Chapter 8: Nothing sells like Harry Potter

For Luna and Xenophillius Lovegood, the most recent publication of the Quibbler created a public outrage and condemnation for Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and by extension, his entire administration. Harry could only whistle in appreciation. The headline itself would assure the need for at least a triple print run. Nothing after all, sold quite as well as a Harry Potter story, and the Quibbler was the only place to get one:

"Harry Potter and Sirius Black: His Innocently Condemned Godfather.

Sirius Black spent twelve years in Azkaban and escaped less than a year ago from the dreaded Azkaban prison. Most wanted mass murderers would return to their life of crime or flee. Mr. Black has done neither. He opted to stay in the country to protect his Godson, Harry Potter. Then, why does anyone spend twelve years in Azkaban Prison, when never charged with a crime? More importantly, why does anyone spend twelve years in Azakaban without trial? Unlike other publications, the Quibbler double-checks its facts: The fact is that the public record contains nothing on the arrest, trial or incarceration of Mr. Black.

On the topic of his Godfather's wrongful imprisonment, Mr. Potter had this to say: "The real culprit, the real traitor was a supposed friend of my father and unregistered animagus: Peter Pettigrew who has the form of a rat - how utterly fitting"

After a protracted battle in Hogsmeade Village's infamous Shrieking Shack last year, Mr. Potter actually had Peter Pettigrew in custody. However, the criminal escaped when Mr. Potter and his companions were attacked by the Ministry's own army of Dementors that were at Hogwarts School to protect the students from Mr. Black. It also happens that the minister has ordered a man who never stood trial sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss upon capture.

On the subject of Dementors, Mr. Potter had this to say, "I was attacked (by Dementors) on the Hogwarts Express, during a Quidditch match and once again on the school grounds. Three separate times in one year! Most people go their entire lives without even seeing one!"

Mr. Potter went on to question just how the Dementors were there for the safety of him and his fellow students, and also to question why the announcement by him and fellow student Hermione Granger to Mr. Black's innocence were brushed aside as the ravings of two confounded teenagers.

When asked if he had any last words, he had four words: "One. Hundred. Thousand. Galleons. Payable upon my 17th Birthday to who or the organization that brings me Peter Pettigrew. Alive… but dead will suffice." The Goblins of Gringotts have confirmed that Mr. Potter's has the funds to pay out this reward. We at the Quibbler wish to remind the public that an animagus will revert to their human form upon death."

Victor Krum had actually been in the shower when the owl delivered the Quibbler and Daily Prophet together. It was a part of his Headmaster Karkaroff's training program to ensure that Victor was fully aware of what events were unfolding around them, for anything could contain an advantage. Victor was still wearing his towel as he reread the Quibbler article for the third time and it forced him to accept that his primary competitor was not Fleur or Cedric, but the long shot, fourteen-year-old underdog. Additional articles highlighted the boy…young man's encounters with Dementors and his corporeal stag patronus – something Victor himself still found difficult. It made for interesting and tactical reading. It was clear to Victor that Harry would use everything from weapon to trick to money to get what was right.

Cedric seated for breakfast found himself wondering whether Harry really had told him the truth about the Goblet of Fire. If Harry could bring one hundred thousand galleons for a reward, why would he waste his time for a thousand? The deal with the Quibbler could have been made without participating in the tournament too. Harry had told him the truth, concluded the Hufflepuff, and he was glad that none in his house had gone against the 14 year old wizard.

Fleur read the article and cursed quietly under her breath: Rich, powerful, and able to resist Veela Charm. He was everything any woman could want. He was everything she and the Veela in her wanted because there was simply no one else better for a thousand miles. Standing, she took her leave of the Ravenclaw table and had barely set her foot out the door of the hall when she was half tossed, half dragged down a side passage.

Just as suddenly, she found herself standing face to drawn wands. A quick glace over her shoulder revealed another trio. Six witches lead by Ginerva Molly Weasley looked ready to hex first and explain later as she snapped out an explanation, "When any wizard chooses a Gryffindor girl, her housemates respect and protect that relationship. Harry made his choice, and to protect her, it means that he is off limits."

Being part Veela, meant that you had the boys drooling over you from the moment those traits manifest themselves until control of those traits is gained. She had encountered such reactions, both deliberate and unprovoked. Fleur was not only a Witch from Beauxbaton, the finest school of magic in Western Europe but a Triwizard Champion! "But you forget, that I am not a student of Hogwarts School," she said carefully, moving her hand to her wand.

"No Miss Delacour, you forget, and forget a great deal: You forget that you stand in Hogwarts. You forget that you have attempted to interfere in the relationship of two of our own. You forget that you stand, with six wands trained, and you forget that we would be quite happy to use them!" That was an open invitation to a duel, and Fleur Delacour would be more than happy to demonstrate to these "children" that those of French magical blood are not spineless like their muggle counterparts!

Fleur's wand was already half raised, two incantations were nearly complete when a voice rang out, cold shrill and sharp, "Stop!" Hermione Granger stood with her wand drawn, Harry had taken up a flanking position in case negotiation failed and spells became necessary, "This ends now!" she commanded, "This is something that I need to handle." She turned her gaze on Ginny, "Leave."

The six witches hesitated until Ginny nodded and they lowered their wands. As they filed past, Hermione gave the redhead a warm hug, "Please, understand, I appreciate the gesture, but I can handle my own relationships" The redhead nodded and moved off. Fleur was not exactly sure what to make of the situation, and was even more confused when Hermione apologized for the action of her friends, "Loyalty is an admirable trait," she shook her head, "But my friends were out of line." She turned to face the Veela, eye to eye, "You've already… met my boyfriend and Gringotts Champion," Fleur noted a small amount of pride in that statement, "and while you are in competition with him, I would prefer to count you amongst my friends. Not my enemies."

"I have too many enemies as it is," said Harry with a slight macabre smile. Where wizard or wand magic requires a wand, there are many forms of natural magic, innate to those of magical descent. There was no need for any spell or magic to confirm what her eyes and experience had taught her. Harry would resist her charm to the end, and his girlfriend who would defend him to the death.

On the subject of mates, it was an all or nothing deal: Veela never settle for second place. She still had the urge to try, to distract and somehow steal the not quite a boy, but not quite a man either, standing before her. She was at war with herself for several long moments against her Veela instincts, and she felt something shift within her, something that did not feel quite right, but that she could not place, as if something lifted from her shoulders. Strange, she had encountered potential life mates before, but never felt such a strange sense of lifting when the potential match had failed.

With a shake of her head, she accepted the hand of friendship with a smile of her own.

Ginny watched the trio walk in to the great hall and noticed that they were all smiles. They stopped for a word with Cedric before coming to her. Ginny had an apology on the tip of her tongue but Hermione simply pulled the girl in to a hug, "I understand what you were doing and why. I appreciate that," she turned to the rest of the girls, "that all of you were watching out for me. Thank you."

Lavander Brown shrugged, "We're Gryffindor Hermione. We may not always agree, or get a long, but we watch out for our own. It's a pride thing… a lion's pride." Harry gave Ginny the same sort of one-armed hug and the youngest Weasely blushed furiously as she met Harry's emerald gaze from a distance of a few inches when the Prank Master Generals intervened.

"Mr. Potter," started Fred, doing a impressive impersonation of Professor McGonagall, "It's not bad enough that you have enthralled Ms. Granger," he waved an arm over to the Ravenclaw, seated at their table, surrounded by a collection of younger students, asking her advice about something.

George took over and added an imperial overtone, "…but to then add Ms. Lovegood, and then a French Triwizard Champion to your ah…collection," he said drily.

"…and then the young Ms. Weasely," chortled Fred with a Dumbledore twinkle in his eye.

"…one would think you're starting a harem!" the two concluded simultaneously.

There was a tense moment of silence, "It took me a very long time to get in to the Harry Potter Harem. Now if you want a place, I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind…" Luna said dreamily as she eyed the twins with a suggestive smirk that would have put a Veela to shame. One look at the expressions of shock and horror set the entire table laughing.

"Well, on the topic of collections," said Harry airily, "I was planning to invite a number of people for dinner. Luna, Hermione, you are of course both invited. Ginny, Neville, Colin, I hope you can join us?" He left the twins to stew for a moment before extending the invitation to the pair, on the condition that they both are on their best prank free behavior.

Everyone was quick to agree that dinner would be an excellent idea. Some would have found it strange that Hermione had not objected to Dobby's presence, but Harry had privately explained that he was a free elf, and worked for pay – five Galleons a month – and also got vacation time – two days off a month. Griphook had fought an uphill battle, climbed a wall and crossed the ceiling to get the stubborn elf to agree to what Griphook referred to as "slavery conditions even by Goblin standards!" With a whistle, Hedwig flapped her way in to the Great Hall and descended upon Harry shoulder, waiting as he wrote out a quick invitation to Victor Krum. Almost as an afterthought, he invited several professors, his tutors and a few outsiders to join them.

Sitting aboard the Durmstrang's vessel, Victor Krum was passing the time, alone. He valued privacy and could quite understand what Harry Potter had to live with. Fame was a fickle ally at best. Even though Quidditch was a team sport, Seekers were simultaneously the most important and most alone. Their catch could make or break a game. In the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, he had been equally reviled and revered for catching the snitch when he did. The spotlight of fame and international superstardom meant condemnation and praise for almost every action he took. Privacy was something he enjoyed.

Victor was surprised when the beautiful snowy owl had landed next to him and he responded positively to the invitation. He had been wondering what the point of the competition was. Headmaster Karkaroff had hardly encouraged his students to mingle or mix with those of Hogwarts or even Beauxbattons for that matter. This seemed to the Quidditch star to be the perfect opportunity to do what the tournament was supposed to do: meet people from other schools and make a few friends.

When Dumbledore learned of the dinner invitations, he went through several lemon drops, contemplating the potential impacts. He decided to let the matter rest. There was no point in trying to stop students from having dinner together. However, he did arrange a quiet meeting with the boy. Harry was outside the gargoyle at eight o'clock sharp. It sprang aside and he made his way up to Dumbledore's office, knocked and entered, "Good Evening Harry," he said with his charismatic smile and twinkle in his eye, "Are you ready for the first task?"

Harry shrugged, nonchalant, relaxed and confident, "I'm confident in my abilities thanks mostly to my instructors," he took a seat and waved away the offer of tea or any other snacks. One thing he had learned from the Goblins was that you do not accept food or drink from anyone you are or ever were at odds with. The conversation meandered on several polite topics, and Harry recognized this was the headmaster's attempts to rebuild their shaky bridges but Harry was not prepared to spend the evening talking in circles about nothing, "Professor, I must apologize but I do have several different assignments that need my attention this evening. Was there any particular reason that you wanted to meet?"

"Harry," the headmaster hesitated for a moment, feeling every single year of his monumental age, "I did mean what I said, about clearing the air between us …" Harry's gaze turned almost predatory. "I understand you've expanded your retinue to include three members of the Weasely family and Colin Creevey?" At the brisk, perfunctory nod, the headmaster could only sigh and continue, "I understand that Colin acts as your official photographer, but why the twins and Ginny? The relationship," he paused to emphasize his point, "friendship cannot be damaged beyond repair by so little? Surely an invitation to dinner with the Champions would help… repair the damage?"

It was a risk to use such information, but then it was also a risk to have retrieved the information using that particular magical talent and the spells he had placed on a young witch some weeks before. Harry simply sat there and wondered where the Headmaster had gotten that information. Though he had made the dinner itself no secret, the guest list - well a part of it - was something he had kept to himself and Hermione.

Ron was not a topic he wanted to discuss, but he remembered Hermione's words to him and decided to try, more for her, "Professor, I can't afford to just throw away three and half… well just three years friendship. However, I do not have much choice. To forgive him means letting slide his insults to me, Hermione and the other victims of his temper tantrum. Moreover, if you recall, he was the one who abandoned me, refused to believe me. Would I like to repair that friendship? I have tried and the next step is one Ron has to make. And if he can't…" Harry shrugged, "Then it's over and done with. I'm tired of trying to please everyone but me."

Nodding to show his understanding of the gravity of the situation and the choice that Harry was making, the headmaster glided the conversation along, "Your retinue stands at seven students, two professors, Mr. Lupin as your private tutor and Griphook. I mean no disrespect to any of your tutors, but can the four of them, especially since three of them are more part time than full time handle the education of seven teenagers, especially when one considers that Fred and George Weasely can be considered to be equivalent to the trouble of seven children?"

"My retinue continues their regular classes, and attends whatever private instruction they feel like taking, learning what interests them. Those that choose to stay in the residence are welcome to stay." He was tired of the games, of the subtle politicking, "The castle is not safe for Luna. Her own house and administrative inaction has seen to that."

The rebuke had all the subtlety of a battle-axe to the side of the head and Dumbledore had the good grace to look embarrassed. Harry met the headmaster saddened face with a glare, "Harry, you must understand, that…"

"Headmaster," Harry cut him off, "What I have done thus far has been out of respect and of common courtesy to you as headmaster. Consider it a gesture of good faith on my part. Not a voluntary one but it is what it is. I will be honest: My life has not been mine to live. I would not wish my childhood on Draco Malfoy and I despise him. I will not change my mind. And you will not be able to convince me about what is best for my girlfriend or the rest of my retinue."

Dumbledore could see the futility of trying to continue down any avenue, whether to negotiate, plead or even beg. He would get no farther than this: The boy was talking to him again. Acting the part of the injured party, he dismissed Harry.

For the past week the castle had been buzzing about what the first task could possibly entail that would test daring, nerve and cunning. Ron had speculated along with the rest of the students. So far, the theories had gotten wilder and wilder, including Sphinxes, Dementors, Werewolves, and even Vampires much to the amusement of Ron and his new friend Draco Malfoy. Unsurprisingly, he had been spending more and more time in the Slytherin common room – with Daphne Greengrass if rumor was to be believed - and he'd become something of a pariah in Gryffindor.

Ron was more than a little perturbed when Professor McGonagall ordered him to meet the headmaster in his office that night. He knew that despite his actions earlier in the year, he had not put another foot wrong. He had been trying to figure out what Harry had meant during their last conversation with each other, and where his friendship with Draco fit in to the bigger picture. However, for the moment, his biggest concern was the headmaster, "How are you coping Mr. Weasely?" he asked, "I know that things have been, difficult between you and your best friends…"

Ron actually laughed, "I don't have any best friends in Gryffindor, not anymore. They don't even look in my direction when they do decide to eat in the great hall;" he was more than a little bitter, "Both of my brothers and my little sister have sold me out to be with the Champion!" There was a great deal of hatred, but also pain in that one word, and Dumbledore was quick to note it.

"Nonsense!" he replied, "You have best friends. They will both realize that you have been a good friend to them both in the past. Things will be as they should be and, I suspect much sooner than you think.

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do!" the headmaster was actually smiling, with that twinkle back in his eye, "Harry and I are on speaking terms once again," he admitted candidly, "But only just. He really could use our help in the first task of the tournament. I just hope that Charlie does not bring any truly vicious breeds. I feel for the Champions, but even more so for Harry…"

The penny unfortunately, refused to drop as Ron brightened, "Charlie's coming? That's great I haven't seen him for ages!" Dumbledore wondered the same thing Ginny had wondered: How Ron could be a chess prodigy but thicker than "Hogwart's A history" about just about everything else.

"I was worried about Mr. Weasley," continued the headmaster gently, "After all, he will be here in his official capacity, from Romania." With anyone else, he would have been worried about laying it on too thick. With Ron however, he was convinced it would be a necessity.

Ron however, was not as dense as he made out to be. It wasn't that he was stupid, but by pretending to be dumber than he really was, he'd managed to make his life that much easier. For three years, he had been able to sponge of both Hermione and Harry for schoolwork with none of them being the wiser for it. He knew exactly what it was Dumbledore was telling him, but he couldn't figure out the reason why. If the two were on speaking terms, why was he getting all the hints? Being a chess prodigy does help with strategy and there in lay the key: They were barely on speaking terms, and discussing the tournament would probably get out of hand, quickly. However, the second youngest Weasely had the measure of the headmaster now, "Official capacity? From the Dragon Reserve?" he was actually smiling, pretending that the knut had dropped, "Oh! Hagrid got dragons for care for magical creatures!"

"Yes." The headmaster met Ron's gaze fully with a smile, "Four dragons," It took almost no effort to enter the defenseless mind and skim the surface thoughts. He was however, careful not to venture deeper than that, just in case. The headmaster was more than a little surprised to learn what he did, including his new friendship with Draco and Slytherin. The headmaster wore a slightly bemused smile - as if a student could out play him at his own game - "Regardless, I'm sure that things will be back to normal shortly."

Ron left the office of the headmaster wondering just what had happened. He thought he had felt something, but could not quite place it, and resolved to talk to Draco about it. Perhaps the Slytherin could shed some light on the matter.

Though Draco was not quite sure what to make of Ron's description of something "poking around in my head," on what to do with his knowledge of the dragons, Draco was blunt:

"Better Cedric than Potter," he said with disgust. Ron shrugged, giving neither support nor condemnation of Draco's position on the matter, "Ron," Draco hesitated, "I know that you still harbor feelings of well, friendship for Potter and even the mud…muggle Granger. However, you have to remember what you are. You. Are. A. Pure. Blood. The blond boy hesitated, "You will have to choose, and soon."

It was Thursday, three days before the first task when Hagrid managed to get a hold of Harry as he left the camp with Hermione for their morning run around the lake, "Harry! Hermione!" he shouted and waved to them. The gamekeeper looked around, "There's something I need to tell…"

Harry just sighed. Last night had ended well, with a nice dinner, and some very enjoyable time alone with Hermione. There was no telling just exactly what she had been reading in addition to her school books, but Harry had made a series of interesting discoveries about what she'd read and had thoroughly enjoyed the "brief preview of things to come." The good mood had only improved when he gotten up to find his Hermione curled up asleep, with most of her clothes on. "I'm guessing Dumbledore sent you with some information?"

"No. No." he reassured them. The two teens chuckled, knowing that Hagrid was the worst liar and perhaps worst secret keeper in the magical world. He was telling the truth, "Listen, I found out what they got for the first task. They've been hidden in the Forbidden…"

"Hagrid," Harry cut off Hagrid quickly, "Please understand that I do appreciate you wanting to help," he held up a hand to forestall the protest, "But where you sent in the Forbidden Forest on an errand?" That stopped the half giant in his tracks, "Every year, I've gotten mixed up in something or other. Dumbledore has failed to keep his students from getting involved, but also made sure that there are enough clues for us to get his job done. I can't trust him." They both saw the look of hurt in his eyes, "I can't trust him, Hagrid. But I trust you, my friend." Harry broke in to a smile, "Trust me, I can handle this."

Hagrid's hugs made Molly Weasely's seem like she was shaking hands instead, "And then, there's the money Harry. I heard why, but I don't understand. The Basilisk never attacked me!"

"You were," said Hermione, "Just not directly. It cost you your wand and rights as a wizard." It was true that while Hagrid had been a mediocre student at best, he would have still received a full magical education and earned a number of OWLs and NEWTs. "It's a small thing, money… You deserve an apology that you never got." The teens said nothing to each other but they had developed something of a language of looks and expressions that only the two of them understood. They cut their morning workout to spend time with a friend.

Friday night saw a very frustrated headmaster much to the amusement of Fawkes, who just watched him wear a hole in the stone floor as he paced by and forth like a clockwork soldier. Weasely had ultimately said nothing to Harry. Hagrid had not appreciated the position he had been put in to "help" Harry needed to be brought back under his control, his influence and direct indirect control.

In the Great Hall, Fawkes appeared amongst the rafters in a burst of flame. In this corner of the enchanted roof, there was, by comparison, a very small portrait of a woman. The Phoenix dipped its head, in the equivalent of a bow until she spoke, "Rise. You should know better, than to bow to me, old friend." She chided him gently, as her hand reached out of the painting to stroke the magnificent head, the phoenix thrilled softly at her touch. "Fawkes, where does the Light stand?" He sang a few notes, and those musical notes contained far more information that any human could ever decipher, comprehend and understand. What Fawkes said caused the Lady to shake her head in dismay, "Then all is as we feared, and the Light stands idle and ignorant as darkness creeps ever closer."

That evening, Peter was staring at himself looking back at him from the front page of the Quibbler. He was now in a particularly precarious position: Most Death Eaters would sell their own families for a lot less than one hundred thousand galleons. Now that it was public knowledge that he was animagus, he had no choice, even if he did not want to. To stay alive, and relatively safe, he would have to stay close to Lord Voldemort, even if he would rather spend another thirteen years as a rat.