Ruthless

FOUR

After the confusion finally became order, after the screams became stern words of command, Crouch Sr. walked through the woods and found Winky, her frail bones piercing skin, and knew what hold he had had over his son was now gone.

He doubted the boy had taken any part in the terror that night around the large Quidditch pitch; but his son was a Slytherin, and such knew how to use any situation to their own advantage.

Crouch fell to his knees beside the loyal elf, and though she lay cold and still, rested a hand upon her face and wept.

-O-O-

Harry read about the World Cup in the Daily Prophet. He took the news with a judicious grain of salt; Death Eaters were not a menace without a Dark Lord, and a Dark Lord would have been there had he existed.

Of course, there was always the chance that the Dark Lord was biding his time. Harry accepted this possibility, and wrote the first letter to his shadows that he had ever sent that consisted of more than a single paragraph.

It contained lists of books to be purchased and studied that could not be obtained at Hogwarts.

Sometimes, it was best to make good choices in advance, so that the best choice could be accessible in the future.

-O-O-

He found it too much of a coincidence that some ancient tournament would be exhumed the very month after a supposed Death Eater attack.

He was prepared to suspect the students of the other schools; he was prepared to defend himself. He prepared his shadows for the possibility, and they all were on guard.

He was not, however, prepared to be entered into the tournament himself.

"Harry Potter."

He felt the push to stand; he did not look at the Headmaster. He considered his choices as the silence rang around him, as the whispers grew, as the accusations began.

And he decided to take the moment, knowing in this he was beaten, out maneuvered, hemmed in. His enemies had revealed their hand, and shown the battleground. It was an advantage, if a small one.

Harry stood, graceful and silent, and walked to the front of the room, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his mouth set in neutral lines.

He disregarded the other Champions; ignored their questions. When the Headmasters and Headmistress began to argue, when the professors began to hurl their own threats, Harry only leaned against the wall and observed.

Someone had put his name in the Goblet. Someone who wished him incapacitated, if not dead.

And the Headmaster had pushed him.

So he had two enemies then, two forces who fought over his bones and sought to make him dance to their tune.

Harry did not like the feeling. He was no ones pawn.

-O-O-

Harry had no doubt he would be forced to compete. There was no other reason to force the Goblet to take him.

The means was simply that; the loopholes that had been exploited. Harry did not fight a losing battle.

Instead, he retreated when he was dismissed, met with his shadows, and made plans for war.

-O-O-

The first task was elegant in its simplicity. What better way to publicly execute a celebrity than by dragonfire?