Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Four.
Or, "Autistic Potter and the Goblet of Fire."

Notes: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made. Not by me, anyway.

There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though, but there's a lot more in this one than usual because it was unavoidable. Still, lots of details are changed, so don't skip by familiar parts or you might miss something.

Just as a reminder, so I don't have to shoehorn in descriptions in the text of the story as a reminder, but in this fanfic Harry and Hermione, apart from having Asperger's Syndrome, are both black as well.

'Italicized text between single quotes is almost always Parseltongue.'

Note: Samhain is pronounced "saw-when."

Chapter 9: “No Way Out”

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely having a nightmare. He had not heard correctly. His head felt fuzzy, his vision narrowing as the sides blacked out. It took him a few moments to realize he'd developed a spontaneous headache. Just a baby one at the moment, but he knew it would grow. He thought about taking a pain relief potion, but he couldn't get his body to move; he was frozen in place.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, open-mouthed. He tried to speak, and found he'd gone mute. Well, that was hardly surprising. He pinched himself instead, managing to yelp with pain. So he was awake after all. He started to hyperventilate, and his heart in his chest began beating faster than felt healthy or safe. He broke into a cold sweat and was shaking and dizzy, light-headed. Harry clung to the table for support, but found he was too weak to hold himself up, and was sliding out of his chair.

His vision had narrowed so badly that he could only see a narrow strip in front of him, and that was very blurry, even though he could still feel his glasses on his head.

Hermione looked at Harry as soon as her own shock wore off enough to move, and saw he looked very ill. He was sweating, breathing shallowly, and falling out of his seat, clutching his chest. For a moment she worried he was having a heart attack, but he was so young that another more likely possibility came to mind. Remembering something she'd read in one of her parents' medical books over the summer after she'd told her mother about her DADA test the week before, Hermione was the first to speak.

“He's having a panic attack! Stay back! Don't touch him, you'll just make him worse!”

Hermione got up and used her wand to push people away from Harry, and Silenced the area around him. Harry had fallen out of his chair entirely.

Popping her head into the area where she knew he'd be able to hear her, she said, “Harry? Harry, breathe. Try to breathe. Big, deep breaths. Oh, what did the book say? Right. I know what to do.”

Getting Harry's attention, she started to ask him to think about the maths they'd been doing in arithmancy lately. Harry didn't respond at first, but as she kept it up with a gentle tone of voice, his eyes turned toward her, and his expression looked thoughtful. He was trying, but people kept crowding around the invisible bubble she'd made with her wand, so his eyes kept falling on them, making him slip back into panic.

Taking her wand out again, she cast a blindfold over his eyes and levitated him toward the door. She wished she knew a way to hide him from everyone's eyes, but she didn't. Luckily, though, Antigone came running up and cast some sort of spell on him that turned the image of Harry into a blurry, shapeless blob.

“Thanks, Antigone.”

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, not touching her but freezing her with his voice.

“I need to take Harry somewhere quiet to calm down,” she said, sounding on the

“Harry needs to go back with the other Champions.”

“NO,” she snapped angrily at him, making everyone in earshot gasp. “I've read about panic attacks, he needs a quiet place to calm down before he can do anything else. You can't die of a panic attack, I don't think, but they can make people feel like they're dying. So I'm very sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but I'm taking him out of here.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Alright then, Miss Granger. I shall go explain to the other Champions what has happened.”

She ignored him, and continued moving Harry out of the room, glaring so vociferously at anyone in her way that she looked like she might use accidental magic to hex them while her wand was occupied. It struck her that it really was quite inconvenient that she only had one wand. She'd have to see about getting a spare when she could.

“Over here, Hermione,” Antigone said. “This room ought to work.”

It was one of the unused classrooms. She took Harry in, set him down in a corner, and closed and locked the door behind her, warding it with every spell she'd learned from books and from the older Slytherin girls. She then cast a dispel on Antigone's blurring spell, and sat across from Harry, using a conjured parchment and quill to try to distract him with maths. She would have preferred wizard chess or checkers or something like that, but she didn't have any of that on her, so maths it was.

It took a long time to begin working, and longer to really get working. But slowly, as Harry's mind focused on the maths, he began to calm down. His breathing eventually returned to normal, his face looked more relaxed, and he began to slowly get the color back in his face. She kept it up anyway; the books had said to keep the panic attack sufferer distracted until they were thoroughly bored.

It took over an hour for Harry to get to that point. Only then did she risk talking with him about what happened next.

“Dumbledore said you have to go meet with the other Champions. Do you feel up to that yet?”

Harry took a bracing breath, and nodded. “I think so. I just... I hadn't been expecting this.”

“I don't think any of us did. Even Dumbledore looked astonished.”

“Where are we supposed to go, anyway?”

“No idea. I can go find out for you.”

“Okay. And find if there's a way there that I can use to hide from everyone.”

“Right.”

Hermione undid the wards on the door and opened it, seeing Sirius pacing in front of the door. He stopped and turned when he heard the door open.

“Sirius, stay back. He's okay for now, but it's possible to trigger him again if you're not careful.”

“Right. Okay, Hermione, I'll trust your judgment. At least I know he's okay.”

“Do you know where he's supposed to go?”

“Yes, only I'm not sure I'd recommend it, after what you said. Karkaroff is livid, in the middle of a shouting match with Moody and Maxime. Dumbledore has been trying to calm them down. I tried listening to some of it but I had to come here instead, once Antigone told me where you were. She's been keeping me updated.”

“I'm better now, Sirius. It was scary while it was happening, but I'm better now.”

“Have you ever had one of those 'panic attacks' before?” Sirius asked.

“Yes, but it was years and years ago. The Dursleys used to... but never mind. Point is, I trained myself out of them. I guess the last few years have made me out of practice.”

“So what's the verdict, Sirius?” Hermione asked. “He can't possibly be expected to compete, surely?”

“I have no idea. I hope he doesn't have to. I've already sent a message to Moony, Harry, and he's fetching your diagnosis papers and Ms. Pennyroyal. They should be here any minute, it's been nearly 40 minutes since then. Then we can get this sorted out. You've got a diagnosis that shows you can't compete in this bloody competition, that has to count for something. They wouldn't expect a quadriplegic to compete in a swimming contest, it's unfair of them to expect you to do this.”

“They might be able to make a case for it, though, Sirius,” Hermione said. “He fought You-Know-Who twice and survived.”

“Yes, but he had help, and he wasn't in front of a bloody crowd of over a thousand spectators when he was doing it, either.”

Professor McGonagall showed up then.

“Ah good, Potter, you look a little better. I'd take you to the Hospital Wing, but the headmaster insists you come with me to meet the other Champions, if you're up to it.”

“I think I can do that. Come, let's get this over with,” he said.

Harry swallowed a Calming Draught and let McGonagall lead the way. Hermione slapped her own forehead for not thinking of a Calming Draught. But clearly Harry hadn't thought of it himself either until now, or hadn't been capable of taking it.

When the four of them got to where they were going, McGonagall only let Harry and Sirius join her. Hermione stood outside the door while they went in and closed it. From the sound of it, unless they thought to ward the door, she'd be able to hear them.

When Harry went in, he saw Dumbledore, Moody, Karkaroff, Maxime, Mr. Bagman, Ms. Selby, and the other three Champions in the room. Snape was there as well. Now he and McGonagall had joined, the room was starting to get a little crowded.

“There he is, finally!” Karkaroff shouted. “We have been waiting for you for over an hour, you cheating scoundrel! What have you to say for yourself!”

“Quiet, Igor. I will handle this. Harry,” he said calmly, “did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I didn't. That panic attack wasn't enough to convince you lot of that?”

Dumbledore nodded. “And did you ask an older student to do it for you?”

“No, I did not,” he said vehemently.

“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

“We have been over this, Madame Maxime,” Dumbledore said calmly, if with a touch of annoyance. “The age line worked as expected with Mr. Fred and George Weasley, they could not have gotten close enough to put their names in before they were pushed back and given beards. At no point did Mr. Potter come in with a beard, nor did any of his other friends, the Weasley twins excepted. And there were many witnesses to the attempt those two made.”

“'e could 'ave done eet when nobody was looking!” Madame Maxime protested.

“If he had, he would have a beard. Minerva, you asked Poppy about it, did you not? What did she say.”

“Mr. Potter hasn't been in the Hospital Wing all school year so far,” she said.

“Good.”

“That proves nothing!” Karkaroff spat.

The door opened suddenly, and the short, fat, and usually pleasant form of Ms. Pennyroyal came bustling in, a briefcase in her hand.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am Ms. Lilith Pennyroyal, solicitor for Mr. Harry Potter and his guardian, Mr. Sirius Black. And regardless of how this has happened, it cannot be allowed to continue.”

“Well, on that we can agree, Ms. Pennyroyal you said it was?” Karkaroff said.

“Yes. Now clearly, this young man was entered into this competition against his wishes, for he knows his own limitations and knows he cannot possibly compete. I have proof with me that he cannot be allowed to compete, for he is not emotionally equipped to handle the demands of this competition.”

She pulled out a copy of his diagnosis papers, a much thicker file than Harry remembered having seen before.

“What is this?” Karkaroff said, flicking through the papers. Ms. Pennyroyal was passing out copies to the others to look through as well.

“Mr. Potter here has been to see a Muggle psychiatrist and gotten a diagnosis of a mental and emotional condition that impairs his ability to cope with certain kinds of situations, such as social situations, especially those involving large numbers of people. He has been observed on many occasions becoming ill when forced to be around too many people. The stress of a competition such as this, performing in front of a thousand or more people, is too much for him to cope with and he cannot be allowed to compete, for his own mental and physical health and well-being, as evidenced by the file I have given you all copies of.”

“I don't claim to understand this Muggle rubbish, Ms. Pennyroyal,” Karkaroff said, “but if it means we agree, then I will say no more of it.”

“'ere 'ere,” Madame Maxime said.

“I'm sorry to have to contradict you, Ms. Pennyroyal,” Ms. Selby said. “If I could agree, I would; this should not be permitted. But the Goblet of Fire is older than our laws; his name was entered into the Goblet, it came out of said Goblet, therefore he is obliged to compete under penalty of his magic being stripped from him.”

“He was entered against his will,” she countered.

“That doesn't matter,” Ms. Selby said. “His name came out, the geas says he must compete.”

She glared at Ms. Selby. “If the Goblet of Fire was so poorly made that it could be tricked into putting in the name of someone who has no desire to compete, then I move we destroy the accursed thing and find some other way to pick Triwizard Tournament Champions in the future.” Harry noticed Bagman gaping at her like an idiot.

“There will BE no more Triwizard Tournament after this outrage,” Karkaroff shouted, “for Durmstrang will not be competing again!”

“Professor Karkaroff, there have been so many centuries between now and the last time the Tournament was played, that it may well happen again in a century or two, under different headmasters.”

“Destroy the Goblet of Fire? It's a priceless artifact!” Bagman shouted.

“We do not even know if that would work,” Ms. Selby said. She looked sympathetic. “We cannot risk the life of the savior of the wizarding world on something we don't even know will work.”

Ms. Pennyroyal snorted. “'Savior of the wizarding world' indeed. He survived the Killing Curse, which makes him famous, but the so-called 'Lord' Voldemort has never been strong enough to be a real threat outside of Britain. The rest of the world has had many dark lords and dark ladies far more formidable than him and his Death Eaters, so calling Mr. Potter the savior of the wizarding world is to forget that there exists a wizarding world outside the bounds of the United Kingdom.

“And anyway,” she continued, “by your own admission he wouldn't lose his life, just his magic.”

“Lilith! Are you hearing yourself?” McGonagall asked. “With all the people after him, who want him dead? Losing his magic would be as good as losing his life!”

“I doubt that, Minerva,” Ms. Pennyroyal countered. “Without his magic, he's no longer a threat to Voldemort, they'd have no reason to go after him. They might capture him and parade him around a bit, but there'd be no reason to kill him. But I do agree that I'd rather he not lose his magic. It would be a terrible waste of potential. That's why I suggested destroying the Goblet of Fire. The worst that can happen if we do is he lose his magic before the Goblet dies.”

“And what of us?” Fleur snapped. “Are we three, the rightful Champions, to risk losing our magic as well? I assure you, eef that 'appened, my family's solicitors would come down on you like an 'erd of angry dragons!”

“Yes!” Karkaroff agreed. “My star quidditch player, a squib? I will not hear of it! No, we are not destroying the Goblet of Fire!”

Ms. Pennyroyal looked around at all their faces, then sighed. “You're right, legally we can't risk you all for the sake of one teenager. But surely there must be some way of getting him out of this?”

“Like I said,” Ms. Selby told her, “it is an old geas. He is bound to compete, and to try his best, or he loses his magic. Or he might die, even. The records aren't exactly clear on that point.”

“You should have led with that,” Ms. Pennyroyal said. “But the fact remains, he is not emotionally equipped to compete in this tournament. I hear he had a panic attack when he found out he'd been chosen.”

“Be that as it may, he must compete. However this happened, we are left with that fact.”

“ENOUGH,” Karkaroff exploded. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”

Moody limped from the door toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.

“Convenient?” said Karkaroff. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”

Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

“Don’t you?” said Moody quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ’oo wished to give ’Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —”

“If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter,” growled Moody, “but … funny thing … I don’t hear him saying a word. Though his solicitor has.”

“Why should ’e complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. “ ’E ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!”

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man … what a thing to say!”

“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly. “Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.”

“Moody's got a point,” Sirius said. “Champions have died before in this damned contest, we all know that. It's the reason the age was restricted to 17, to reduce the chances of deaths. Harry here has faced Voldemort twice now, I wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort or one of his cronies is trying to kill off my godson. Put his name in the Goblet, then if he gets killed during a Task, it looks like an accident. And there's a lot of Death Eaters in the government I know could pull off the skills needed to hoodwink the Cup like that.”

“Hoodwinked ze Goblet? Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

“Isn't it obvious?” asked Moody. “That thing is old and powerful. It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament. I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category.”

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is — though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously.”

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember.

“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction — Karkaroff’s face was burning.

How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do.”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —”

“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.”

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

Sirius spoke, then. “Is there any way Harry can be allowed someone to help him get through this? Just for moral support? And he's going to need his coping tools. Calming Draughts, his sunglasses, pain relief potions---”

“He cannot be allowed to cheat!” Karkaroff shouted. “Hasn't he done enough already?”

“These aren't cheats,” Ms. Pennyroyal said. She looked at Harry. “Harry, are those earplugs in your ears?”

“Yes.”

“How long have they been there today?”

“Since before going to the feast. It was so noisy with the extra people the night before, I needed them to prevent a headache. Got one anyway from the panic attack, but it's a dull ache now.”

“You get headaches from that sort of noise?”

“Yes.”

“How bad are these headaches?”

“If I don't take the potion in time, they become migraines very quickly. Not sure why this one hasn't yet, in fact; I didn't take a pain relief potion for it yet.”

“You see, Karkaroff, Maxime,” she said. “A few dozen extra students in the Great Hall and he needs ear plugs and pain relief potion to cope with that. He's going to need his coping tools if he's going to have any chance of getting through this Tournament.”

Karkaroff said nothing. Dumbledore spoke instead.

“Lilith, what all does Harry need?”

“Harry?” she asked him. “What do you need?”

“Bare minimum, based on what I needed to cope with the Quidditch World Cup--”

“You went to the World Cup but expect us to believe you need all this--”

“Igor,” Dumbledore said warningly, cutting the man off.

“As I was saying, what I needed to cope with the World Cup was sound-blocking earmuffs, my sunglasses, pain-relief potion, Calming Draught in case I'm getting near a panic attack or jump right into one like today. Let's see, what else? Oh, this,” he said, holding up the dragon-skin bracelet.

“It's... well, it's an emotional comfort object. Calms me down. And then there's this,” he said, showing them the necklace Luna had given him.

Ms. Selby held her hand out. “May I check those objects to see what they are?”

Harry looked to Sirius, who didn't object, so Harry nodded and handed him the objects. Selby scanned them with her wand.

“A simple metal bracelet covered in dragon skin,” she said, handing it back to Harry. “And... some sort of magical artifact.”

Harry explained briefly what it did.

“It was given to me by my friend Luna Lovegood. Each stone plays a different tone. Here, this one supposedly chases away Scrabjabbles, whatever those are,” he said, pressing the green gem. Airy, tinkling music came from the necklace. “I find it soothing.”

Everyone who didn't already know about it stared at him, except for Dumbledore, who smiled, and Snape, who sighed and shook his head slightly.

“And this stone, well... it does this.”

Pressing the purple stone, it made a noise like rock grinding against rock.

“You don't want to hear the red stone, trust me on that. It makes a horrible ruckus. That just leaves the blue one. Only animals can hear that one. Well, I can hear it faintly, but most humans can't hear it. Not even animagi.”

Harry pressed on the blue stone. There weren't any animals in range, at least none he could hear reacting to it.

“The animal one, if it really works, could be used to unfair advantage.”

Harry shrugged. “I can leave it in my room before the Tasks. It's the only thing I can manage without. Well, I could most likely manage without the bracelet, but somehow I doubt that one's gonna get shot down.”

“But the rest you truly need?” Ms. Pennyroyal asked.

“Yes. The potions, the sunglasses, and the earmuffs are non-negotiable. I won't be able to even enter the ring, or whatever you call the competition area, without those. I'd probably have a panic attack without the Calming Draughts, I'd be blinded with pain if I tried to function with a migraine in the middle of a Task, and I sometimes get those even with the earmuffs and sunglasses.”

The adults who were directly involved with the Tournament talked it over for fifteen minutes in the corner with silencing wards up. When they were done, they came out. Karkaroff and Maxime looked annoyed. Ms. Selby handed Harry's necklace back to him, but Sirius intercepted it and scanned it with his wand first, Moody making a noise of agreement with this.

“We've talked it over, and you will be allowed your coping tools, sans the necklace. The Calming Draught is to be taken only if you're on the edge of a panic attack. Both potions will be given to you by Madam Pomfrey, you are not to take your own usual supplies into the Tasks. And your bracelet will be scanned before every Task to ensure it remains at its current level of mundanity,” Ms. Selby said.

“You will also be allowed one companion, who will be in charge of judging your coping level and helping you recover mentally if you are unable to cope, or pull you out of the Task if you are unable to recover to complete the Task. This companion will not be allowed to use their wand to help you, and their wand will be confiscated before the start of the Task and only returned when the Task is complete.

“They will also, during the Tasks, only be allowed to talk to you enough to inquire about your state of mind and anything you need related to your state of mind, if it does not also relate to gaining an unfair advantage in the competition. There will be a spell put on you both to monitor your words during the Tasks; only the judges will be able to hear these exchanges. If the judges agree that something said gave you an unfair advantage in the Task, you will lose points equal to the amount of help received. If the judges agree that your companion managed to use wandless magic to give you an unfair advantage in the Task, that will also count against your points.

“Standard rules apply as well; teachers or other school or Ministry staff will not be allowed to help you at any point during the Tournament, except of course librarians, and then only in the context of their usual duties.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Ms. Pince barely liked to help kids at all, she wouldn't give him more help than she absolutely had to.

“Do you agree to these terms?” Ms. Selby asked.

Harry turned to Ms. Pennyroyal, who nodded.

“Yes, Ms. Selby, I agree to those terms.”

“Who do you choose for your companion?”

“Sirius? Do you want to do it?”

“I don't like not having my wand. But I guess with everyone watching, nobody would be fool enough to attack you in the open. So yes, Harry, I'll be your companion for the Tasks. If there are no objections.”

“Do you think you'll be able to resist the urge to help him win, Black?” Snape said, sneering.

“Even if I can't, Snivelus, better he try his best, fail completely, and get out alive than the alternative.”

Snape had nothing to say to this. He settled for more sneering.

“Do you accept the terms, Mr. Black?”

“Yes, I accept your terms.”

“Even though you are training to be an Auror, are thus a Ministry employee in training, and are thus bound to abide by the rule to not help any of the Champions to cheat, even between Tasks?”

Sirius's face fell a little at this, but then he looked determined. “Yes, I still accept the terms of being Harry's companion during the Triwizard tasks.”

Ms. Selby nodded. “Good. This is all highly irregular, but if you break your word and Mr. Potter fails completely, I daresay the others would be somewhat mollified.”

“Well, shall we crack on, then?” Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Caroline, want to do the honors?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Ms. Selby said. She looked like the day had been wearing hard on her, but she soldiered on.

“The first task is designed to test your daring,” she told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important.

“The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers or Ministry staff to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”

Ms. Selby turned to look at Dumbledore.

“I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at her with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Caroline?”

“No, Dumbledore, I should get back to the Ministry,” said Ms. Selby. “It's a very busy, very difficult time at the moment. I’ve left young Percy Weasley in charge. Very enthusiastic; a little over-enthusiastic, if truth be told.”

Dumbledore tried again, but Ms. Selby refused. Nobody else seemed interested in a nightcap either, except for Ludo Bagman. Maxime and Karkaroff were already leaving.

“Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

Harry groaned and pulled out his earmuffs. “I wish I could turn into a mouse or a lizard or something small to avoid the others.”

“Do you want any help fending off your well-meaning if misguided fans?”

“Yes please.”

Harry glanced at Sirius, who nodded, and they left together. Hermione was there, too, but she didn't speak except to say his name in a sympathetic way. Harry supposed she was waiting until later, when Cedric wasn't there; he was currently tagging along at Harry's other side.

The Great Hall was otherwise deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

“So, we're playing against each other,” Cedric said.

“I s’pose,” said Harry. He really couldn’t think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

“So tell me,” Cedric whispered, “how did you get your name in that goblet?”

Harry stopped walking, making the others stop short. Harry was glaring at Cedric, his fists clenched, his teeth grinding. The first thing that came to his mind to say was shot down by a part of his mind that told him Cedric hadn't been there to witness his panic attack. He wondered if it would have made a difference.

“Harry?” Sirius asked, concerned.

Hermione was looking from him to Cedric; Cedric had spoken softly enough Harry didn't think she'd heard him, because she looked confused. Harry wanted to tell them both what was going on, but he was so angry he couldn't speak. Nothing he could think of to say was good enough. He'd been through an hour, more or less, of Hell even before being in there with all those other people arguing back and forth, and he thought the only thing that could get his point across, really, was to make Cedric feel as he'd felt, but since he didn't know how to do that, he could only stew in his anger.

“If you believe I would put my name in that bloody goblet, Cedric, then you are just... SO completely stupid!” he shouted at Cedric, who recoiled in alarm. “I would no more have put my name in that bloody goblet than I would join the Death Eaters! If I find out you've been telling people that lie, I'll hex you so thoroughly it'll take them a week just to figure out who you are!”

He was about to storm away angrily, but Cedric shot back angrily, “They're all thinking it anyway, Potter! Don't hex me if they're all saying it. Even the other Griffindors will be thinking it! Because it's obviously the truth, no matter what Dumbledore thinks.”

Harry swung a fist at Cedric, he was so mad, but he missed; Hermione yelped in surprise.

“YOU WEREN'T THERE!” he yelled at Cedric. “You weren't there when my name came out of that goblet, you bloody berk! I couldn't breathe! My heart was going a thousand kilometers an hour! I felt like I was going to die, really truly die! I had cold sweats, my vision was blacking out, I was dizzy, and I couldn't bloody move! Hermione had to levitate me into an unused classroom to give me somewhere to calm down, and it took me over an hour! I wasn't making you all wait out of some stupid celebrity reason, I felt like I was having a bloody heart attack! So don't you go thinking you know what I'm like! You have no fucking idea what my life is like! All I've ever fucking wanted is peace and bloody quiet! I just wanted to watch this fucking thing like everyone else, be a normal damned kid for once! But gods-damned fucking Voldemort won't even fucking give me that much!

“So if you think I put my name in that fucking goblet, then you can just go to Hell! You and everyone else who thinks it!”

With that, he stormed off, not even knowing or caring if Sirius was with him. He was still in a seething rage when he got to Griffindor tower and barely noticed Hermione running along after him, trying to keep up.

Harry got a shock to find himself facing the Fat Lady already. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. A pale, wizened witch he'd never seen before was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest.

“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet’s just told me everything. Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?”

“Balderdash,” snapped Harry.

“It most certainly isn’t!” said the pale witch indignantly.

“No, no, Vi, it’s the password,” said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room.

The blast of noise that met Harry’s ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. A dozen or more people tried to grab him, which he was not in the mood for. He whipped out his wand and threw a dozen harmless but effective jinxes at people so vociferously that it only took about 10 seconds for people to clear a path, letting him storm up to his bedroom.

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He sat up when Harry slammed the door behind him. The door opened up again a moment later, and Hermione appeared, looking questioningly at Harry.

“Come on in, Hermione,” Harry said, a bit of an apology in his tone. She came in after him, closed the door, and locked it with a spell. She then sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Er... what happened, mate? If you don't mind saying.”

“What happened, in a nutshell, is that it took me an hour to calm down from a full-blown panic attack before I was able to join the other bloody Champions. Oh yeah, and I have to compete. Doesn't matter I didn't put my name in or have someone else do it for me. Apparently I could either die or lose my magic if I don't compete, Ms. Selby didn't seem all that sure. And then Cedric had the gall to ask me how I'd gotten my name in the goblet! I was so angry I tried to punch him and failed, so I settled for yelling at him about what a panic attack feels like, instead.”

Hermione nodded solemnly, confirming his story. “I heard it all through the door. They didn't bother warding it.”

“Damn. So you really have to compete?”

“Yes.”

“How're you gonna manage that?”

“Well, Ms. Pennyroyal was there. She tried getting me out of it, but failed, so she managed to get them all to agree to let me keep most of my coping tools. And Sirius is going to be there too. He won't be allowed to help beyond emotional support, but still, I might be able to get through this alive, with his help.”

“Wow. Hell of a day you had, mate.” Ron sighed. “The others were talking about how they thought you put your name in the Goblet, too. I tried talking some sense into them. I mean, that 'panic attack' thing... that was scary. Dunno how anyone could think you'd done it willingly after witnessing that.”

“Well, if you and Hermione are on my side, I can get through this. It can't be worse than second year. Wait, you are on my side on this, Hermione, right?”

“Of course I am, Harry.”

“I didn't really doubt it, but I didn't want to presume. Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Harry.”

“Yeah, and you'll have Luna, too,” Ron said. “And Sirius. Right?”

“Sirius, yes. Luna... I'm sure she'll believe me too.”

“What about Draco?”

“Hmm... he can get a bit jealous at times. I guess we'll find out later.” A pause, then Harry said, “You're not jealous?”

“I didn't say that, Harry. I am jealous. Extremely jealous. But I'd have to be a right idiot to let that get in the way of our friendship, especially after witnessing that panic attack of yours. You say you didn't put your name in that goblet, so I believe you.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks. I'm glad to hear it. Even if the rest of the school hates me for it, I've got my friends on my side.”

“Harry Potter!” came a voice from Harry's trunk. He opened it up and dug out the two-way mirror he used to communicate with Luna.

“Luna?” he said into the mirror.

“Oh good, there you are. I've been calling every fifteen minutes checking for you. How are you? You looked terrible tonight at dinner, after Dumbledore read out your name.”

“I'm better now, Luna. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I waited for you outside the classroom until Dumbledore told me you would have to go back with the other Champions when you were better. He also told me to go back to my dorm. Very kindly, though. So I went back like he said, and started calling you then.”

“Thanks, Luna. I appreciate it. I'm okay now. Not fond of the idea of having to do this Tournament, but they're letting me use my coping tools, and letting me have Sirius with me as a mental health monitor. He's not allowed to help at all with the Tasks themselves, just to monitor my state of mind and help me get functioning if I start having another panic attack. But that's still a huge comfort.”

“Yeah, I heard it all through the door,” Hermione said, “and they'll be monitoring everything the both of them say with eavesdropping spells. During the Tasks, anyway. They can't monitor Harry and Sirius between Tasks.”

“Cool,” Ron said, smiling. “So maybe he can help you after all.”

“Ron! I don't think Harry should be cheating!”

“He'll be up against three much older, more experienced students though! The Tasks were probably designed with the age limit in mind, too. What if Harry can't do whatever he needs to do?”

“If worst comes to worst, and he's tried his best and failed, he'll lose that round of the Tournament but get to keep going. All that matters is we get him through this alive.”

“Fair point,” Ron said.

“You've got at least four Slytherin friends on your side, Harry,” Luna said. “Did any of the rules say other students were banned from helping?”

Harry looked thoughtful. “No. Just that teachers, school staff, and Ministry staff aren't allowed to help me or any of the other Champions.”

“Good. Then all your friends can help, including Hermione, whose help would be quite significant, I expect.”

Hermione nodded, then said aloud, “Yes, I'll help of course. Even if I was banned from helping, I'd find a way anyway. If rules get in the way of saving a friend's life, then the rules can go hang. Remember the polyjuice potion?”

“Excellent,” Luna said, her tiny face in the mirror smiling. “Eight heads are better than one. That's why nobody has ever caught the Ghanian hydra except for glimpses, they're too clever to be captured.”

The trio's heads turned toward Luna's voice. Harry smiled. By Luna's standards, that was very sensible and logical and realistic. Given hydras were in Muggle mythology alongside chimeras and dragons, Harry would have been surprised if hydras hadn't been real once, too, if they weren't still real.

“Well now we've settled that,” Harry said, “I'm tired. I've had a long, hard day, and I need to sleep.”

Hermione nodded and stood up, pausing to hug him first before leaving. Harry said goodbye to Luna, and got ready for bed. A few minutes later, he was laying in bed, Mouse-Stalker in his arms under the blankets, stroking the snake's scaly skin idly as he thought. The snake's presence made him realize he hadn't been carrying Mouse-Stalker around with him, but if someone was trying to kill him, maybe he should. He didn't think there was a rule against taking a familiar into classes, as long as it didn't disrupt class, but he'd have to ask Professor McGonagall to be sure. After an hour of troubled thoughts going through his head, he finally drifted off to sleep.

~ ~

When Harry woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so worried. Then the memory of the night before came back to him, and he sighed. He had his friends, or at least Ron, Hermione, and Luna. He'd have to find out about the others today if he could.

Harry looked over into Ron's bed; Ron was still asleep. Harry decided to let him sleep in, and got up to go to breakfast. He considered Mouse-Stalker, too, but the snake was sleeping soundly in its enclosure after Harry had moved him there upon waking. The snake had slept through the whole process of moving.

Harry dressed and went down the spiral staircase into the common room. The moment he appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again. The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating him like some sort of hero, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow himself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to him to join them. He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione, Antigone, Angela, and Danzia. It suddenly struck Harry, for no apparent reason, to realize that all but two of his friends were girls. He liked Neville, too, but he didn't really know Neville well enough to call him a friend yet.

“Hey there,” Danzia said. “We figured you'd want to be away from adoring fans and hissing enemies alike. Picnic breakfast?”

She was holding up a basket that was steaming faintly.

“It was Hermione's idea,” Danzia specified. “Well, she was thinking toast, and I was like, 'I know how to get to the kitchens, why not get him some sausages and scrambled eggs as well? Oh and there's some fresh fruit in here, too. A well-balanced breakfast.”

“Thanks, girls,” he said, smiling. “Where should we go?”

“Would it be presumptuous to have you lead us to your special boulder in the forest?” Antigone asked.

“Not enough room there for five people,” Harry said.

Luna appeared then, looking like she'd wandered in by accident. “I know a lovely place for six people, if you're up to it.”

“Sure, Luna, that sounds good.”

“Is Ron still asleep?” Danzia asked. “Hermione says he took it well. He might want to join us. If there's room?” she asked Luna. Luna nodded serenely.

“I'll go check,” Harry said.

“I'll fend off the Creevy brothers for you,” Hermione said.

A few minutes later, Ron was dressed and coming along with them. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with Luna, even after all this time, but he'd gotten good at keeping it to himself. So the seven of them followed Luna out to a spot by the lake that had some tree cover and plenty of space to sit down on the ground.

“Where's Draco?” Harry finally asked Danzia.

“Probably either asleep or at breakfast,” she responded.

“Do you happen to know his take on last night's events?”

“Not really, sorry. He was in the room when we were all talking about it, but he didn't say anything. He's hard to read, he's got the pureblood Slytherin 'don't let on much' face down pretty good. Not as good as our illustrious head of House, but pretty good.”

“Right,” Harry said, trying not to worry. He didn't know Draco's casual, amongst-other-Slytherins behavior well at all, so he couldn't begin to guess at Draco's mood from what Danzia had said.

“That's actually a good sign,” Antigone said. “Well, kinda. If he had an opinion one way or another on the topic, he wouldn't have hesitated to let it be known. I think he might be waiting for your side of the story. Which would mean he's giving you the benefit of the doubt. So, not a great sign, but not bad either.”

“Is he jealous?” He served himself some sausage and eggs.

She shrugged, grabbing a piece of toast and an apple. “Probably. Enough for it to be a problem? Probably not. I guess we'll find out later. You want one of us to send him your way?”

“Yes, please. He's one of only two bloke friends I have.”

She chuckled. “Alright then, we'll send him your way later. Library?”

“Sounds good.”

Since the Slytherins hadn't actually heard anything of what happened after Harry's panic attack, they listened as Ron and Hermione and Luna told them the story for him so he wouldn't have to repeat it again.

“Wow. Sucks you were entered against your will, even worse that you have to compete,” Danzia said between bites of sausage. “But at least you'll have your coping tools and Sirius. And us to help you between Tasks.”

“We figured you'd been entered against your will,” Antigone said. “Knew that you didn't want to be in the Tournament, didn't have the temperament for it. Which the panic attack proved for us.”

“That must've sucked,” Danzia said. “Sure looked like it sucked.”

“That's putting it lightly,” Harry said.

“Did you and Sirius get a chance to talk about it yet?”

“Oh damn, no we didn't. I ran off after the fight with Cedric. I'll call Sirius on the mirror later if I don't see him before then.”

“Yes, do that,” Hermione said. “The Tournament hasn't truly started yet, you can still talk until the First Task without having to worry about cheating. And he might have some ideas about how to fend off the Daily Prophet.”

Harry went a paler brown and looked up at Hermione. “The Daily Prophet?”

“Well yes. This Tournament is famous, and you're famous. You and Sirius should talk with Ms. Pennyroyal about how to deal with the press.”

“The press. Great. Lovely. Just what I need.”

“You might also talk to Draco about the press, if he's on your side. His father is famous, at least within the UK anyway. Or infamous as the case may be. Point is, Draco might be able to help. Possibly.”

“I'll keep it in mind.”

“Hey,” Danzia said. “What'd they say about the First Task again?”

“It's supposed to test our daring, so they won't tell us what it is.”

“Could be anything, then. But you know, I've read all about the Tournament,” Danzia continued. “Once I knew it was happening, anyway. I'm guessing the First Task is gonna involve getting past a creature. Probably something big and showy, since they haven't had the Tournament in a long time.”

“Oh, like the cockatrice I read about?” Hermione asked.

“That's a possibility, but they're kinda small. Let's see, big and showy... they could probably get creatures from all over the world, too. So... sphinx is a possibility, they're pretty big. Though they just ask riddles, so doesn't really fit the 'showy' category.”

“What about a snallygaster?” Angela asked.

“What's a snallygaster?” Ron asked.

“American magical creature. Like a cross between a bird and a dragon.”

“Yeah but those are a lot smaller than dragons,” Danzia said. “They're dangerous, sure, but small. Not showy enough.”

“Heliopaths!” Luna exclaimed. “Harry, you should learn a fire-proofing spell.”

Ignoring Luna's weird suggestion, Ron said, “I'll bet it's dragons. That'd be big and showy for sure. Can't think of anything else big enough, in fact.”

“Well thunderbirds are pretty big,” Danzia said, “and changing the weather is showy. But I'm not sure how to make that into a Task. Dragons, though; that's easier. Best case scenario, just get past one. Worst case scenario, knock it out somehow in order to 'vanquish' it without hurting it for real.”

“Gods, I hope it's not dragons,” Harry said. “I'd even take a basilisk over dragons. At least with a basilisk, I'd be able to tell it to leave me alone.”

“It's not gonna be basilisks. The one you and Antigone fought was over 1000 years old, there's no way there's any more that big, or if there are, they're gonna be too hard to find. And even if they could be found, they're too dangerous for a Task.”

“Besides,” Antigone said, “dragons are probably too big and showy. It takes dozens of wizards to subdue a single dragon, I can't see how even 17 year old students would be able to get past one.”

“Cunning and trickery!” Danzia exclaimed. “If it's any kind of creature, Summon your invisibility cloak, walk right past it!”

“What if it can smell him?” Antigone asked.

“If so, then... okay, good point. Are there potions or salves that can hide a human scent?”

“No idea. But he could slather himself in mud.”

“Wouldn't that involve him getting like, naked? Or at least down to his skivvies? Not sure he'd be able to live that down, even if it would be entertaining to watch.”

“Hey!” Ron said. “I thought you were asectional?”

“Asexual. And that just means I don't look at people and go 'ooh la la I want to get in their pants!' Doesn't make a naked Harry any less funny to imagine.”

“I'll hold that idea in reserve,” Harry said. “My dignity isn't worth my life.”

“Anyway, if it's dragons, well... they're giant lizards. And people used to consider them giant snakes with legs. Maybe parseltongue will work with dragons.”

“I doubt it,” Ron said. “My brother Charlie works with dragons, he says they roar, growl, and shriek. He never mentioned hissing.”

“Well whatever it is, if its a creature, at least I have one plan,” Harry said. “Get naked, muddy, and invisible. I just hope mud will wash out of the invisibility cloak.”

That got a laugh out of everyone, Harry included, making him feel a little better about all this.

When they were done with breakfast, they all went their separate ways, Harry going to the library to wait for Draco, stopping to pick up Mouse-Stalker first. He was now in the library reading a book about the Triwizard Tournament to try to get ideas about what the First Task might be, Mouse-Stalker curled around Harry's shoulders. Ms. Pince had frowned at Harry and Mouse-Stalker when they'd come in, and snapped something about snake poop, but had let them in.

It was almost lunch before Draco showed up and stood in front of Harry.

“Hi Draco. Sit down.”

“Thank you, Harry, I would like that,” Draco said, and sat down across from Harry.

“So, uh... did the girls tell you what we told them?”

“Yes, they did. Honestly, I wasn't terribly surprised to hear you hadn't put your name in. I can't recall ever seeing you like that before. I thought you were really dying somehow, but Hermione seemed to think you'd recover if you could just get calmed down, and between that and the words 'panic attack,' I trusted her judgment. I didn't really know what a panic attack was, but I made a guess based on context that you were beyond even 'freaking out.'”

“I'm relieved to hear you're on my side, too.”

“I wasn't sure what to think after the panic attack, honestly. I thought you had put your name in somehow – I tried to put my own name in, of course – but then when the reality of it struck, you... well. But then I thought about it, and it started to sound ridiculous, didn't fit what I knew of you. The incident in Flourish and Blotts our second year stood out in my mind. And if you had found a way to put your name in, I didn't doubt you'd find a way to tell me, too.”

“Okay,” Harry said, not sure what else to say.

“So the story they told me made sense. Any ideas on who put your name in?”

“Nope. Sirius reckons a former Death Eater. Gives them motive and the skills to do it.”

“I see. Yes, that makes sense. In that case, Harry, you should know Karkaroff was a Death Eater. The ones in Azkaban aren't happy with him; he gave up a lot of names when he was captured, to get out of prison. This was after the dark lord fell, of course.”

“Okay... but what's his motive? I doubt Vol-- sorry, You-Know-Who would welcome him back after that.”

“Hmm... unless he was trying to make up for it by killing you. Father has been acting strangely all summer, rubbing his left arm a lot. Then making that deal with you and Sirius.”

“You know about that?”

Draco sneered. “Of course I do. Mother and Father left me home with the house elf so they could go somewhere together, after appearing to worry about the return of the dark lord, and arguing with me less, like they didn't have the time or energy to spare arguing with me, and were focusing on worrying about their sole heir, who had gone blood traitor.

“And if that wasn't enough to convince me they thought he was returning, I also heard about Mother and Sirius working together on protections for house elves, and I was around for one of mother's little soirées where she all too casually turned around her peers' thoughts on the issue. If Mother were a widow or divorced and changed her opinion like that, I'd believe she really felt that way and no longer had Father to overrule her. But since Father is still in the picture, clearly he agreed with her. And since he was the main one in the family who abused Dobby, I doubted he'd agree to that without the promise of something more important in return.

“Then I figured that if Mother were aligning herself with Sirius – who had been exiled from the family, though not disinherited – that she had made some deal with him. Since he lives in the old Black home, it wasn't difficult to figure out she wanted me to live there with you and Sirius if the dark lord ever comes back, probably under a Fideleus Charm. Since they're worried about that possibility... well, I had a hard time not freaking out when I figured that out. But it's what I would have done in their position. Thus, not surprised.”

“Wow. That's... you figured all that out on your own, just by watching and listening?”

“Yes. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, I'm in Slytherin for a very good reason.”

“I'll say,” Harry said.

“Anyway, Harry, that actually brings me to my next point. If the dark lord is getting stronger, if he's about to rise, then it's likely Karkaroff is trying to get back in his good graces by getting you killed in this Tournament. If so, it's a horrible plan. The dark lord was – is – the vengeful sort. You spurned him in our first year, stopped him getting the Philosopher's Stone. He's not going to be happy about that. He'll want you dead, yes, but by his own hand.”

“Well according to Dumbledore, he can't. I'm protected by my mother's sacrifice. If he tries to kill me with magic, it'll rebound on him again.”

“Really? Well that's useful, and explains a lot. Especially since he wouldn't think to try killing you the Muggle way. Hmm... if he really wants you dead by his own hand, that's a significant hurdle to him killing you himself. He'd have to find some way around that. Though I suppose he could use magic to collapse a wall on you, crushing you under the stones.”

“Gee, thanks for that.”

Draco smirked. “You're welcome.”

After a few moments of silence, Draco spoke again. “So... I forgot to mention it earlier, but in light of you being a Champion now, I figured I ought to tell you that the reason we were told to bring dress robes this year is because there's a Yule Ball this year. And since you're a Champion, you'll be expected to attend. With a date.” Draco smirked again.

Harry stared agog at Draco, mouth gaping like a fish. “A date? You mean with a girl?”

“Or a boy, if you prefer.”

Harry's eyes narrowed at this. “Are you asking me out? Because--”

Draco snorted with laughter and burst out laughing, smacking his hand on the table as he did.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Ms. Pince snapped, “No laughter or hitting tables in the library! Don't make me kick you out!”

Draco stopped, still struggling to not laugh, and said, “Sorry, Ms. Pince.”

'The other human is making noise. Laughter, I think. Is he a friend?'

'Yes, Mouse-Stalker, Dragon is a friend.' Parseltongue didn't really have a better translation for Draco's name.

'Dragon? A noble name.'

Draco had stopped laughing, but was still struggling not to.

“So I take it this means you weren't asking me out?” Harry asked quietly, to appease Ms. Pince.

Draco shook his head, holding his mouth closed with his hand as he continued to fight laughter.

“Good, because I'm not into blokes.”

When Draco finally recovered from his struggle to not laugh, he said, “I'm flattered, of course, and if you did ask me out, I'd take you up on the offer even though I'm not into blokes either. It would be hilarious on the one hand, and score me social and political points on the other hand, what with you being both the Boy Who Lived and Triwizard Champion. Though it would be something of a minor scandal, too, the last scion of House Malfoy essentially declaring he's dating a boy. But the look on Ronald's face would be priceless.

“In fact,” he continued, “you should have Creevy bring his camera. You and I could dance just to get a rise out of people, and Creevy could take a picture of Ronald's face for posterity.”

“You're not... angry or indignant at the suggestion you might be gay?”

“Not at all. Why should I? I said it would only be a minor scandal, after all. Now if you and I got married, that would be a major scandal. Marriages, in pureblood society, are for producing children. Nobody cares if you don't love the person you married, nor if you only have one child together and then you go out and be a pouf the rest of your days. All that matters is producing a child, and raising it to adulthood. You know, fulfilling the terms of the contract.”

“Oh. This cultural divide is still something I'm getting used to. Where I was raised... oh boy. If I'd casually asked... oh gods... the Dursleys! Uncle Vernon would kill me!”

Draco chuckled quietly, but stopped when Harry shot him an angry and incredulous look.

“I'm not kidding around! If I had said something like 'are you asking me out?' to another boy where one of the Dursleys could hear, I'd be dead, unless Netty stepped in.”

“Sorry, I forgot Muggles can feel so strongly about something as random as who someone loves.”

“It's not your fault, I'm just a little scared. I mean, I should be fine. I'm not gay myself, I doubt there'd be much reason to bring it up. As long as... well, if I ever need to mention Angela and Antigone, I'd have to be careful to call them friends. Oh man, Uncle Vernon wouldn't like Antigone at all. He'd call her a foreigner, she's dating a girl, and then there's—uh, I mean... never mind.”

“The fact she was born a little different, you mean? Mislabeled at birth?”

“You know about that?”

“They're my friends, too, Harry. So yes, I know. It's another thing that isn't a big deal with wizards. I'm fairly certain she's been taking potions regularly for it. I'm not sure if she's gone through the blood alchemy rituals yet, but she's old enough to have done so already.”

“There's an age limit on that, is there?”

“Yes. But only because it's an unsafe procedure before you turn 15. Before 15, your magical core is generally not up to such a major change. It can go disastrously wrong. Anyway, as curious as I am about it, there's really no polite way to ask. It's not really anyone’s business but hers and Angela's, right now. And that's only if she and Angela are having sex yet. Which is another personal question I have no right to ask about. Not that I really want an answer, mind.”

Draco looked at Mouse-Stalker suddenly. “Harry, you haven't introduced me to your new familiar yet. We've been here two months now, and I'm only just now meeting them.”

“Sorry, he spends weekdays in his enclosure under his heat lamp, and he tends to hide inside my robes most of the time. His name is Mouse-Stalker.”

Draco smiled. “I take it that's the English translation of his Parseltongue name?”

“Yes.”

“Introduce him to me?”

“Sure,” Harry said in English before switching to Parseltongue. 'Mouse-Stalker, meet Dragon. I have told him your name already.'

'Excellent. Tell Dragon I am honored to meet someone so noble as to be named after one of the great fire-lizards.'

“Mouse-Stalker says he's honored to meet someone named after one of the great fire-lizards. Your name translates to the Parseltongue word for Dragon,” he explained.

“I'm not surprised; that's what it means in Latin as well. Tell him I am honored in turn, to meet a magical serpent.”

“You know he's magical?”

“I guessed. Mundane snakes don't understand concepts like honor, and from what I've read, the word doesn't translate well for them.”

'Dragon says he is honored to meet a magical serpent,' Harry told the snake.

'Naturally,' Mouse-Stalker said with amusement in his voice. Harry relayed this to Draco, who chuckled quietly.

“So, Harry, Selwyn says he was disappointed you didn't turn up to the Samhain ritual, but he understands. You're still invited to Imbolc, of course.”

“Yeah, but that means I miss out until February.”

“Well,” Draco said, “you and I and our other friends could do one. The girls and I missed the ritual, too, from worrying about you.”

“Really? Cool. When?”

“Tonight or tomorrow, either one. The Samhain season doesn't really end until after November second.”

“Tonight if possible. Um... but we won't have permission to be out late.”

“So we'll do one after dinner, and get back before curfew. There's plenty of time.”

“Right. Can Luna come? I haven't asked her, but I want to.”

“Yes, Luna and Hermione can come. The more, the better.”

“Cool. Thanks for this.”

“Hey, it helps me too, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks anyway.”

The two boys talked about this and that some more before settling down to read at the same table together. When lunch came, they put their things back in their dorms and then went to dinner, where Harry went over to the Ravenclaw table, quailing a little at all the angry faces there but braving them to tell Luna about their new plans for tonight, and to ask if she wanted to come with. She did, so he thanked her, hugged her, and went over to tell Ron and Hermione.

Hermione, of course, wanted to go. Even Ron said he'd go.

“Great. So there's Draco, you two, Antigone, Angela, and Danzia, then Luna and me. That's eight people.”

“Enough for a proper circle, at least,” said Ron.

“I've been doing some reading about Samhain since you invited me to the one for last night, Harry, and it's fascinating.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, concentrating on his food as Hermione began chattering away about what she'd read. He listened with part of his attention, just in case she said something new and interesting, but mostly it was stuff he already knew from his own reading. He smiled as he ate. Tomorrow's ritual was going to be a lot of fun.

Endnotes: I've never quite had a full-blown panic attack myself, but I've had minor, brief panic attacks that I managed to fight off, so writing this chapter was difficult for me, as I've felt some of the symptoms at times, and writing this out made me feel an echo of them again. Hence the trigger warning. But I felt it's a realistic reaction, and I wouldn't have been surprised if canon Harry had had the same reaction, given all he'd been through by then.