Harry blinked as he looked at Dumbledore. "No quidditch for a year? That's bull," he heard someone next to him said. Harry agreed, though he waited before expressing his displeasure with the news. After all, he'd no longer have an excuse to fly. Or blow off homework because he had practice.

"Quidditch has been cancelled because this year, Hogwarts will be paying host to a ritual only seen once every fifty years. A grand magical ritual known as the Holy Grail War."

The Holy Grail War?

What was it?

Well, Dumbledore went on to explain.

A magical tournament, in which seven people would be granted the service of a warrior to fight in their name to attain the gift of a single, powerful wish that could be used for anything. A tournament held in Hogwarts, its surroundings, and Hogsmeade as well as its surroundings. A tournament which also had, as special guests, the students from two other schools, one called Durmstrang and the other Beauxbatons.

Well, Harry could reliably spell neither, but they sounded legit, or so he guessed anyway.

Dumbledore went on to explain that in this tournament, Death was a very real and actually likely possibility, and that those volunteering to participate would sign a waiver absolving the school of responsibility. Furthermore, they'd need their parents' signature on it, even if they were already of age. Those below the age of seventeen, or below seventh year, were not allowed to participate or involve themselves in any way, shape or form, and it was forbidden to utilize those not participating in any way, shape or form, as well.

The more it was described, the less Harry wanted to do with it.

Well, it seems his wish would be granted, as only seventh years and those of age were allowed, and there were only three slots for Hogwarts. Two customary, the third being as a result of them being a host.

He also explained the joining process, they'd have to sign a contract that Dumbledore would keep with himself at all times, and their parents would need to make themselves present to sign.

Since Harry had no reason to want to join, he didn't.

The three masters for Hogwarts, one Cedric Diggory, one Angelina Johnson and one Roger Davies, were all chosen before the rival schools arrived. Harry normally wouldn't have known, but he'd just so happened to be in the room when the Contract With the Grail chose the three participants. Dumbledore had been in the process of actually asking him to fill in the role of a prefect for the year, in case one of the year's prefects were chosen to be a participant.

Given that the Head Boy and Gryffindor's seventh year female prefect were both chosen, as well as Hufflepuff's seventh year male prefect, well, Harry was drafted to fill their roles. Apparently, Dumbledore was testing him and his responsibility to fill the role in his fifth year.

Shortly after, the two foreign schools arrived, their own champions still a secret, and the Grail War had officially begun.

Combat between Servants was brutal.

Harry did not know who was who, or who was whose. He was just entranced by the ability displayed by the ability on display.

Alas, one of them struck another down, and the defeated Servant faded into purple glow.

Pretending he didn't know Cedric Diggory was a master, Harry gave him a detention for being out after curfew that night.

Harry was quite a bit shaken.

It was, after all, the first time he'd seen a human being kill another one. Magical constructs or not...

There were still nightmares in his sleep that night.

The first human death in the tournament happened sometime close to December. It was sad, but one of the two masters from Durmstrang had been assassinated. In gruesome fashion, as well, as his heart had been exploded from inside.

Harry hated that such violence had to happen, but they'd signed up for this willingly. So while he was sad, sad for a stranger he'd never met, he nevertheless continued on with his life.

Even if at night, he could still see the boy's frozen features. Even if he could still see the red hand, extending, reaching towards his own chest, and crushing an effigy of his own heart.

Harry was no stranger to nightmares.

The second death in the tournament caused quite a bit more turmoil. One of the girls of Beauxbatons had been found. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Her left arm was gone.

Whoever'd killed her stole her servant, as well. That was troubling, to say the least... but technically not illegal. And since only one who'd signed the contract could accept the command seals into their own arm and command a servant... Well, Harry couldn't quite say that it had him jumping in arms to take the tournament down, as Hermione was.

They'd signed up for that. They'd accepted the risk.

Any death was tragic, even those, but... he couldn't quite blame Dumbledore or Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or their headmistress or anyone. It was the tournament, this was how it was, and the prize was what drove them to risking their life.

It was sad... but there was nothing Harry felt could be done. They'd chosen to risk their lives.

And he had been given a choice, too, for the first time.

Harry Potter found he rather liked being a footnote, that he liked not being in the center of attention, for once. Even if it was because of a horrific murder.

And he liked, for once, not being a witness to said horrific murder.

The third death in the tournament shook Harry quite a bit more. Angelina had been his teammate for a long time. At least, a long time for him. She'd been his friend. Sort of like a friend. An acquaintance who would sometimes cheer him up and help him keep his mood up before a match. Okay, she wasn't really his friend, and he barely knew her, despite having been teammates for so long.

...

It was strange to find that Harry... didn't really care all that much. She'd signed up for the tournament. She'd made her choice. She'd risked her life. And in her gamble, had lost it.

Harry's stance caused quite a bit of controversy, but most discarded it as someone who'd been traumatized into shock. He had, after all, seen the man who'd killed her shoot an exploding arrow that destroyed most of her torso.

As for Harry?

Well...

He was a bit more scared of the apathetic streak he'd been developing that year than anything else.

Roger Davies died next. Assassinated the same way the boy from Durmstrang was.

The killer had also been discovered. Servant Assassin was gone, killed by Servant Archer immediately after Assassin had slain Archer's master. Archer had also slain the other girl from Beauxbatons, who'd been Assassin's master. Quite a web of intrigue. Of course, Archer didn't seem to fade, which Harry found odd.

But still, he gave Cedric detention that night again. Cedric was scared, and Harry could tell, but he didn't care.

After all... unlike him, they'd signed up to risk their lives for a prize. If they died... well, they'd gambled, and lost.

What could he do about it?

Worrying about it was pointless.

Harry was more worried about the fact that the Assassin had seen Harry. Had looked at Harry. And laughed. Even as he died, the man had died laughing.

It was a horrible sound.

Archer, it seemed, had partnered up with the master whose servant had been slain by Cedric's, so long ago.

Reaching the end of the school year, Archer had also slain Cedric. Cedric's servant, deprived from its power source, died soon after, giving Archer and his master the victory in the Grail War. The boy from Durmstrang, the one that remained, and the one who'd had the first fight in the Grail War, in which he lost his servant, had won.

Unfortunately for him, Archer killed him as well.

"Everyone's dead," Harry said, tilting his head. "Does that make you the winner? Shouldn't you have a master?" he asked.

"I could've won at any time. It was never my intention. It was always about averting a disaster," the Archer in red said, his white hair waving slightly in the breeze that managed to be ever present in the drafty castle.

"It's sad," Harry said, simply.

"It is," Archer agreed. He readied the massive iron longbow he carried around and took aim at Harry, nocking an oddly shapped sword rather than an arrow. "I just have one more target."

"Will you make it painless?" Harry asked.

"Of course not," Archer said, and let loose the arrow.

Harry tilted his head slightly upwards and watched it sail right over him.

Alastor Moody's head was blown clear off his neck, and it was impaled against a wall. The sword dispelled whatever magic held his fake form, and the face of Barty Crouch Jr. was revealed.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Harry asked.

"You're not a threat," Archer said, plainly. "To me, or anyone else."

"I am not?" Harry asked, confused even further.

"You're already dead inside," Archer stated, bluntly.

"I guess," Harry agreed. He'd dreamed of his death enough times, with his plentiful encounters with beings that could kill him in under an instant. Beings he could do nothing against.

Archer seemed satisfied, and soon began to fade away, disappearing into purple light as all the other servants.

Harry hummed, turned around and walked away, stepping past the rapidly cooling corpse. He looked at the hole Archer's arrow sword left, then looked down at Barty Crouch Jr.'s mangled head.

"You're ugly," Harry said. "I wonder if the elves have any treacle tart left."