disclaimer: none of this is mine (as usual).

Ouroboros [A Harry Potter and Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha crossover]

Year 4, Part 1

Gratitude

It wasn't long after Harry's return to the Dursleys that the grief began to crawl back into his system.

Fighting with the Witch of Dun Scaith placed it on the back burner, but now that he had some time to digest what had happened, Harry began to sink further and further into a depression.

Even Tom couldn't help him.

It was only when Admiral Graham showed up that he emerged from his room, with red eyes and looking decidedly underweight.

"Let's go see Clyde," the admiral said, and Harry just nodded.

And at the tombstone of Clyde Harlaown did Harry finally acknowledge his need for grieving, as he openly wept as befitting a child of his age when death visits his family.

His godfather Sirius was also there, having become accustomed to life in Mid-Childa. Either Harry was too depressed or didn't care at the time, he did not notice that Sirius had handed over his entire suite of assets in the Wizarding World to his godson.

It was his way of starting over fresh, and at the same time pay back all those missed birthdays.

Surprise, mother trucker!

When Harry returned from his week-long vacation to Midchilda, he was completely dropped by what he saw upon his return: the Witch herself having tea with the Dursleys.

Her red eyes were twinkling when she saw her prospective apprentice again.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, and sat down at the living room table, where the Dursleys were regaled by stories from Harry's teacher about school.

Somehow she knew that his relatives were a bit leery about magic, because the stories she told were the ones involving classroom shenanigans, and that time she started the morning exercise routine for Defense.

Harry showed that he was no slouch when it came to physical prowess, as he was running the laps like a sixth year, despite only in his third year.

Which led into Scathach's proposal: she wanted to personally train the boy, as she could foresee more things he needed to deal with in the future.

Why don't you run back to school?

It was a very different Harry Graham that showed up to the Express when the time came for Fourth Year to begin: he was beginning to reveal the face of the man he would become, but still retain his boyish charm.

Not only that, the time he spent under "Professor Pennyworth" paid off with massive dividends he had yet to understand.

In his haste to congratulate Cedric Diggory for getting back into Seeker form successfully - and with an additional boon, too, what with mandrake treatments also improving the physique of anyone petrified - Harry didn't notice the three Gryffindor Chasers falling into an excited swoon upon seeing him.

As he tuned out Cedric and Susan Bones' conversation in the compartment, Harry was telepathically conversing with Ouroboros, if not engaging in simulations - it was one thing the admiral taught him during his short stay in Midchilda to keep himself busy, even while resting or waiting.

September's Omen

It was during the welcoming feast that the Headmaster declared that at the end of next month, the champions for the Triwizard Tournament would be selected.

Harry had the nagging feeling that he would be chosen to participate over his objections - that Granger fellow from Gryffindor did her homework and said that the Tournament was dangerous.

It just goes to show, Harry, that sometimes you don't have to go looking for trouble. Sometimes trouble goes out of its way to look for you.

Don't I know that, Tom.

He was talking with Cedric when the Seeker had mentioned something about the World Cup match. Some Death Eaters had crashed the party, but were taken out discreetly before any disaster would show up.

Sure enough, it was the Witch of Dun Scaith who took on the work of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Professor Babbling had returned from her sabbatical, teaching Ancient Runes once more.

Just My Freaking Luck

The days leading up to Halloween were like a death sentence for Harry. Although he didn't put his name in the Goblet, he could think of several people - and one Witch - who would do it because reasons.

The distraction definitely affected Harry's studies, as his normally-excellent grades were beginning to taper a bit downward, despite his best efforts.

But when the day of October 31st came upon them, Harry's worst fears were realized.

Beauxbatons' chosen was Fleur Delacour.

Durmstrang's chosen was Viktor Krum.

Hogwarts chose Cedric Diggory.

But the Goblet of Fire burned on, refusing to dim. The organizers gathered did not know what was going on until the previously burning orange flame burned purple, and a powerful presence made herself known.

A woman in white emerged from the shadows, a visible purple aura of power surrounding her. She wore a veil, carried a wand, and stopped everyone in their tracks where she walked.

Even Fleur's half-Veela appeal was no match.

And then she spoke.

"I am the Witch of Dun Scaith, the ruler of the Land of Shadows: Scathach!" she announced, silencing everyone in the Great Hall.

"And I invoke my right as the teacher of heroes to choose a champion for this tournament. My choice is..."

Ouroboros and Harry Potter groaned simultaneously.

"...from Hogwarts' Hufflepuff House, the wizard Harold Graham!"

Great.

Just fucking great.

Which reminds me. Everyone here is too spooked to notice how she resembles the DADA professor.

That's shock and awe for you, Harry.

Sizing Them Up

It was with the air of someone sick and tired of this shit that Harry entered the room with the contestants.

The first to react to his presence was the Veela girl.

"What is he doing here?" she asked, with barely any trace of a French accent. "Isn't this boy too young to be competing here?"

"If I had my way, I'd be cheering the three of you on," Harry answered, "but since an immortal Witch whose dominion also includes the grounds of Hogwarts showed up and put me up to this stunt for goodness-knows reasons, I'm stuck with the three of you."

"You don't look like you put your name in the goblet," Krum said, after giving Harry a once-over. "I like the look in your eyes, though. You will make a good opponent."

"I'll do my best not to make you look bad," Harry replied, before turning to Cedric. "You think I want to be here?"

He shook his head. "Even then, as my dad loved to say back when he came back from working at MACUSA, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

I'd turn those lemons into grenades and throw them at the Witch, Tom grumbled. And yes, don't think too much about why Beauxbatons' and Durmstrang's best can speak flawless English.

You're filtering their speech?

Since first year, Tom admitted. You would have quite the time trying to get what Hagrid or McGonagall says in class without me.

Thanks, I guess. They don't look like I cheated my way here.

It's as what you said. Appearance is everything. Here they come.

Harry turned to see the headmasters of each magic school enter the classroom where the contestants were waiting: first came Olympe Maxime from Beauxbatons, then Durmstrang's Karkaroff, Headmaster Dumbledore, and finally, the Witch of Dun Scaith herself.

What would normally be an uproar was replaced with an awkward silence as the obviously under-aged participant was chosen by a witch out of myth and legend, and couldn't voice their objections lest they be pinned to the walls by her glare alone.

"If I may ask, is this a test for young Mr. Graham?" Dumbledore finally asked, and the red-eyed witch nodded.

"That is so," she said. "It is the last test I shall give him to see if he truly is worthy of becoming my first apprentice in several centuries."

Eyes went wide and heads turned towards Harry at the declaration, and all he wanted to do was invent a spell that allowed him to melt into the stone floor of the classroom.

"Well, if someone of her power says so, who am I to object?" Fleur said, turning narrowed eyes at Harry before turning towards her headmistress.

"It seems the Triwizard will be a lot more than we bargained for, and the stakes have never been higher. You may think this contest is already won, but we will make you bleed for every inch of your victory, witch," Headmistress Maxime added, before the two witches from Beauxbatons turned their heel and left, with the Witch of Dun Scaith sporting an amused expression on her face as they exited.

"My boy Viktor is looking forward to this - as am I," Karkaroff said with something less than a smile and more a polite showing of teeth before he led his student out of the classroom.

"Harry..." Dumbledore began.

"Being put in situations like this gets my big brother Clyde out of my mind," Harry replied with a shrug, "small blessings and all. You sure you're not sore about this, Cedric?"

Cedric grinned.

"If this didn't happen, I'd be taking you to the Quidditch pitch, Harry," he admitted, the desire to put himself over his underclassman beginning to flash in his eyes. "You couldn't even wait until I was done here, huh?"

Harry stepped up to the challenge.

"I never asked for this, but I'm not going to back down, either. See you at the Tasks... Cedric."

The other Hufflepuff flashed him a predatory smile before he left with the Headmaster.

As soon as the door closed, the pendant around Harry's neck lit up in a brilliant green.

"I don't even want to know," Ouroboros began.

"You'll understand when the final task is done," the witch replied enigmatically. "Suffice it to say that someone else wants you in this contest, and the only way to waylay his attempts was to appropriate it for myself."

"You're talking about the Dark Lord, right?" Tom asked. "It fits his - also my - delusions of grandeur."

"This better end with me shoving an Arch Smash up Voldemort's nose," Harry grumbled, the training sessions with Scathach beginning to give him a rather crude vocabulary.

"You'll get your chance. For now, just carry on as usual. All our preparation for the Tournament will take place before and after classes."

"Oh, joy," mage and Device replied simultaneously.

Your Goose is Cooked

According to Professor "Pennyworth", the arrangement she made with the Witch of Dun Scaith was that she would teach the theoretical parts of Defense, while her beautiful but intimidating counterpart would take care of the practical parts; the sham was that it was how the Witch earned her spot in the Triwizard Tournament with Harry freaking Potter as her personal champion.

Needless to say, only Harry and Tom knew that this was all sleight-of-hand; even the Headmaster didn't know that Babbling's aide, this year's Defense professor, and the renowned Witch of Dun Scaith were all just one and the same person: Scathach.

She still emphasized physical fitness during morning classes, and now, instead of the entire eligible male student body joining up to see what Professor Pennyworth looked like in those athletic leggings, even the female students had to see what was up.

Which pleased the Witch, as to be able to catch a glimpse of her outfit, they had to be able to run at her pace.

But that wasn't Harry's concern right now, as after a rigorous lecture on the nature of the unforgivable curses - the Imperius in particular - the Witch asked Hermione Granger to stick around after a class.

Since they were due training after this class, Harry took up a seat and waited for Professor Pennyworth's talk with his academic rival.

"What is this supposed to be?" Scathach asked flatly as she brandished a familiar-looking badge.

"Um, that's a SPEW badge."

The Witch nodded. "I can see that. What's it stand for?"

"Um..." Hermione replied, her face slowly growing red, "the... Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare."

"Uh-huh-huh. Thank-you-very-much," the Witch said in a passable Elvis impression, and carried on after seeing the incredulous look on her student's face. "Since it seems you don't know who the King is, and that Tolkien's elves are faring well for themselves, I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're referring to house elves."

Hermione nodded.

"I'd commend your initiative, Miss Granger, but this stunt of yours is the magical society equivalent of someone barely catching the train going in the wrong direction."

"Beg your pardon, Professor?"

The Witch let out an exasperated breath.

"I am going to suspend you from all academic activity in Defense," she declared. "In return, I want you to conduct as comprehensive a study as you can make about house elves. Interviews, genealogy, historical records, family accounts, whipped cream and a cherry on top. The works."

"I don't see why -"

You could smash boulders on the Witch's expression, Harry thought.

"That's exactly my point," she interrupted, her voice staying even despite her face telling another story, "you don't see why. Your final grade for the entire school year in Defense will depend on this study. Feel free to sit in my classes, but I want monthly status reports and the study done and ready for defense before the end-of-year exams."

Hermione looked like she'd crumble into dust with a stiff breeze.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes... yes, Professor," she whispered.

"I don't want to hold you any further from your work; you can leave."

Were those tears I saw as she turned to go? Tom asked.

That is the most cliché'd thing I've seen here so far, Harry added.

"What was that all about, Professor?" he asked as soon as they were en route to a vacant classroom where they'd do high-level theory work in preparation for the Tournament.

"Dealing with a concern before it becomes a catastrophe," the Witch answered. "I have no doubt that your friend has a good heart. Her way of thinking is rather rigid, though. I hope this serves as a wake-up call for her; I've seen my fair share of people like her doing unspeakable things in the name of good intentions."

"You're saying Hermione's a zealot."

"Not yet," the Witch clarified, "but soon. I've lived long enough to see enough of her kind; it's rare for me to be able to intervene. Once this year's up, you should probably keep an eye on her at best and oppose her more... naive propositions at worst."

"I hope it doesn't have to be that way..."

"Well, let's hope the work I've given her turns her away from that path. But enough about her; we're going to have to expand the versatility of your spell work before the First Task."

She turned to the blackboard, and gestured, revealing several Arithmancy formulae.

"These are the general arithmantic calculations needed in order to do what is called the 'parabolic casting arc'."

Take That For Data!

After the lecture, Harry decided to do some extra reading in the library. He acquired the book on Arithmancy he needed to curve his spells, and when heading to a table, he saw the shell-shocked Hermione Granger hard at work writing notes on a roll of parchment.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

A frazzled and ghastly face turned towards him.

Apparently not well.

"Need a bit of a hand there?"

Her grateful nod looked like that of a man in the desert finding an oasis.

"I don't get it," she said in the hallways after her hands started cramping up and her eyes couldn't focus anymore, signaling the end of her study session. "Why would Professor Pennyworth take a page from that scary lady and make me do this?"

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe she's teaching you a lesson? She's not the type to throw you into the deep end and make you swim."

Telepathically, Tom laughed out loud at that.

"I know, but still... she all but told me that SPEW is a horrible idea."

"Well, she's playing to your strengths. You're the best at our year in acquiring insight from books, right? Maybe that's why Professor Pennyworth gave you this research for the year."

"Guess so..."

"Besides, there's no shame in asking for help. Uncle Gil tells me that stealing from one is plagiarism; stealing from many and quoting your sources is research."

The fourth-year Ravenclaw laughed.

"I hope you won't be too busy with Scathach coaching you for the Triwizard," she said.

"Not really," Harry replied. "She does know the value of time management and rest, you know."

They walked to their next class, which was Potions.

As it turned out, having the Witch of Dun Scaith on call as a teaching assistant made sure Professor Snape went above and beyond the call of duty as a Potions professor.

Through the Fire and Flames

Several weeks had passed, and the date of the First Task was looming over Harry and Ouroboros like the proverbial Sword of Damocles.

Despite the groundskeeper Hagrid offering Harry to see what was going on in the Forbidden Forest, he declined; the Witch in charge of his tournament preparations as well as his Device had seen to the details.

There would be dragons.

This is fine.

No, this is the furthest thing away from fine. We're fucked.

What I meant was, this is something we can see coming at us. That Witch...

Harry let out a tired breath.

...we can only see her coming when she feels like it.

Don't I know that.

He entered the Room of Requirement to see the Witch waiting for him, wearing her combat outfit and wielding her spear.

"So..." she began. "Dragons."

"That's right, ma'am."

The Witch narrowed her eyes.

"Okay, change of plans. Time to train you in resisting fire."

Her fingers flashed into runes.

"Ansuz."

What followed was a torrent of curses from Harry and his Device as they constantly avoided getting burned to death by the skin of their teeth.

Okay, we have that out of the way.

What?

Apparently our esteemed teacher of heroes has a touchy subject.

Who would want to use fire runes on someone just for calling her ma'am? It boggles the mind.

Not if you consider that the Witch has been around for at least two thousand years, maybe more.

Oh.

Harry pulled himself up from the smoking heap he was a moment ago, shaking off the ashes and smoke that came from his still-warm Barrier Jacket.

"You know, we've been training for some time, but you haven't told us how you'd want to be addressed, Professor," he began.

The Witch stopped and took a moment to think.

"'Master' would be preferable," she replied.

"All right, Master," Harry said. "Do you think that will be enough for tomorrow's dragons?"

She nodded.

"More than enough. Do not embarrass me out there by winning the challenge with a simple Summoning Charm. I want a spectacle."

So the challenge is acquiring an object.

Apparently so.

"As you wish, Master," Harry said as he returned Ouroboros to its pendant form, the Barrier Jacket vanishing into motes of green light with it. "A spectacle it will be."

Dogfight

The morning of the First Challenge was a temperate and clear autumn day in November: the weighing of the wands took place the day before.

Rita Skeeter never got the chance to bring her quick-quote quill out during the event, as she earned one of those piercing glares from Harry's benefactor.

"Dr. Radom has outdone herself this time," Garrick Olivander declared when he took a hold of Ouroboros, transformed into a wand. "Variable length, core of an inert phylactery, exceptional synergy with its wielder."

"What is that supposed to mean?" the headmaster of Durmstrang asked.

"It means that this wand is not my work, but still an out-of-this-world masterpiece all its own," the wandmaker said enigmatically as he gave Ouroboros a wave, only for it to shoot out green fireworks.

That was the only eventful thing that took place.

The next day, right before the quote-unquote festivities began, the four contestants were made to select a dragon.

Harry smiled when he pulled the Hungarian Horntail, though it was brittle, because all the while, he and Tom were telepathically conjuring as many four-letter words as they could.

It was during the three weeks leading up to this part that Harry and his Device picked up quite the vocabulary, thanks to all those "training sessions" with the Witch of Dun Scaith.

As Harry walked to the arena, he was in mental conversation with his Device.

I'm still a bit put out that we have to do the modifications on your Barrier Jacket to show off our House.

It's necessary. I mean, we still have three more winter gatherings to slog through in here before we finally gain our sweet, sweet freedom!

Now Playing: Freedom! '90 - George Michael

Remind me to thank Uncle Gil for giving you those upgrades. Makes essays, research and general studying much less of a slog this year.

Well you ARE one of the champions in the Triwizard - come to think of it, are we still calling it that?

Three schools, Tom.

They emerged into the morning sunlight, and few cheers erupted from the gathered crowd to see the last Triwizard contestant face off against a dragon.

It took five seconds into the First Task for the fecal matter to critically impact the rotary oscillator ventilation system.

With a massive crack, the chains binding the Hungarian Horntail came off, and it eyed Harry with a particularly venomous gaze.

The Firebolt he summoned would have been burned to a crisp had he not jumped to avoid the river of flame heading his way.

Harry breathed a momentary sigh of relief, except in a few seconds, the Horntail was at his tail, flying at him.

Holy shit!

THIS FUCKING CHANGES EVERYTHING!

I know, we can double back and get the golden egg, but we have to shake that thing afterward!

GOOD IDEA! LET'S SET THE MOOD FOR OUR... SHENANIGANS!

Now Playing: Aces High - Iron Maiden

Harry smiled, and the aerial battle was on.

Ace Combat

While the Horntail was giving chase, Ouroboros was outlining the plan of attack needed to finish the task to their master's specifications.

Okay, don't blast the dragon into pieces, they were brought in from a Bulgarian dragon reserve. Another thing, nesting mother. Don't get the eggs in trouble. Huge points off if you harm them or get the mother to step on them.

How about the golden egg? Harry asked while doing an Immelmann turn to keep the dragon away from the castle proper.

Already tagged it with a Multi-dimensional Lock. We just need to fly by it. I've also already timed the Horntail's bursts of flame. We have approximately a 1.5 to 1.75 second window where we can swoop down and grab the golden egg.

What about the dragon? Do we have any powerful stun magic on hand?

We do have the CVK-709. Didn't want to use it, since we've been saving that all summer long...

I think we have to do it if we want to pacify the dragon without putting us, the eggs, AND the dragon in any more danger.

But it will leave you open for its fire breath.

Not if we lure it a far enough distance. Come on!

Harry turned the Firebolt towards the egg pile, the first part of their task set. Keeping the dragon away from its eggs involved Harry slowing down and then using a Phase Bolt as a makeshift afterburner, blinding the dragon momentarily and stopping it, as it also saw its eggs close by.

After the golden egg was secure in Harry's hands, he gunned the broom towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

"MOVE, BITCHES!" he yelled out with a magic-enhanced voice, glad that the wildlife had taken his hint and fled before coming to a full stop. He swung around and turned his Device towards the Horntail, which was now bearing towards him with immense speed.

"Hope this works," Harry said, and recalled the moment a certain guardian gave him its blessing. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A white circle emerged from close by, and a copy of Voltaire emerged, stopping the Horntail in its tracks. Despite the patronus only being two-thirds the size of the Horntail, the sheer weight of its personality made the other dragon halt.

"Your eggs are safe," Harry said, and his dragon grunted and roared in what appeared to be the dragon's tongue. "I was only tasked to acquire this."

He brought out the golden egg, and the dragon moved its head dangerously close to Harry to see if he was speaking truth.

Harry's vision was momentarily filled with gray as the Horntail snorted smoke in his face, and when he could finally see, the dragon was quickly making its way back to its egg pile, concern on its expression.

Just as Harry's patronus dispersed into motes of light, he let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

"That was too close for comfort," he told no one in particular, his Device blinking its assent, and started his Firebolt back to where the crowds were waiting.

As soon as he made it there, he took up his place next to the other Triwizard contestants to get their scores, and collapsed on his butt onto the grass in exhaustion.

Apparently, he was the only one who managed to get the egg in the most flawless method possible, as even Karkaroff gave him a VERY grudging 8 for his performance.

He was so out of it that he barely heard what the next challenge in the Triwizard would be, and when he opened them again, he found himself being carried piggy-back by his Master back into the castle.

"How'd we do," he whispered blearily, and when his eyes met hers, he found that the Witch's gaze had softened to a remarkable degree - or maybe it was just him dreaming lucidly.

"You did well enough," she answered. "We'll go back to work after the weekend. Enjoy your rest."

As it turns out, Harry didn't, as he slept all day Saturday and woke up Sunday night, to his frustration and the Witch's amusement.

Still, the first week after the dragon challenge had her go easy on him, much to his relief, because his magical reserves weren't quite yet recovered.

The matter of the golden egg still puzzled him, though; even after the Witch told him about the instructions leading up to the Second Task.

The Great Big Pile-Up

Harry's nearly-flawless handling of the first task didn't gain him much attention from his own House, but everyone else had grudgingly accepted that yes, Harry did deserve a spot at the Triwizard, and was making the most of it.

Which wasn't that meaningful to him; Hufflepuff House was known for standing by their champion Cedric, and he technically wasn't a Hogwarts champion, he was one for Dun Scaith.

But all of that quickly disappeared when he read the announcements that a Yule Ball would be held in honor of all four participants.

There will be socializing.

I can handle socializing.

There will be dancing.

Easy enough.

You'll have to dress formally, too. And take a crash course in wizarding ethics.

Fuck me.

Hey, we have a master we can ask for help. She's been around long enough to know about those things.

Fine, but if she laughs at me, I'm going to say 'I told you so'.

Go right ahead, Harry.

To Ouroboros' surprise, the Witch did not laugh at his predicament.

"Well, I now know what to train you with during downtime," she said with a sly smile on her face.

"Whatever you say, Master," Harry replied with his head hanging down.

"Don't wear that face around me," the Witch added. "Besides, you are not the only one who needs to have a drastic makeover for the upcoming Yule Ball. I have very high standards and I will do as much as I can to ensure those standards are met."

Harry could feel his Device whisper "there but for the grace of God go I", and felt sorry for whoever unlucky chump got saddled with being Scathach's date for the Yule Ball.

"Also, I know you run what Tom calls 'simulations' in your off time, so I can take at least half an hour off a day for... personal business," the Witch replied. "I will be done with that next week, and the school will get to see it firsthand."

She smiled enigmatically before leaving Harry and his Device in the abandoned classroom to their thoughts.

The very next week, Professor Pennyworth's early-morning Defense class wasn't held in the castle outskirts - apparently, her 'business' was converting a wing of the castle's ground floor into an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

And the moment she emerged and dropped the bathrobe around her to reveal a competition swimsuit, chaos literally ensued in Hogwarts.

Standing in a corner in the midst of all the mayhem was Harry and Tom, shaking their heads at what was going on.

Still, though, it revealed something very important to the Witch of Dun Scaith.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You... and you. Both of you can't swim."

"Unfortunately, I had deemed it an irrelevant skill back when I wasn't... like this, Professor Lemongrass."

"I'm not Professor Lemongrass right now, Tom."

"And my first bout of accidental magic was when somebody tried to drown me as a kid. Dudley chased the guy off. So... never thought about learning how to swim."

The Witch sighed.

"All right," she said. "We'll take swimming lessons all the way to the Yule Ball if we're not working on your etiquette and dancing."

Harry nodded.

"Sounds good, Master."

"I mean it when I say you will NOT make me look bad. You carry the name of Dun Scaith with you in this tournament."

Please Harry Don't Hurt 'Em

"Okay, Harold. I want to see how well you dance. Did you bring music?"

Harry took off Ouroboros and placed him onto one of the chairs in the vacant classroom, most of the chairs moved to the back to provide some room for master and apprentice to work on the dance at the upcoming Yule Ball.

"Ouroboros, play track on the count of three."

"Three."

"Two."

Harry got himself in a pose.

"One."

And his Device began to play.

"Can't touch this."

For a full minute after Harry's 'dance', the Witch of Dun Scaith was staring dumbfounded and slack-jawed at her apprentice.

After the spell had broken, she had regained some of her dignity back and asked a simple question.

"You DO know that this isn't the type of music that gets played at a ball, right?"

She could have sworn she saw the Device smirking, if an inanimate object could.

"You're probably the youngest in the dance here, so don't get too distracted when dancing. Stepping on your partner's foot in the waltz - while it isn't the worst faux pas during events like these - ranks pretty high up. So let's work on that."

The Witch had Ouroboros put on a waltz for her to train her apprentice in, and thanks to those ridiculous dance moves Harry pulled off before, she knew that the boy had rhythm.

Sparring against him already established that fact, she just had to know how good Harry's rhythm was.

And it ended up working out pretty well; Harry was a quick study. Scathach also noted that Ouroboros (never Tom, you never knew who would be listening) also helped.

"I am surprised at your rapid learning," she said during a break.

"I for one found this practice unnecessary," Ouroboros interjected. "Seeing the boss stumble and struggle his way towards the waltz reminds me of what I missed."

"But he did do a passable... what do you call that dance of his?"

"The Hammer," Ouroboros replied. "If you would like, I have video footage of him learning that dance together with his cousin."

"YOU DIDN'T DELETE THAT YET?" Harry asked in consternation, and his Master just laughed.

Water Sports

It was several days close to the Yule Ball when the Witch had announced Harry passable, if not competent, at swimming. Teaching him a simple side stroke, how to float, and how to budget his breaths took some effort, but Harry soldiered through.

As they were leaving the pool for the last time until after the Yule Ball and Second Task, the Witch used a bit of Legilimency to try and see what Tom and Harry were talking about.

"You must never tell her that."

"Right. I mean, not only is our Master one of the magical legends... she's totally out of my league."

"About time you figured that out."

"No, I mean, yeah, I mean, UGH! Why must this be so difficult?"

Ouroboros only laughed.

"Reminds me of the time I was going through the same thing as you did. I can say I handled it a lot more gracefully than you did."

"Probably because you were planning world domination at the time and didn't pay attention to your voice cracking!"

"That's true. I also didn't suffer the pitfall of sudden onset of puberty after I saw a living legend wearing a swimsuit, so that's that."

The exasperated grunt Harry made mentally sounded like a 'okay you got me there' from him, Ouroboros laughed again, and the Witch cut the legilimency feed.

She had a pretty good idea about what to do in the next dueling club meeting.

Much Much Mo'fuggin' Later

A few days before the Yule Ball, Professors Pennyworth and Snape hosted the last Dueling Club meeting before the end of the year.

There were the usual mock duels, theories, spell craft improvement... and then the Witch of Dun Scaith surprised everybody.

"The tournament at the end of the term will have a special prize for the winner," she declared, and brandished a magical photograph.

It was the magical equivalent of one of those cheesecake photographs you found in magazines, where the Witch herself was posing wearing the same competition swimsuit she wore for teaching swimming classes.

Needless to say, everyone suddenly wanted to become the best duelist in the year.

Snape gave Pennyworth an exasperated look, and the Witch returned it with a "who, me?" smile of her own.

Harry and Tom both marveled at the sight: just one picture of their Defense professor started a hormonal feeding frenzy.

And it was only a couple minutes after most of the upper years went temporarily insane at the thought of possessing that photograph that Harry realized that he had no date for the Yule Ball yet, and had to find one. He was reminded about what his Master said about how going to the Yule Ball without a date would not paint a good picture of Dun Scaith, and thought about who would make a decent date without making a huge splash.

The Great Big Yule Ball of Violence

Not long after the Dueling Club meeting and the insanity that followed, Harry was walking along the castle hallways towards the Main Hall when he ran into someone unexpected.

"Oh," Fleur Delacour said, her French accent still coloring her speech despite Ouroboros filtering it. "It is you, Mr. Graham."

"Harry," the Witch's apprentice said, "Mr. Graham makes me sound old."

She laughed pleasantly at Harry's attempt at humor, and gestured.

"I am in need of some company. Please, walk with me."

Knowing that you don't say no to a beautiful woman - Harry and Tom learned that lesson the hard way several times already - Harry nodded, and the two of them found their way onto the grounds, where the Witch's morning jogs had carved a worn path on the ground.

As they walked, Fleur passed the time telling Harry funny stories about everyone stumbling over themselves trying to ask for her favor when going to the Yule Ball. Somebody from Beauxbatons named Montague even tried to strong-arm her into it, only for the Witch to appear from the shadows and intimidate him away with nothing more than a stare.

Harry could understand the reason for her hostility now: because of her skill as a duelist, Veela bloodline, and looking like one of those models in those underwear catalogs he noticed Dudley had been reading in secret lately, Fleur had been the queen bee of the student body.

And then a teacher - a living legend, even! - from Hogwarts shows up and makes her look pedestrian in comparison.

"...I mean, the part of me that is a witch does not comprehend why the veela part of me wants to throw fireballs at that professor. It is something that I have yet to confide to our Headmistress," she finished, and Harry saw that they were right under the Astronomy Tower.

The Beauxbatons delegate stopped the boy, held him at arms' length, and took a minute to size him up from head to toe.

"I accept your proposal in being your Yule Ball date," she said, though the expression on her face said otherwise.

"I never actually asked you to-" Harry said, and was stopped when he saw Fleur's magic begin to flare.

"I said, I ACCEPT YOUR PROPOSAL IN BEING YOUR YULE BALL DATE," she said with more vehemence than insistence, and Harry quickly nodded.

You do NOT say no to a beautiful woman, indeed.

As soon as he nodded, the magic receded and Fleur quickly returned to walking along the path, talking about her classmate Claire and her plans to jump the Hogwarts champion after their Yule Ball date, and Harry quickly fell into step with her, the bizarre scene still fresh in his mind.

Beautiful witches are dangerous, Ouroboros whispered.

You're damn right, Harry whispered back.

Naturally, when Harry gave the news to his Master, she laughed uproariously.

"She might not like me much, but I like her guts," the Witch of Dun Scaith said. "Goodness knows I've seen my fair share of feisty warrior women and feisty witches over the years. Brings me back... anyway, your dancing is up to specifications, your spell work is fantastic, and you can swim decently. There is one thing you need, though."

"And that is?"

"Party wear."

"Worry not, Professor," Ouroboros replied. "I have taken care of that."

With a flash of light, Harry now wore a fancy set of robes over a black suit with silver and green trim: the robes were likewise accented with mostly yellow and orange, and runes signifying the wearer being blessed by the Land of Shadows.

"I see you have taken my advice to heart," the Witch remarked, nodding in approval. "It is also designed for ease of movement, very good. All right, I shall accompany you to the Ball, and hand you over to your date."

"Good to know, Master," Harry said, grateful that he'd have some time to rest after the Ball and before the second task.

The Yule Ball was, magic aside, just what Harry expected from a ball: formal attire, small talk, and what Ouroboros described as "establishing connections".

And of course, he made a splash - or rather, his Master did - walking into the Ball wearing a purple dress trimmed with stars, her full array of feminine charms in tasteful display as she strutted down the entrance, her apprentice following.

Two-thirds of the way, they saw where the headmistress of Beauxbatons and its champion Fleur waited, and walked towards them.

Harry could almost see the lightning from the half-giant's eyes as she exchanged pleasantries with his Master, and Fleur looking very nice in her own little black dress.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's?" Harry asked, and for one moment, Fleur's haughty expression was replaced with shock.

"How did you know...?"

"My aunt's a fan of Audrey Hepburn. Come on, time for us to meet the press," Harry said, gesturing for them to enter arm-in-arm.

With fake smiles on their faces and arms linked, both Champions crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, the flash of cameras immediately heralding their arrival.

It was the greatest entrance to the Yule Ball so far, except (of course) the Witch had to show them up by walking onto the scene with Filius Flitwick as her Yule Ball date.

After hors d'oeuvres were served, the guests began to mingle. Cedric found himself very entertained by Claire's stories about Beauxbatons, Krum had stunned everyone by bringing Hermione Granger as his date, and the biggest hype - the Witch aside - came from Ronald Weasley bringing in the Patil twins, one on each of his arms.

Harry had just had an enlightening little chat with Rita Skeeter about his showmanship in the First Task and was about to return to his table when a man with long silver hair went towards him.

"Mister Graham," he said. "I would not wish to impose on the champion of Dun Scaith, but I require a precious few minutes of your time."

"It would not be an inconvenience, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said, extending his hand, which the older man shook. "How can the champion of Dun Scaith help you, sir?"

"That is not my purpose," the man answered. "I only wish to thank you for interceding on my... son's imprudent actions. He has yet to realize... the subtleties of his position."

"It is of no consequence," Harry explained. "I merely decided to guide him towards a... better path, rather than have someone else force him towards it with more... unnecessary roughness... in the future."

"Indeed," Mr. Malfoy said with a polite nod. "He has truly begun to understand the intricacies of power and influence in this world, thanks to your intervention, Mr. Graham. For that, I do believe that House Malfoy owes you a favor... it would be of poor showing if our Noble House does not pay its debts appropriately."

"You are most welcome, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said.

"I shall no longer interrupt your enjoyment of this night. Have a good evening, Mr. Graham."

"You as well, Mr. Malfoy. Please send Mrs. Malfoy and Draco my regards as well."

He nodded and turned away to where Draco was waiting, the younger Malfoy's face turned to the other end of the hall where his date was chatting up some of the Durmstrang delegates.

Thanks a lot back there, Tom, Harry thought as he made his way back to his table. It's just like you said.

For all of Malfoy's power and influence, there are some gestures that he has to do to maintain them, Tom replied. It is part and parcel of his status as the head of an Ancient and Noble House.

Noblesse oblige?

Something like that.

Fleur had likewise returned to the table shortly after Harry did, and they were trading stories about Headmistress Maxime and the Witch of Dun Scaith. Quite a few minutes into their exchange, the master of ceremonies used a voice amplification charm to announce that the dance ball was now open, and that the champions (and their dates) would have the first dance.

A jaunty smile was on Harry's face as he turned to his date and fellow champion.

"Showtime," he whispered as he extended an arm to gallantly help her up and for them to link arms while heading to the dance floor.

The first dance was a waltz, which Harry pulled off with no problems whatsoever.

"Didn't know you were quite the dancer," Fleur said with amusement in her eyes after the music wound down.

"I am a man of many talents," Harry replied with a smile of his own.

Unfortunately, that was when the other master of ceremonies called for the second dance, and the waltz band stepped off the stage to take a well-deserved break.

The band that went on stage brought a lot of exotic instruments, and when the bongos hit, Harry quickly flashed back to a few weeks before...

"Tell me again why we are doing this?" Harry asked as his feet tried to step on the patterns lighting up on the floor in rhythm.

"Good multitasking," Scathach replied, "and I have a very reliable source tell me that the waltz will not be the only one on the dance card."

"Okay," Harry said. "This dance is kind of odd."

"Of course," the Witch added. "Because before I deem you worthy in the tango, you're going to have to impress your partner - me."

Both Harry and his Device just thought of one word at this development.

Fuck.

The saxophone hit, the rhythm started, and Fleur quickly grabbed Harry by the waist and pulled him close as she started the first few steps of the tango.

The champion of Dun Scaith quickly recovered and caught up, his dance moves beginning to shift according to how his Master showed him.

"For a little boy, you are quite manly," she whispered as they drew close, right before they spun back... and he could sense her trying to put a foot where his was supposed to be.

She's going to play that game, huh?

We should probably humor her, but not make her look bad. We are champions, after all.

Prudent.

Instead of the move she expected, Harry stepped to the side, grabbed her waist with two hands, and shifted her so that her side was facing him, and covered her loss of balance by guiding her leg with his hand so she raised it in the air as he lowered her upper body flawlessly just as the chorus hit, eliciting a scandalized gasp from the audience.

The exchange continued, with Fleur trying to get Harry to miss a step, but Scathach's apprentice turning each attempt into a daring tango move.

One attempt to trip him even had the audience tittering with glee as what was supposed to be Harry losing his balance became him moving his head scandalously close to Fleur's chest before he moved back upright.

"You don't seem to be affected by my allure," she noticed as they went to another move.

"My Master's killing intent makes yours seem gentle by comparison," Harry explained as he spun her in for another hip-swinging maneuver.

"You're not going to win this Tournament," she added as the second chorus hit.

"That's the problem," Harry said as they spun away again, and continued when they drew close. "You want to win."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I MUST win. You know my Master."

Fleur smirked as their faces drew close, and when they pulled away, she was smiling.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to lose to you."

"All right," he said as they moved back in for the show-ender, and the audience applauded as they ended it with another bend, with Fleur playing along this time.

"Give it up for our champions!" the master of ceremonies said, and that was the cue for the Weird Sisters to make their entrance, starting off with a cover song to accustom themselves to the Muggleborn in the audience.

Meanwhile, Harry was with Fleur and walking back to their table. Each of them had a light patina of sweat on their foreheads, but left the dance floor with a significantly larger understanding of the other.

Once they were seated, one of the house elves (this one had a bizarre suit and tie) walked up to them with two flutes of champagne on a tray. Harry gave his fellow champion an oddly raised eyebrow, but upon remembering "beautiful witches are dangerous", took the other flute.

"That was a lot better than I thought," she began with a grin. "You, Monsieur Graham, are a very intriguing young man. It will be a shame that you will be defeated in the Triwizard."

Harry answered with a smirk of his own. "We'll see about that. I wasn't placed here to lose."

Fleur gestured with her flute. "A toast, then. To the victor of the Triwizard."

"Hear, hear," Harry said, raising his own flute, and the two had a personal toast before each taking sips of champagne.

After the drink, Fleur excused herself after seeing her spitting image - only much smaller - somewhere in the hall. Harry then made out Cedric Diggory making his way towards him, without his date.

"You really love the attention, don't you, Graham," he began, smiling, but his eyes told a different story. "The Prophet's going to put that pose of yours with Delacour on the front page, believe me."

Harry just shrugged. "It's just a dance."

"Not to the audience and not to the other champions," he added. "You may not notice, but you're making the other champions look bad."

"My apologies if others see it that way," Harry said, his eyes not quite meeting Cedric's as he looked this way and that for Cedric's date, "but I was instructed to maintain the image of Dun Scaith. None of what else happens after this is deliberate or intentional, if that will make you and Mr. Krum feel better."

"Indeed," the voice of the Durmstrang champion came from close by. "You have made this tournament an extravaganza many will speak of. This tournament has gained a lot of prestige - but in return it pressures us to try and outdo your performance... that is yet another challenge here I must overcome."

"Do your best," Harry said, trying to put as much sincerity into the statement, he didn't want to come across as arrogant, "and let's make this Triwizard one to remember."

"That I can toast to," Cedric said, raising his wine glass, and Krum raising his own.

The toast was friendly, but Harry could see the ambition in their eyes.

It was several minutes after the other two Champions left when Fleur returned with a smaller carbon copy in tow.

"Hello!" the mini-Fleur said. "My name is Gabrielle. Are you going to marry my big sister?"

He was this close to doing the perfect spit-take onto a passing-by Beauxbatons student when the small girl dropped the proverbial bomb on him, and he turned to a horribly embarrassed Fleur.

"She saw the dance," Fleur said, shoulders down in resignation. "So did Mama and Papa."

Harry's eyes swung around the room in panic to find his Master talking to Mr. and Mrs. Delacour, and he just had to voice out his feelings to his Device.

Fuck me.

Ouroboros just laughed.

Through some bizarre twist of fate, Harry managed to regain his wits and answer Gabrielle's query.

"No, not at the moment," Harry said. "I'm too young to marry."

"Okay!" Gabrielle said. "But I hope you think about it, Monsieur Graham. My big sister tells me a lot about you when she writes home! Like, one time, she said that she tried her - "

"I think that's quite enough for one night, Gabrielle," Fleur said, shushing her sister and dragging her back to their parents. "I couldn't say no."

"Now you know how I feel about being put up to this," Harry answered with an understanding grin as he raised his nearly-empty flute of champagne to the sisters.

Some time passed, and Harry simply enjoyed sitting by himself on the table, either looking at the dancing going on, or the stars outside.

Thankfully, nobody went up to him for anything more than small talk, and he enjoyed the rest of the ball in relative peace and quiet.

It was way past midnight when the ball ended, and as Harry made to return to the apprentice's quarters appointed to him due to his status as champion of Dun Scaith, a house elf went up to him to pass him a small note.

He only remembered the note after he finally got to his quarters and dressed for bed. Opening it, he saw that there were actually two notes.

One had "I hope I can dance with you again - F" written on it in fancy curves. Another was a bit more damning.

"You and Fleur argue like an old married couple"

Ouroboros' wheezing laughter followed Harry as he fell into an exhausted and exasperated sleep.

NOTE: Scathach's outfit is based on the Heroic Spirit Formal Dress CE. Montague and Claire are from The Crimson Lord's fanfic "Deprived". Speaking of that fanfic, I wonder how a story with Vernon Dursley being a Qi-Gong master raising Harry to become RIKI-OH sound like?

Also her outfit when she made her entrance in the Triwizard? Scathach=Skadi's white dress from her 3rd Ascension. Holding a wand and looking like a witch from Harry Potter (except hotter) got me to work on this year faster.

Also, the song in the tango is a wizarding cover of Sade - Smooth Operator. I really, REALLY wanted to use Jazmine Sullivan's "Bust Your Windows", but I couldn't have the Weird Sisters break time and space to perform that, so my apologies (even though I already did that with Dr. Radom singing the Portal ending).

Second part of year 4 (second task, third task and aftermath) will follow.