No matter how many researchers, masters of their art, or anybody else said, nobody understood how magic worked. Since the very beginning there were those that devoted their lives to understanding, but nobody came close to uncovering anything more than 'magic is just magic'.

Magic wasn't sentient. There was no innate life in magic. That much everybody could agree on. That's not to say magic didn't have a consciousness of sorts, though. Since the first spell was cast, magic had been a delicate balancing act between light and dark; but the consciousness of magic tried to reject the darkness in itself. Nothing could be done though; magic was twisted and defied its own nature. With the rise of the first dark wizards so very long ago magic stopped being a tool but was instead directed at causing harm.

Darkness manifested itself into human form in recurring sessions throughout history and after a while magic found that it could indeed assist in purging itself of the darkness for a little longer before the new wave would seep in and manifest again. Magic would pick a host and fill that host with strength, light, and love. This host would rise with the power to topple the dark forces.

July 31, 1980. Magic once again had to take charge. A child was born to magic itself, carried in the womb of a mother who would protect it at any cost. A mother who would care for and love the child. A mother who would show him the way and help him end the rain of terror that came with darkness. But magic was beaten. A seer, a creation of darkness, let slip magic's plan and the darkness acted, ending the life of the family tasked to protect the child of the light. All was not lost though. The child survived, though he would have darkness inside of him until the end.

A mere fourteen years later, a magic could foresee the loss of the light. Darkness was pressing in. The child had suffered much, and all the love that magic birthed him with was nearly faded. The light in the child had grown significantly more dim over the years, and now that the child was coming to have a fighting chance it was going to end. The light inside him was like a light-bulb on its last leg with one last flicker before it would pop and be consumed by darkness.

Love fuels light, but can lead to darkness. But nothing led to darkness faster than having no love. So magic did something that was theorized and accepted as impossible. It made love. Magic found a host not unlike the child, now a young man, who desperately craved acceptance and love. It wouldn't be unkind to give them both something the needed and deserved. They would love each other, and together they wouldn't be a mere light-bulb, they would be a beacon.

Harry Potter awoke to a loud thud and muttered swearing, soon to be followed by raucous laughter. He groaned and rolled over, pulling his comforter over his head and burying his face in his pillow to escape the light shining through his tightly shut eyelids. This adjustment lasted precious few seconds until he heard more laughing and felt a pillow impact on the back of his head.

Harry surreptitious fisted the corner of his own pillow and using his seeker speed and reflexes rolled to his side and brought his pillow around to get revenge on his assailant. He heard a muffled grunt as his pillow made contact with the face of his red-headed friend, Ron Weasley.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and yawned loudly as he took in his surroundings. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all standing around his four-posted bed wearing nothing but their pajamas and large grins.

"What's so funny?" he asked through a yawn, rubbing the spots out of his eyes.

"Just that dopey look you get when you sleep," Seamus laughed as the rest of the Gryffindor boys started to dress. "You might want to think about getting dressing. Champions are about to be chosen."

"Already?" The question came out a little more intense than he had intended, but rather than respond, his friends threw his clothes on his bed and left the dormitory, but not before Ron caught him in the back of the head with another pillow.

"Git..." Harry mumbled, pulling on his trousers and jumper. In a few short minutes, Harry found himself walking alone down the high ceiling hallways where the portraits were also speculating on who the Hogwarts champion would be. To Harry's dismay, they came to the general agreement that it would be him, until he pointed out that he wasn't old enough to enter.

As Harry entered the great hall, he realized that he was probably one of the last students to enter, if the fact that all four of the house tables were nearly full was anything to go by. Ignoring the constant looks he'd been getting for the last four years of his attendance at the castle, he strode to the Gryffindor table and took a seat about halfway down next to Ron, and directly across from Hermione.

His red-headed friend tried to engage him in conversation, but Harry couldn't process what was being said to him. It was as if there was a voice in his head, drawing his attention elsewhere. He heard the Headmaster's voice, but without even realizing it he tuned it out in favor of finding the source of his disturbance. He turned and his eyes scanned the Slytherin table first, and then the Ravenclaw, and finally the Hufflepuff table. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, so he once again allowed his vision to wash over the house tables.

As he was checking over the Ravenclaw table, he noticed a pair of eyes fixed solely on him. Sapphire blue eyes. He allowed himself to take in the rest of the young woman's features. Long, silvery-blonde hair with not a strand out of place, an angular yet soft face with high cheekbones, perfect arching eyebrows...but her eyes kept calling to him. He couldn't focus on anything else.

After a seemingly endless time, she broke the eye contact and stood. Harry's eyes followed her as she confidently walked between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table, towards the staff table, and then into the small room off to the side of the hall.

A surge of anger briefly arose in Harry as he vaguely heard Ron make a comment about Fleur. 'Where did that come from,' Harry thought. The anger dissipated as quickly as it rose, leaving Harry as confused as ever. The comment that Ron made was no different than his normal crass behavior. He was pulled from his thoughts however, when he felt a sharp jab in his ribs and a pair of hands pushing him.

"Ron what are you-"

"Go. Your name came out, Harry. You have to go."

Harry became very aware of the building murmurs, and raised voices. Cheat. Liar. Dark wizard. Common insults that he'd heard over the years, but this time there was more venom to them than ever before. He felt himself being pulled to his feel and roughly shoved towards the staff table. He walked forward in disbelief, stumbling over his feet as he went. He desperately wanted to be anywhere else. He though about running. He took a step back, but the Headmaster's voice spurred him forward. With doubt in his mind, he pushed open the door to the side-room and stepped inside.

Nobody noticed Harry's quiet entrance for too short a time. Somebody asked him a question, but he couldn't understand it; could hardly hear it over the beating of his own heart. He scanned the room, unable to take anything in. It was like seeing blind. Nothing registered in his mind until he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Harry. Harry!" He snapped back to reality. Dumbledore's face was mere inches from his own. Over his headmaster's shoulder, he could see Cedric, Krum, and Fleur giving him worried yet wary looks, not quite sure what to make of him. He felt a bead of nervous sweat build on his forehead. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?!"

"No..." he responded, but it came out a mere whisper. "No, I didn't!"

Over Dumbledore's shoulder, he saw the French blonde and the surly Bulgarian change into a more aggressive stance. The girl was about to speak when she was cut off.

"Put his name in the Goblet? What do you mean put his name in the Goblet?" Cedric's voice floated from his left. He didn't sound angry. Definitely confused, but no angry. Small miracle. "He's too young, and Hogwarts already has a champion."

The door behind Harry was thrown open hard enough to bounce off the wall causing Harry to jump and spin, hand going to his pocket to draw his wand as he did so. Harry swore to himself. He'd almost drawn his wand on Bagman, Crouch, and the headmaster and headmistress of the other schools. Bagman was smiling, but the others looked less than impressed, and the Durmstrang headmaster eyed Harry vehemently.

Bagman approached Harry confidently, and clapped his shoulders. Harry saw his lips move, but he tuned it out again. The exuberance of Bagman in this situation was almost enough to make him sick. Bagman frowned, noticing Harry's apparent disinterest and turned to Dumbledore instead.

Harry took to look at the other champions again. Cedric's body language was relaxed, his weight on one leg and his hands in his pockets but his face was stoic and revealed nothing. Krum was much the same, leaned against the wall with his normal surly look but nothing to show he was feeling anything different. Fleur was different, much so. She stood upright and proud, her body tense. She had a hint of a sneer but her eyes told a different story. As Harry once again looked into them he felt some of the tension ease out of his body and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"E cannot compete. E is just a little boy!"

His smile slid from his hardening face. He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second. He didn't know why, but her words stung. More than anything ever had, her words hurt. Without even thinking, Harry turned and ran.