not voiced his thoughts yet, his seething glares at Harry and Hermione all but
confirmed his low opinions about Harry's change. For his part, Harry simply shrugged it off;
dying and coming back to life made him realize, among other things, that while chess and Quidditch
were fun, they did not define his life, something that Ron did not yet seem to grasp.

On the other hand, his friendship with Hermione was growing closer than ever. Their increased
study time together had allowed them to talk more than they had before. Slowly, Harry began
learning little insignificant tidbits of Hermione's life that he had no idea of in his past
life. Things like her favorite color was periwinkle blue or that she had an uncle in France, which
was why she often went there during her summer holidays. These little facts made Harry realize just
how little he knew about his best friend.

However, not everything was well in the library. Harry saw that the Durmstrang champion, Viktor
Krum was constantly lingering behind bookshelves, trying to look inconspicuous but failing. Harry
vaguely wondered how long Krum had hovered like a stalker until he asked Hermione to the Yule Ball
last time. Harry mentally shrugged it off and returned to his work.

That night, Harry initiated his plan to dispose of the Riddle bones. Transfiguring a stick into
a shovel, he once again donned his invisibility cloak and snuck down to the edge of the
anti-apparation wards, before disappearing with a crack. He reappeared in front of a familiar
gravestone depicting the Angel of Death. Shaking away the memories of what had happened there
before, Harry set to work unearthing the graves of Riddle senior.

Several long and dirty hours later, Harry had managed to uncover the casket containing his
prize. He pried open the lid to see the pale corpse of Voldemort's father.

“I'm really sorry about this sir,” Harry whispered to the corpse. Closing his eyes, Harry
transfigured the corpse into a small rag doll. Taking the doll and closing the casket, Harry
climbed out of the grave and banished the mound of dirt back where it belonged, Disapparating
before the aurors found out about his actions. Once he returned to Hogwarts, Harry quickly cleaned
himself up with a spell and hid the doll inside his trunk before collapsing into his bed. The next
day, when no one was watching, Harry discreetly threw the doll into the fire, where it withered
into ashes.

------

A few weeks later, the Yule Ball was announced and as before, the girls became excited while the
boys groaned loudly. For his part, Harry was not particularly concerned about it; he was already
planning to ask Hermione to the dance. While he still found the part about Hermione being his soul
mate a bit amazing, at least this way they would have a decent time together. So later that day,
after classes, Harry approached his best friend.

“Umm, Hermione?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, Harry?” she asked, turning to him. Harry continued to shuffle around nervously.

“I was wondering if…” Harry trailed off hesitantly; three years and a resurrection later, and
asking a girl to a ball was still as difficult as ever, especially since it was Hermione he was
asking this time, “…if you would like to go to the Yule Ball with me?” Hermione seemed surprised by
his question, as she did not immediately reply.

“Umm…sure, I guess,” she said, shocked. “Honestly, I'm a bit surprised you asked me, Harry,”
she admitted, embarrassed.

“Well…” Harry trailed off, running his hand through his hair nervously, “I figured that since
we're friends, it'd probably be more fun if we went with each other, instead of going with
a stranger. And besides…” Harry paused again as he lowered his head, blushing, “…I don't know
how to dance.” Hermione could not help but laugh at his embarrassed demeanor.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing,” she said, regaining control of herself. “But
really Harry,” she said before briefly pausing and checking to make sure that no one was
eavesdropping before continuing in a whisper, “you had to dance the last time, right?” Harry
shrugged lightly.

“It was three years ago, and I followed,” he said simply. Hermione sighed and nodded her
head.

“Alright, I know a couple of simple dance moves that I could teach you,” she relented. Harry
sighed in relief and pulled her into a hug.

“Thanks, Hermione, you're a lifesaver,” Harry said, patting her on the back.

“And don't you forget it,” she teased.

----

A few of my readers have expressed interest in knowing the details of life at the Department of
Death and Resurrection. Others have noted that my more recent chapters haven't been quite as
funny as they used to be. I intend to amend both of these by releasing a series of omakes detailing
life at the DDR. Enjoy.

----

OMAKE: Orientation Meeting

“Okay, boys and girls,” a tall, gruff man barked militarily to an assembly of men and women of
various ages, from elderly folks to people barely out of their teens. “You're here because it
was your time to kick the bucket and move on to the next plane. Some of you youngsters may not like
it, but them's the breaks. When you got here, you thought that it'd be all sunshine and
roses, and sitting on clouds humming for the rest of eternity, well guess what! You're all
wrong! You've gotta work! You've got to help to maintain order across the mortal and
immortal plains, or else all hell's gonna break loose, and you don't want that.

“Now, you poor saps decided that you wanted to join the Department of Death and Resurrection.
Well guess what, this ain't going to be a picnic either. First, you're gonna go through an
internship! You're going to tend to the Reapers, man the reception area, and deal with confused
and irate people who've just snuffed it, just like you. Then once you become a Reaper yourself,
you're going to be saddled with half a million or so souls that you have to watch *at all
times*, to make sure that they get from start to finish at their appointed times. Now, do you
have any questions?” the man growled, leering at the group before him. At the back, a thin young
man raised his hand.

“I have a question,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, out with it, man!” the first man snapped.

“Well…do we get any benefits for this?” the second man asked. The first man stared at him
blankly for several moments before letting out a deep belly laugh.

“`Benefits?!'” the man guffawed. “Newsflash, kid: You're dead; you don't *need*
benefits.”

----

Not the best piece in the world, I know, but I'll try to get better.

Any suggestions for future omakes will be appreciated. Reviews are equally appreciated.

-->



7. The Yule Ball
----------------



I don't own Harry Potter. Nor am I able to dance.

And more amusement for us ahead at Ron's expense.
----

Chapter 7 - The Yule Ball


Somewhere beyond the mortal realm of existence, a man no more than eighteen years of age dressed
completely in black was sitting at a small fold-out table, fussing with a stack of folders piled
higher than his head. As an intern for the Department of Death and Resurrection, he assumed a
variety of duties, depending on which job needed to be done at the time. Today, he was one of
several interns training to become Reapers by covering for Mara Jade, one of the prettier, but more
bi-polar Reapers.

Then again, bi-polarity seems to be common amongst the Reapers, he observed. Maybe it was a
personality requisite.

At the moment, he was looking through the file for one Harry James Potter, which Mara had had
stamped the word **TOP PRIORITY** in bold red letters that covered almost the whole front cover
of the folder. Right now, it showed that he was currently attempting to dance with, according to
the file, his soul mate; the young man got some slight amusement watching Harry stepping on the
girl's toes.

“At least he's not doing anything dangerous,” the intern muttered to himself as he grabbed
another file and skimmed through it. “Although if Mara's rants are any indication, he might
trip and give himself a lethal concussion or something stupid like that.” As a frequent attendant
to the entry desk for newly deceased souls, this particular intern was familiar with the
messy-haired, bespectacled wizard that caused his Reaper so much grief.

“At least he doesn't go looking for trouble,” he muttered again, “not like that annoying
silver-haired kid with the freaky arm. Zero? Nero? Something like that. I was almost out of time
before I got that stupid sword fixed…” he continued to mutter darkly as he continued checking more
files, always keeping an attentive eye on the Potter file.

------

“Sorry,” Harry apologized as he stepped on Hermione's foot for the fifth time that day.

“That's okay,” Hermione winced, silently thankful that she was wearing thick shoes, or else her
toes might have broken by now. “I thought you did this already,” she pointed out as she sat down
and removed her shoe, massaging her sore foot.

“I was following that time,” Harry said as he sat down, “and I didn't exactly have time to
practice after that.” He frowned as he suddenly realized something. “Say, how do you know how to
dance?” Hermione shot an exasperated glance at him, and he nodded. “Oh wait, I forgot: you know
*everything*.”

“Not *everything*,” she corrected, slipping her shoe back on, “but almost everything.” She
stood up and pulled Harry up to her, assuming their respective positions for a simple waltz. “Now,
it's really quite simple; it's all about unison. When I step forward, you step back. When I
sidestep, you follow. Now, let's try again. Your left foot first.” She slowly moved her foot
forward, and he pulled his back, a little too quickly, causing them to stumble. They both laughed
as they righted themselves and tried again. Hermione stepped forward, and Harry stepped back, this
time without incident. “Very good, Harry,” Hermione congratulated, “now the other foot.” They moved
their other feet to meet their first. “Now, step to the side.” They both took a step to the side
and straightened up.

They kept repeating those three steps to improve their rhythm and timing, although Harry kept
looking down at their feet to make sure that he did not lose track.

“I know that you're still learning, Harry,” Hermione said, “but I suggest that you don't do
that at the Yule Ball; people might get the wrong idea.” Harry quickly realized what she meant and
averted his eyes to steadily stare at an imaginary object just over Hermione's shoulder,
mumbling an apology. Hermione laughed and stepped back. “It's okay, Harry. You're a
teenager; it's perfectly natural.” They both decided that they had practiced enough for the
day, and left their separate ways. Since it was a Saturday, there was nothing particularly pressing
for Harry, so he decided to take a walk around the grounds.

“Harry, wait up!” a voice yelled behind him. Harry turned around to see a panting Cedric jog up to
him.

“Cedric, what's wrong?” Harry asked with a confused expression, although in reality he knew
exactly what this was about.

“No, nothing's wrong,” Cedric waved away as he tried to catch his breath. “I just wanted to
tell you something. I never thanked you for telling me about the dragon, so I thought I'd
return the favor. I assume that you're still working on the egg?” Harry simply gave an
affirmative shrug; he already knew what it said, of course, but it would do no good for Cedric to
know that. “Well, next time you take a bath, take the egg with you; mull things over in the hot
water.” Harry muttered his thanks as Cedric walked off to his own destination. As soon as Cedric
rounded the corner, Harry continued his walk, unaware of the disillusioned audience that they
had.

------

As he watched the exchange between the two Hogwarts champions, the Death Eater spy Barty Crouch
Jr., currently disguised as the insane ex-auror Mad-Eye Moody and further covered with a
disillusionment charm, resisted the urge to blow his cover by laughing maniacally. Things were
falling into plan perfectly, and by year's end, his master would be well on his way to taking
over magical Britain.

His attempt to trick the Goblet of Fire to spit out the Potter brat's name in as the sole
participant for a fictional fourth school worked out perfectly. While Potter's defiance was an
unexpected variable, it proved for naught, as no one of any consequence seemed to believe his
claims of innocence. Not that it would have mattered anyway, with the way magical oaths
work….

Potter had managed to get past the dragon without much incident, but seemed to be having problems
figuring out the next task, so he instructed the Diggory boy to give him a little nudge in the
right direction; a little tit for tat. Hufflepuffs were so easy to manipulate.

Now, all Crouch could do was hope that Potter would manage to avoid being killed or grievously
injured before the third task; after that, he would sabotage the other champions and guarantee
Potter's victory.

He only hoped that the sniveling rat on the other end would complete his part of the plan without
any complications.

------

Several days later, Harry and Hermione were sitting alone in the Common Room. Hermione was curled
up in a chair, reading Hogwarts: A History, while Harry stretched out on a couch, dozing off while
trying to read a book on dueling tactics, when the portrait swung open to reveal a pale Ron being
held up by several classmates.

“Let me guess, he tried to ask Fleur Delacour?” Harry asked, looking up from his book. Ron merely
nodded his head slightly in affirmation. “And I take it she said no?” Ron shook his head again,
this time negatively. “Is that a `no, she said yes' or `no, she said no?'” Harry
pressed.

“She said no,” Ron finally managed to choke out. Harry sighed and returned to his book.

“I won't say `I told you so', because I didn't, but I definitely saw it coming,” Harry
deadpanned. Ron finally snapped out of his shocked stupor and turned towards his unsympathetic
friend.

“Why didn't you say something, then?!” the redhead demanded.

“Would you have believed me if I had said anything?” Harry retorted in an apathetic tone. Ron
lowered his head as he realized that Harry had a point. However, a moment later, he perked up as
realization dawned on his face and pointed at Hermione.

“Wait a minute, you're a girl, right?” he asked her.

“Stunning observation, Ron,” Hermione said dryly, “it only took you four years to figure that out.”
Ron seemed oblivious to her sarcasm as he continued on.

“No, I mean, you could go to the ball with me,” the redhead said excitedly. Hermione pretended to
consider it for a moment.

“I could…” she said, causing Ron's hopes to rise, “…if I didn't already have a date,” and
subsequently shatter.

“W-what?!” Ron sputtered incredulously. “How could you have a date? Not even Harry has a
date!”

“Leave me out of this,” Harry grumbled softly, although everyone could hear him. The other students
present had the wisdom to vacate the premises before yet another legendary argument erupted between
the two.

“I have a date because someone asked me to go, and I accepted,” Hermione said sharply, closing her
book, “and I frankly don't see why it's any concern of yours; you don't own me,
Ronald,” she continued through clenched teeth. Without another word, she grabbed her books and
stomped up the stairs, leaving a cowed Ron and a grinning Harry.

“Smooth one, Ron,” Harry drawled.

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron snapped.

------

Every day until the night of the Yule Ball, Ron was speculating to Harry about whom Hermione's
date was, and Harry was growing tired of it. Ron had managed to obtain a date from Padma Patil,
although Harry had a feeling that her acceptance was more out of pity than anything else.

“So, who do you think Hermione's going with?” Ron asked once again.

“Ron, it's none of our business who Hermione goes with,” Harry sighed, falling into his role in
a tired routine.

“Hey, maybe she won't be coming at all tonight; she's not exactly the social type,” Ron
continued ignoring Harry. Thankfully, he decided to change the subject. “It's a shame that you
didn't manage to find a date, though. Who would've thought that Harry Potter couldn't
snag a girl?” he asked, laughing at Harry's expense.

“Actually, I did manage to find a date,” Harry responded, taking Ron off-guard.

“What?” he asked, shocked. “Who? When? How?” he sputtered.

“It's a surprise,” Harry said simply, grinning conspiratorially. As if on cue, Hermione came
into view and descended the stairs, dressed in a periwinkle blue dress and her hair in an elegant
bun. Harry extended a hand, which Hermione took before Harry kissed her knuckle elegantly. “You are
looking absolutely marvelous tonight, dear lady,” he said in an aristocratic voice, silently
enjoying the dumbfounded look that was plastered on Ron's face.

“As do you, good sir,” Hermione replied, echoing his regal tone. “If you could be so kind as to
please escort me to the ball?”

“With pleasure, my lady,” Harry said as he began to lead Hermione to the main dance hall when
Ron's enraged voice stopped them.

“I can't believe you two!” the angry redhead shouted, stopping everybody in their tracks. Harry
sighed; he had hoped that this would not happen, but was thankful that at least it happened in the
hallway instead of the dance hall. “I can't believe that you two would go behind my back like
this!” Harry took deep, calming breaths while Hermione rounded on Ron, rage burning in her
eyes.

“We don't need your permission to go together, Ronald Weasley; the world doesn't revolve
around you!” she yelled back. Ron ignored her and turned to Harry.

“It's so bloody unfair!” Ron spat at Harry. “You get everything: Money, fame, a new broomstick!
You could've had any girl you wanted, if you just grew some balls, but the one thing I could
have that was just mine, and you stole her from me!” Harry opened his mouth to respond when
Hermione erupted in fury.

“So that's all I am to you? A bloody prize to be won?!” she raged. “Well guess what, Weasley,
you can go to hell for all I care, because I refuse to be friends or even associated with such a
shallow, petty, immature prat!” She stomped over to Ron and slapped him so hard that his entire
body was spinning, a bold red hand mark on his cheek. Satisfied with her work, Hermione spun around
and marched forward, grabbing Harry's arm and roughly dragging him into the dance hall. As they
entered, Harry thought he heard crack, followed by what sounded like Padma's voice yelling
obscenities at someone.

It turned out that they were the of the champions to arrive; Cedric had brought Cho Chang; Fleur
Delacour was with a seventh-year Hufflepuff that seemed to be struggling not to drool all over his
date, and Viktor Krum was with what seemed to be one of his fan girls, the way that she was
giggling and fawning over him. With all the champions present, Professor Flitwick began to conduct
the orchestra, beginning with a slow waltz. Harry and Hermione took their respective positions and
began to dance alongside the other champions, the other couples gradually joining in. While Harry
and Hermione were far from the best dancers in the room, they were also not the worse; many of the
other fourth-years were having difficulties, and Fleur was struggling with her dance partner, who
was so entranced that he kept stumbling.

After the opening song, Professor Dumbledore welcomed the magical rock band The Weird Sisters.
Harry danced through a couple of their upbeat songs, but had to stop to catch his breath. After a
few more songs, Harry wandered off to escape the crowds.

As Harry left the vicinity of the ball, Harry heard Hagrid talk to Madame Maxine - none too subtly
- about his giant heritage, and questioning his companion about it. Harry knew that this meant that
Rita Skeeter was around somewhere, listening in. Harry scanned the area, and saw a small beetle
perched on the ear of a stone deer. Harry pulled out a rolled up newspaper that he had brought
specifically for this occasion and swung at the beetle, narrowly missing it before it flew off into
the darkness. Shoving the newspaper back into his pocket, Harry decided that it was time to return
to the ball.

------

Near the edge of the lake on the Hogwarts grounds, a small beetle buzzed around before morphing
into a woman, who immediately sat down on a large stone, gasping heavily and clutching her heart.
As she recovered from the attempt on her life (unknown to her, Harry intentionally missed her),
only one thought ran through her mind.

Perhaps it would not be a good idea to print that exposé on Rubeus Hagrid after all.
----


OMAKE: Lunch Break Meeting

“Hey, guys,” Mara sighed as she flopped into a chair, clutching onto a folder like her life
depended on it. Not that it did since she was already dead, but metaphors do not care about such
technicalities. Also sitting at the table was a tall, thin man in a business suit, a teenaged girl
who was wearing oversized glasses and wizard's robes that seemed a few sizes too large for her
body, and a skeleton of a rat holding a scythe and wearing a hooded cloak.

“Hey,” the man, Maximillion Caldwell (Max to his friends) greeted.

“Hi, Mara,” the girl, Wilhelmina (Mina) said cheerfully.

 SQUEAK, the skeletal rodent…squeaked. SQUEAK?

“Like you wouldn't believe,” Mara sighed as she opened her folder. “I just managed to keep my
problem child from getting his sorry ass from being char-broiled…again,” she grumbled, with the
others nodding in understanding. Every Reaper had a particular client that caused them undue grief,
colloquially know as their “problem child”, regardless of said client's actual age. “And since
he doesn't have any memory of his past lives, I have to keep watch over him *every single
freaking second*!” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “So,” she said chipperly, “how
have things been on your end?” The other occupants of the table shrugged neutrally.

“I just had a discussion with my own problem child concerning the details of our contract,” Max
said vaguely.

“I got a warning that I could get into trouble if I interfere with my PC any more,” Mina said
casually, although there was an obvious hint of nervousness in her voice.

SQUEAK, the Grim Squeaker squeaked. The other three Reapers all groaned in disgust at the
rodent's statement, gaining the attention of the other Reapers in the room.

“We did *not* need to know that!” Max exclaimed loudly. Any further comments were cut off
when a large set of doors opened, revealing several interns pushing carts laden with food. A young,
scruffy man dressed in black walked over to the table where Mara, Max, Mina and the Grim Squeaker
were seated. When he saw the humans' slightly pale complexions, he frowned in confusion.

“What'd I—” the intern began, before he was interrupted by the three human Reapers.

“Don't ask.”

----

To avoid spoilers, I put my additional disclaimers down here. I also don't own *Devil May
Cry*, *Discworld*, or the characters Max and Mina. Max and Mina are owned by fellow authors
and challenge takers Artemis Day and kittydemon18 (a.k.a., strawberry nerd), and are used with
their permission. Thanks a bunch, ladies!

As always, don't forget to review!

-->



8. A Watery Task
----------------



I don't own Harry Potter. In other news, I just saw *Twilight* last night; I thought it
was pretty good.

--------

Chapter 8 - A Watery Task

“I still don't like this, Albus,” McGonnagal said nervously. “What if something goes wrong
down there?”

“I assure you, Minerva, nothing will go wrong,” Dumbledore said placatingly. “My stasis charms
will hold and the Mermish have promised me that they will return any participants who have not been
claimed.”

“Fine, then what about the one hour limit?” McGonnagal pressed, “The lake is almost two hundred
fifty meters deep, Albus, and the champions have absolutely no idea of its layout! Combine that
with all the monsters that lurk in it, and how can you *possibly* expect them to find their
objectives and return in under one hour?” she hissed, her eyes narrowing in anger.

“The one hour limit is simply to motivate them, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, raising his hands to
calm her. “I have no intention of letting anyone drown during this task.” McGonnagal sighed tiredly
and stared at her superior and mentor.

“Very well, Albus, I will concede for now,” she said. “But if *anything* goes wrong down
there, I will hold *you* personally responsible.” She took a deep, calming breath and looked
back at the elderly man before her. “So, who are we bringing in for our champions?” she asked.

“Well, I believe Mister Diggory's friend Miss Chang will be suitable,” Dumbledore said. “As
for Harry, normally I would use Mister Weasley. However, since the two seem to have had a falling
out of sorts, I suppose I will have to use Miss Granger.”

“Very well then,” McGonnagal said, “I will arrange for them to prepare for the task tomorrow
night.”

“Thank you, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, “I appreciate it.” While McGonnagal put on a small smile,
she could not help but worry that something would inevitably go wrong.

------

“I just *know* something's going to go wrong,” Mara muttered to herself as she
nervously paced in her *Star Wars* memorabilia-laden office. “The Second Task is about to
start, and no matter what I do, he'll find some way to get around it.” Suddenly, an alarm rang
on her person, indicating that one of her charges was in danger. Sighing in frustration, she
brought herself to see a Caucasian woman with long, plaited brown hair, a tank top and brown shorts
reaching forward to grab a golden idol. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Mara sought out the
mechanism for the trap that would inevitably be set off and altered its timing.

As soon as the woman grabbed the idol, she ran off, narrowly avoiding the barrage of poisoned
arrows that fired as she ran down the hallway. Mara, being not of this world, simply stood with her
arms crossed in annoyance while the projectiles passed harmlessly through her.

“Damn it, you've been doing this for over ten years!” the redhead shouted out towards the
fleeing brunette. “Why don't you retire, get married, start a family, *anything* but
this!” Of course, the woman Mara was addressing did not respond, so she returned to her office to
brood. As soon as her backside touched the cushion of her seat, an alarm alerting her of yet
another charge in imminent danger rang. “I should have taken that job in the Department of
Destiny,” she grumbled as she sat back up.

------

“So, have you figured out what you're going to do for the Second Task?” Hermione asked as
she and Harry sat in the library, doing their Charms homework.

“I don't really want to deal with the Gillyweed again, so I guess I'll just use a
bubble-head charm,” Harry said casually as he corrected an error in his essay.

“Harry, that's a fifth-year charm,” Hermione reminded him, “don't you think that'll
make people a bit suspicious?”

“Not really,” Harry said as he added another line. “They'll probably just think I did some
reading ahead. Besides, don't you already know it?” he asked her, his eyebrow rising in
interest.

“I do, but that's beside the point,” she said. “The point is, you're not me, and your
increased study habits might raise some people's interest. I'm just worried that you'll
be found out by someone you don't want to.”

“Hermione, I'll be fine—” Harry began, but was loudly interrupted.

“Granger!” Moody barked, startling the two teenagers. “McGonnagal wants to see you in her office
immediately,” he continued.

“But sir, I still have work to do,” Hermione informed her teacher.

“It can wait,” Moody countered gruffly. “Now go.” Sighing, Hermione gathered up her books and
papers before turning to Harry.

“I'll see you later, Harry,” she said before leaving for McGonnagal's office. Once
Hermione left, Moody turned to Harry.

“So, did you figure out what you're going to do for the Second Task, Potter?” Moody
asked.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said casually.

“Ahh, so you talked to Longbottom then, good,” Moody muttered softly; however, Harry heard
him.

“Neville, sir?” Harry asked, feigning innocence. “Why would I talk to Neville?”

“Nothing,” Moody covered quickly, “just the ramblings of an old man. Carry on then, Mister
Potter,” he said before stomping off leaving Harry alone in the library. As Harry put the finishing
touches on his homework, Harry silently wondered how he would deal with the impostor when the time
came.

------

“Professor McGonnagal, you wanted to see me?” Hermione asked as she entered her Transfiguration
teacher's office, where she saw said professor, as well as Dumbledore waiting for her.
“Professor Dumbledore, what are you doing here?”

“An interesting question, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said sagely. “You have been elected to be a
participant in this next task. However, the final preparations require my presence,” he
continued.

“Does this have to do with what Harry will miss the most, Professor?” Hermione asked, already
anticipating the answer.

“Indeed it is, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, producing a potion vial from his pocket. “First,
I need you to drink this potion,” he continued, holding the bottle out to Hermione. “It will put
you into a deep sleep; when you awaken, you will be on the lake dock, your champion having rescued
you.” Hermione hesitated at the offered potion, but eventually took it and swallowed its contents,
grimacing at the potion's bitter taste. Immediately, she felt her eyelids growing heavy, and
McGonnagal conjured a cot for Hermione to lay down on as she closed her eyes and her breaths
drifted into a slow, steady rhythm. Dumbledore drew a portkey created from a chocolate frog card of
himself and laid it down on Hermione's unconscious form, transporting her to the chamber where
the other participants would be held until the task the next morning.

“Well, that was the last of them,” Dumbledore said before turning to his deputy headmistress.
“Goodnight, Minerva,” he bid the woman before taking the Floo back to his office, leaving
McGonnagal alone.

------

The next morning, as Harry roused from his sleep, he slowly realized that he never saw Hermione
after she left the night before, and the implications of it. *Well, if she's what Viktor Krum
misses the most again, I'm going to have a serious discussion with a few people*, he thought
grimly as he rolled out of his bed and into his clothes. He remained silent as he ate his breakfast
and walked out to the lake along with the other three Triwizard champions, and idly stood on the
edge of the dock while listening to Dumbledore's speech. When the cannon fired, all four
champions dived into the icy water as one; Harry, Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour immediately
cast bubble-head charms on themselves, while Krum transfigured his head into that of a great white
shark, complete with gills. While the other three champions went their separate ways, Harry made an
immediate course for where the hostages were.

When Harry arrived where the captives were held, Harry saw Hermione, fifth-year Ravenclaw Cho
Chang, Gabrielle Delacour and the bubbly-headed girl that Krum danced with at the Yule Ball, all
tethered by their ankles with lengths of seaweed. After briefly pondering whether they had simply
used Krum's date as “what he would miss the most” simply because he had no friends or family to
take the mantle, Harry freed Hermione and began swimming up to the surface. Thankfully, as he had
not tried to go against the rules of the game, Harry received no resistance from the Mermen
guarding the limp figures.

However, when Harry had almost reached the surface, he was suddenly yanked downwards by his
ankle. He looked down to see an octopus-like grindylow grabbing onto his foot and pulling him down,
more of the vile creatures swarming below. After sending Hermione up to the surface via a
levitation charm, Harry began to fight off the grindylows, but they attacked with unusual ferocity.
One of them swiped at the bubble surrounding Harry's mouth, bursting it and filling his lungs
with water. Panicking, Harry silently unleashed the first spell he could think of, which happened
to be a stunning hex. The spell chased off the grindylows, but not before they had done their
damage: several bites and scratches were leaking blood, Harry's lungs burned from the fluid
inside of them, and his mind was going fuzzy over the oxygen deprivation. But, as his world grew
dark, one word sprung to his mind at the last moment: *Ascendio*!

------

When Hermione's unconscious form broke the surface, Dumbledore immediately summoned her over
onto the dock and revived her, where she began coughing and sputtering before having a heavy towel
wrapped around her.

“Where's Harry?” she asked, shivering in the cold. Everyone began scanning the surface of
the water nervously when Harry did not appear. After a long, tense minute, Harry's figure flew
out from the water and landed roughly on the dock. Madam Pomfrey rushed over to him and scanned his
vital signs.

“He has water in his lungs,” she said. “Miss Granger, hold his chest up,” she ordered, Hermione
quickly obeying. Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at Harry's chest and uttered, “*tersio*
*aquis*!” Harry immediately coughed up the water in his lungs, and continued to cough and
retch loudly for over a minute.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he finally managed to rasp out. “I just need to catch my breath.”
As he lay on his back, gasping, Hermione had procured another heavy towel to wrap her friend and
savior in. “So, how'd I do?” he asked weakly.

“Well, Mister Potter, you arrived first at a time of thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds,
almost a new record,” Dumbledore said. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Almost?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed, a slight smirk growing on his face. “I'm afraid that if you had
broken the surface with Miss Granger, you would have broken it.”

“Damn,” Harry muttered in mock disappointment, Hermione to slap him on the shoulder for his
profanity. “Ow.”

They waited patiently for the other champions to return. Cedric arrived first with Cho Chang in
tow, just before the hour mark. Viktor Krum appeared next, at ten minutes after the hour. At
fifteen minutes after the hour, Fleur Delacour returned, surprisingly with her sister at her side;
apparently, Harry's encounter with the grindylows had paved the way for Fleur to reach her
target unhindered. As the champions and their companions tried to warm and dry themselves, the
judges convened to discuss the scoring. Finally, Dumbledore turned to address the masses.

“As Mister Potter was the first to complete his task by a considerable margin, he shall be
awarded full points, and is currently in first place position,” he announced, eliciting thundering
cheers from the Gryffindors assembled. “Now, may I suggest we return to the warm hospitality of
Hogwarts castle?” The masses rose and steadily began to work their way back to their respective
dwellings, now that the spectacle was over.

“Well, two down, one to go,” Harry muttered to himself as he wrapped the towel tighter around
him. “Cedric's not dying this time.”

--------

OMAKE: Dealing with Vernon Dursley

When Vernon Dursley opened his eyes, he was immediately consumed with confusion. One minute, he
was ranting to his secretary for making his tea too hot, and the next, he was crammed in a moving
seat sandwiched between two strangers. The air was rhythmically punctuated by a female voice
yelling, “NEXT!”

“What the ruddy hell is this place?!” he yelled.

“How should I know?” the woman next to him snapped in an American accent. “One minute, I'm
on the water, enjoying the view, and the next, POW! A giant ray jumps up and smacks me in the
face.” Dursley struggled out of his seat and stomped towards where the seats seemed to be going,
muttering about “bloody Yanks” and about how they “should be put in their place” until he reached a
plain wooden door. Rudely knocking the person about to enter out of the way, Dursley flung the door
open to find a nearly empty room, its only furnishing being the computer desk in the middle, and
the pretty young blonde girl sitting behind it.

“Hello,” she greeted cheerfully. “Could you please state your full name?” When Dursley answered,
he did not give his name, but with a long-winded rant laden with profanities. If one were to take
the questions “Where am I?” “What am I doing here?” and “Who are you?” and pad them with virtually
every swear word in the English language, then you would have a fair idea of what Vernon Dursley
has just said. By the time he was done, the intern was close to bursting into tears.

“Umm, excuse me for one moment,” she said, her voice cracking emotionally. She picked up the
phone and dialed several numbers before waiting for the line to connect.

“Yeah?” a male voice on the other end asked.

“Umm, hey, could you help me out at the registration desk?” the female intern asked, trying to
keep her voice even. “I've run into a little snag.” The male voice gave an irritated sigh
before agreeing and hanging up. As soon as she placed the phone back in its cradle, the second door
opened to reveal a dark-haired Caucasian male wearing black clothing.

“What's the problem again?” he asked, leaning on the desk.

“Well, this man,” the female intern said, pointing at Dursley, “won't give me his name, and
I don't know what to do.” The senior intern looked at the obese man before him, who was turning
puce in the face and looked as if he were about to have a heart attack. Ironically, that was what
got him into this situation in the first place.

“Okay sir, the pretty girl asked you for your name,” the male intern said, crossing his arms,
“so why didn't you answer her?” This seemed to have set off Dursley's short fuse, which
launched him into another profanity-laden rant. This time, the girl broke down and began sobbing
into her hands. The male intern, however, was used to such outbursts, and simply waited out the
storm, a neutral expression on his face. “Are you done yet?” he asked when Dursley seemed to run
out of steam. “Good. Now, I'm going to ask you again, what is your full name?” When Dursley
puffed up his chest to begin yelling again, the intern raised his hand. “Sir, we can do this the
easy way or the hard way.” Dursley ignored him and began yelling, although it was not as loud as
the previous two rants. Sighing in disappointment, the senior intern turned to the junior, who had
since stopped crying, although her eyes were still red and puffy. “Dial extension two-three-three
and ask say it's a class U situation in the processing room,” he said. The girl nodded and
followed his instructions.

“What does class U stand for?” she asked the man next to her while they waited.

“Uncooperative,” he answered simply. Just then, two large, muscled men in white suits arrived,
one carrying a metal briefcase. “Thanks guys, could you hold him for a minute, please?” Silently
nodding, one of the men punched Dursley in the abdomen, silencing him before they both held him
back by the arms. The male intern opened the briefcase to reveal a strange contraption: It was two
suction cups connected to hoses that led to a laptop computer. He attached the cups to each side of
Dursley's head and activated the device. The grossly obese man shuddered and babbled
incoherently as information was forcibly extracted from his brain. The laptop made strange whirring
noises until Dursley stopped convulsing and a name popped up on the screen with a cheerful chime:
**Vernon Reginald Dursley**. The female intern typed the name in, and produced an entry card.
After removing the suction cups from Dursley's head, the male intern fed the card into the
second door and turned the handle.

“You guys ready?” he asked the two burly men restraining Dursley. When the both nodded, the
intern flung open the door, and the two men threw Dursley into the other room, landing with a loud
thud. “He's all yours!” the intern said to the reaper in the other room before closing the
door. “Thanks for the help guys.”

“Thanks,” the female intern said softly. While normally not a shy person, being in the company
of two people who looked like they could easily break you in half tended to intimidate most
people.

“No problem,” one of the muscle-bound men said as his companion wrapped up the device and closed
the briefcase. “Just doing our jobs.”

“And a good job you do,” the male intern said, patting him on the shoulder. “See you later.”
After the two men left, the male intern turned to the junior sitting before him. “Don't worry,
sit at this desk long enough, and you'll be able to handle anyone.”

“Thanks,” she said, sniffling. “It's just…I don't handle being yelled at very well.”

“You're young, you'll get used to it,” he said. “Oh, and if you happen to get a kid
named Harry James Potter, give me a call. I already processed him six times; I want to make it a
full set.”

--------

Just how I imagine Vernon Dursley would react to being at the Department of Death and
Resurrection, and their response to him.

Does anyone besides me find the fact that in canon, Hermione is what Krum “would miss the most”
after one night out a little bit disturbing?

A cookie if you can find the next franchise to cameo in this universe.

Don't forget to review!

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