A/N: Long time no update. Sorry. I know I'm lazy. I know I suck. No need to tell me in your review, thanks.

A/N 2: To the people who did review (coughcough), thanks! I'm glad you all seemed to like Harry's reaction… I was hoping it would be realistic and not too, "Hi, I'm your father/I know, I'm Harry/(hug)"-ish. (Haha.) Plus, this chapter is long, too (although not as long as the last chapter)… feel free to thank me for it, though! (Haha.)

A/N 3: I'm officially changing my "OK"s to "okay"s. So now they'll say "okay" instead of "OK."

Disclaimer: Hmm… do I own Harry Potter? I wish. (Translation: I don't own Harry Potter. Well, except for the books.)

Warning: Two total clichés in this chapter. Don't read it if you don't like clichés. Look on the bright side, however… I've put an original twist on one of the clichés… I think it's original, anyway. Kinda. I mean, grand admiral chelli (who writes the wonderful story "Harry Potter and the Dream Come True"—if you haven't read it, go read it now, but right after you've read this chapter, of course!) has it kind of like this, but mine will be different, because of it being a—(claps hand over mouth)… I blab too much. But really. No matter how much my plot (and my sort-of-original invention) seems like hers, I swear it will be different in the long run, okay? Swear on my great-grandmother's grave. Eh, even though I never knew her… (starts mumbling)

A/N 4: Sorry for so many author's notes. But this is just another note: one part of this chapter is written by my little sister, Clara (who's thirteen. She wanted to help). Can you guess which part? (I bet you can't… our writing styles are very similar…)

Chapter Nine of "Returning to Life" by Morsmordre

Another few days (read: three days) passed at Grimmauld Place. Nothing really exciting happened.

The days had monotonous schedules—wake up, take a shower, eat breakfast, do homework/help clean the house/have father-son bonding time (read: listen to stories of James's childhood)/etc, help cook lunch, eat lunch, do homework/help clean the house/have father-son bonding time, help cook dinner, eat dinner, Order meeting (on Order meeting days, in which case the younger occupants of Grimmauld Place would try—and fail—to eavesdrop), relax/rest/digest, get ready for bed, and go to sleep.

On the fourth day—which just so happened to be a few days before Harry's fifteenth birthday—something more exciting happened.

As usual, Harry, James, Sirius, Remus, the Berkley sisters, and a slew of Weasleys were cleaning out the Black Manor. In this case, Sirius was trying to get rid of some of his blood family's (read: the Blacks) old things, things that Kreacher apparently liked and were trying to keep.

Sirius wrestled a silver locket away from Kreacher, who burst into noisy tears and shouted some things about blood traitors, a disgrace, and Mistress before practically storming off.

Sirius tossed the locket into the rubbish bin, as well as some other things, such as the Black family crest. Then he leaned down, picked up the box, and handed it to Harry.

"Can you throw this out?" Sirius asked. "Just go to the kitchen and dump it into the garbage. It's all rubbish, anyway; no one has any use for it."

Harry agreed and took the bin from Sirius, and headed to the kitchen.

There was no one else in the kitchen when Harry entered. Harry took the box and set it down next to the garbage can, and he began taking things out and throwing them into the trash.

There was the Black family crest, an old vase, a pair of trousers, (and) the locket that Harry had seen Sirius wrestling away from Kreacher(, and a lot of other things).

The locket was small and round. It was silver, with a pattern of diamonds encrusted around the edge, and a small black snake was attached to it. The snake was curled around a glowing green gem. The eyes of the snake were obsidian and looked almost alive. It was rather creepy.

Harry had just raised his hand to toss the locket into the trash bin as well with the other things when a voice hissed, "Stop! Don't you dare throw me out, you fool!"

Harry froze and looked around in a panic. Who had said that?

"So you do listen," the voice continued dryly. "One point to the disfigured scarhead."

Harry blinked and gaped down at the locket in his hand. That voice… it had sounded like hissing… and it had come from the locket…

Had the locket just spoken to him?!

"Stop gaping down at me like an idiot," the snake on the locket hissed irritably. When Harry peered closely down at the locket, he saw the eyes flashing a slightly darker shade than usual each time the words were being spoken. "But then again," the snake continued, almost conversationally, "you do seem like an idiot, so I suppose that can be justified…It must be in your nature…"

"Are…are you talking to me?" Harry demanded.

"No, I'm speaking to that other black-haired, scarred boy right behind you," the locket responded, sounding highly amused. "Of course I'm speaking to you, you stupid boy."

"But…" Harry sputtered. "But… you're a locket! A silver locket! Lockets aren't animated objects, or anything!"

"Hmm… I believe there is a little—or perhaps big—thing called magic," the locket said sarcastically. "Perhaps that's it?"

Harry chose not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he tried a different approach.

"So… if you're a magical, speaking, sarcastic locket, then why are you here? I mean, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"How should I know? One minute some red-eyed psycho decides to perform an ancient Dark ritual on me, then some black-haired coward steals me and sticks me here, and now an impertinent idiot finds me and starts asking me stupid questions. I'm just an inanimate object, remember? Don't ask me."

Harry was seriously considering setting the stupid, sarcastic locket on fire by now. (He ignored the fact that while the locket may get scorched, it probably wouldn't actually catch fire.) Honestly. It turned out one of the dark things in the Black Manor was a speaking, animate locket—or the snake on the locket could speak. And it just so happened that said snake on locket seemed to love trying to aggravate people. If that was the plan, it had worked.

"Well, now what am I going to do? I'm the only Parselmouth I know of, besides Voldemort," Harry muttered. To the snake/locket or whatever it was, he added, "Can I please just leave you here?"

"No," was the immediate answer. "Tell me, stupid boy, how many other Parselmouths are there?"

"Uh…" Harry thought a moment. "Well, actually, I'm the only one I know of. Besides Voldemort."

"And who is Voldemort?" the snake/locket/whatever it was wanted to know.

"He's this evil megalomaniac who loves going around killing and torturing Muggles, Muggleborns, halfbloods, and purebloods who oppose him. He's bent on world domination, or something. And he's bald, with red eyes. He's creepy looking."

The snake/locket sighed irritably… or at least gave what could be considered a sigh in Parseltongue. "I don't like those types. All right, since you are the only other Parselmouth you know of, you will be my new master."

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Close your mouth, idiot," the snake/locket ordered.

Harry wrenched his jaw shut. "But… I don't want an evil, cynical, sarcastic snake locket thing! Why can't you find someone else to be your master?"

The snake sighed (or at least made the closest sound to a sigh in Parseltongue) again. "You are now my master. I have decided. And you are now bound to me. Try to leave me in the garbage disposal and I will be drawn to you—or worse, you will be drawn to me—in the most painful way possible. So don't even try."

"Great. Just great. Sounds lovely."

"I know; isn't it?"

Harry soon found that there was no way he could tell his father about the snake/locket. James didn't even know Harry was a Parselmouth… yet. And Harry didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to have to recount all the details of his life with the Dursleys, and then all that stuff with the troll, the dragon, the Sorcerer's Stone, being a Parselmouth, the Chamber of Secrets, the dementors/Professor Lupin/Sirius escaping Azkaban/Wormtail fiasco in third year, or the Triwizard Tournament.

It had been completely unexpected. Harry had become used to the schedules of life at Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. And then he had randomly come across a sarcastic, speaking snake/locket that seemed to love annoying him. And then the snake/locket insisted on having Harry become its master, and binding him to said locket, or whatever. The locket hadn't bothered to explain.

Which was why, late in the afternoon of the day Harry had found said snake/locket, he was taking it out of the pockets of his robes, where he had stuffed it, he was demanding an explanation.

"First off, who—or what—are you?" Harry demanded.

The snake lazily blinked its obsidian eyes before answering. "You may call me Desidian," it responded.

"Fine. Desidian. And what are you doing here?"

"I believe we have had this conversation before," Desidian replied dryly. "Does 'red-eyed psycho' mean anything to you?"

Red-eyed psycho… who was a psycho with red eyes?… Voldemort?!

Harry echoed his thoughts out loud in Parseltongue to his new (unwanted) companion.

"Congratulations," Desidian offered sarcastically. "You may not be as idiotic as I first thought you were."

Harry politely declined to respond to that comment. Instead, he asked a different question.

"But Voldemort couldn't have been here," he pointed out. "So who put you here?"

The snake on the locket blinked again. "Black-haired coward."

"You're not talking about Sirius, are you?" Harry wanted to know.

"I have no idea who this 'Sirius' person is, but I don't think so."

"Riiight…"

Desidian gave another small, hissy, snake-ish-like sigh. "So hurry up with your interrogation, idiot."

"Is that what you're going to call me now? Idiot?"

"So hurry up with your interrogation, Master."

"Master?! Why 'Master'?!"

"Because you are my master, idiot. Most unfortunately."

"Well, if you think it's so unfortunate, then why did you choose me?"

"Because I don't like the red-eyed psycho, and you're the only other Parselmouth around. Or perhaps I could teach you a blood ritual to transfer the power to someone else, someone powerful enough to deserve it, who can be my master…"

"I don't want to perform a blood ritual, thank you very much. But where did you come from, then?"

"I was created by Master Salazar."

"…Are you talking about SalazarSlytherin?!"

"No, I'm talking about Salazar the pink bunny."

"…"

"Of course I'm talking about Salazar Slytherin, Master. You really are an idiot. Nothing compared to his genius."

"…"

"He created me using one of the rarest elements found on the earth. Muggles do not have it in their periodic table of the elements, but—"

"How did you know about the Muggles' periodic table of the elements if you were created by one of the biggest Muggle-haters in history? He started an entire trend of Muggle-hating! … And besides, the time of the Hogwarts Founders was before that particular discovery. How did you hear of the Muggles' discoveries if you were here the whole time?"

"I wasn't here in this dark, foreboding place for forever since then, idiot Master. And I have my ways of learning things."

"So really, what were you made of?"

"I was created of one of the rarest elements found on the earth, only visible to magical beings. It is called Living Metal."

"… And?"

"Living Metal is named Living Metal because that is what it is. Metal that is living. Therefore, I am alive. I can speak. I have a brain."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Shut up, you impertinent brat."

"Oh, sorry. Do go on. I'm not stopping you, although I would like to…"

"…"

"No, really. Go ahead."

"Well, Master Salazar created me with Living Metal, and the rest of me with normal metals and gems, such as the emerald, with its healing properties, and the silver, and the diamonds…"

"What do you mean, emerald with its healing properties?"

"I mean, emerald with its healing properties."

"… Riiight…"

"You wouldn't understand, idiot Master. Don't try."

"Fine. I won't."

"Good job. You may not be as much of an idiot as I first thought you were."

"…"

"Well, I am all of Master Salazar's weapons."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I shift forms. I can be a staff, a sword, a shield… and for convenient usage, I can be a ring and a bracelet too. And then there is the locket, which is what you happen to be looking at."

"… I see."

"No, you don't. I can see it on your scarred face."

"My forehead has the scar, not my face."

"It doesn't matter. That is irrelevant to our current conversation. Now, as I was saying, I can shift forms. And I can train Parselmouths, because I am the snake, Desidian, and I can speak to the Parselmouth in Parseltongue, the only language I understand, so I can train people. And most unfortunately, 'people' means you."

"So, to make a long story short, or to summarize what you just said… you're all of Salazar Slytherin's weapons—you can shift forms, and you're usually a locket or something, because it's easy to carry around without people suspecting something. And you only train Parselmouths. And you're going to train me, because I'm now your master, and I'm going to have to learn how to use the sword and everything."

"You said 'to make a long story short,' and that was not particularly short, but you are correct."

"… Okay. But what if I don't want to train?"

"Too bad. You're going to have to."

"Do I have any say in the matter?"

"No."

"… Just checking."

Desidian was true to his word. Early the next morning, Harry was woken up unpleasantly and abruptly from a very nice, fitful sleep.

"I want to sleep," Harry groaned, pulling his pillow over his face and turning away.

"Get up," the snake ordered. "I won't take no for an answer."

"How about this?" Harry suggested sarcastically. "No."

A sharp pain jolted through his head the moment the word came out of his mouth.

"What was that?" Harry demanded, clutching his head. "That bloody hurt!"

"Be glad Master Salazar swore a lot, or I wouldn't tolerate your bad language."

Harry refrained from making a very bad comment. "But really, what was that?"

"I have chosen you to be my master now. Therefore, we have a mind link. I can do things like that to you if I wish."

All of a sudden, Desidian's voice echoed in his head.

::Like this:: the snake's voice said.

Harry blinked, suddenly wide awake.

::So… I can hear you in my mind?::

::Bravo::

::…::

::Basically, yes::

::Okay…::

::Therefore, you can take me with you wherever you go. I can go with you in locket form, and you can speak to me without arousing suspicion::

::Well thought out plan. How long did it take you to think of it?::

::Shut up, idiot Master. It's time to train you now::

::I don't want to train::

::Stop whining like a spoiled child. You're going to train anyway::

::Fine::

::Lock your door. I'm going to shift to sword form now::

Harry had just locked his door (the Muggle way) when he heard a sort of swoosh sound. He turned around and his jaw dropped.

Lying on his bed was not the locket that he had been about to throw out just yesterday (even though it really felt a like a long time ago). Instead, replacing the locket was a long, at-least-five-foot-long gleaming silver sword. The handle was encrusted with diamonds, and the emerald was attached to the hilt of the sword. Desidian was curled around the emerald, eyes glowing in a creepy manner.

::Stop staring at me like a gormless idiot, Master:: Desidian ordered. ::Even you don't usually look as stupid as that, despite the fact that I have only known you for one day::

Well, at least it was the same old Desidian.

::Now, take the handle—no, not like that! Do you want to cut yourself, idiot Master?::

::Maybe, if it'll aggravate you::

::Do you want to train?::

::Not particularly::

::Well, you will, even if I have to possess you to do it. And believe me, that is not a pleasant feeling::

::Fine. Stupid snake::

::I am not a snake::

::You're right, you're much meaner than the average snake::

::… Be happy I am feeling particularly nice this morning, because I will not take offense to that right now::

::If you're nice now, I don't want to see you angry::

::Believe me, you don't::

::I'll take your word for it::

::Good idea. Always listen to me—I am far wiser than you::

::Normally I would object, but seeing as it's probably true, I'll let that comment slide::

::Go ahead. Now, we begin our training. First, pick up the sword… the proper way—not like that! You'll cut yourself if you put your hand there!… Yes, like that::

Harry picked up the sword and carefully tested it. It was incredibly heavy. Wonderful. How was he supposed to learn how to wield a blade and use it as a weapon if it was this heavy? How had he even killed the basilisk in Slytherin's chamber with Gryffindor's sword? He had only been twelve at the time! And now he was (almost) fifteen, and he didn't know how to use this sword!

It was rather ironic. He had killed Slytherin's pet basilisk using Gryffindor's sword, but now Slytherin's weapons/snake/whatever were training him—the idea was ludicrous.

For the first time since Desidian had spoken to Harry, Harry felt a pang of fear. This wasn't just any sadistic, speaking snake… this was Slytherin's snake. And sword. And locket. And staff. And shield. And bracelet. And ring. And anything else it was that Desidian had refrained from mentioning.

He remembered what Mr. Weasley had said… "Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

Could he trust Desidian? Desidian had been a… a whatever-it-was of Salazar Slytherin himself.

And Desidian hated Voldemort, too, if Harry was going to look at all the facts in a well-presented manner.

Or so he (as in Desidian) claimed.

Harry thought about it for a quick moment. He had thought about Mr. Weasley's words when he had received the Marauders' Map from the Weasley twins, and it had turned out okay. And if Desidian was working for Voldemort and/or trying to trick Harry into trusting him, why would he tell Harry about belonging to Salazar Slytherin? That wouldn't really help gain Harry's trust.

Unless Desidian was telling the truth.

::Are you done thinking yet?:: Desidian asked. ::Yes? Good. Now take the sword—don't point it like that, idiot boy! Do you want to cut yourself?!::

Harry groaned. Why hadn't he just ignored the snake/locket's orders that day (yesterday) when throwing junk away and just tossed the thing into the trash? A little spur-of-the-moment decision… and it lead to who-knows-how-long-it-will-be of being the master of a very sarcastic Slytherin snake thing. Yippee, Harry thought dryly.

Sometimes Harry hated the split-second choices he made. Especially if they just so happened to be influenced by Slytherin's Living Metal snake. Or whatever it was.

::All right:: Harry agreed slowly, drawing in his breath sharply and letting it out. ::I don't want to cut myself. Show me how to use it properly::

::You may not be hopeless after all:: Desidian commented.

Harry resisted the urge to chuck the sword out the window. It was hard, but he managed.

James Potter was feeling particularly happy tonight. All was well. His son was alive. Sirius was alive. Remus was alive. They were all alive. No one hated him or blamed him. Of course, there was the tiny fact that Lily was still dead, and not alive, and the fact that he didn't know what was such a big deal about Harry's life so far that had to be kept so secretive, except for the fact that Harry had witnessed Voldemort's resurrection, but other than that, everything seemed fine.

So it really came as quite a big shock to James when he walked by Harry's room and poked his head in out of habit of checking on his son at night and saw Harry shaking in his bed, letting out muffled whimpering-like noises.

James practically leaped into action. He began shaking his son. "Harry, wake up! Wake up!" James shouted frantically, shaking Harry's thin shoulders even harder. "It's just a nightmare or something… it's not real! Wake up!"

Harry continued thrashing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Then he opened his mouth and a few words wrenched out: "Kill the spare…"

James stopped trying to wake Harry up, his mouth hanging open. Kill the spare?! Excuse his language, but what the bloody hell did that mean?

James didn't like the pictures of the scenarios he came up with that could require such a phrase like that.

"Harry!" James shouted in his son's ear. "Wake up!"

Harry sat bolt upright, sweat pouring down his forehead. His eyes shot open and he lurched forward.

"Whoa, calm down! It's just me," James tried to reassure him.

Harry breathed deeply for a few minutes before turning away, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," James declared firmly. He took a deep breath as well, as if he had been the one to have a nightmare and not Harry. He blinked once and asked in what he hoped was a serious yet casual (if that was possible) voice, "So, what does 'kill the spare' mean?"

Harry turned about three shades paler than he already was. "W-what did you say?" he demanded to know.

James fixed Harry with a look (he could do that even better than Li—er, some people he could, but would not, mention at that moment—when he wanted to). "Harry, if I find my son extremely distressed in his sleep, and I come in and find that he's saying things like 'kill the spare,' I want to know why. That's not just nothing. It's something. I want to know. Tell me."

James knew he shouldn't press Harry for information like this, but he had to know. This was more than just about what Harry had done over the years while James was gone—this was something serious.

Harry gulped, looked down, and fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, but didn't reply.

Then James was reminded of something. "Harry…" he said slowly. "Does this have anything to do with you witnessing Voldemort's resurrection?"

Harry's head shot up from where he had been staring at an imaginary object for the past few moments. "Who told you about that?" he demanded.

James raised an eyebrow. "Judging from your reaction, I would say it does," he commented rather dryly.

Harry looked like he wanted to punch himself but restrained. "Yeah, it does," he finally admitted after a long pause.

"Want to tell me what that nightmare was about?"

Harry hesitated. It was clear he wanted to say no but didn't want to hurt his father's feelings.

"The third task," he finally blurted out.

James furrowed his brow. The third task? What did that mean?

He voiced his question out loud.

Harry winced slightly before responding. "The Triwizard Tournament."

"The Triwizard Tournament?" James echoed. He had heard of that, being an Auror and all (not because he read Hogwarts, A History. He hadn't met anybody, not even Lily or Remus, who had read that book before). "Isn't that some competition held between Hogwarts and two other wizarding schools in Europe where a champion from each school has to compete against each other in three tasks for points and then whoever wins the most points wins the Tournament, but the Tournament was canceled because of the death toll?"

Harry winced again, clearly expecting James to blow up about something unfair soon. "Ye-es…"

"So…" James didn't see where this was going. "What about the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry inhaled sharply and let the breath out slowly. "It was held at Hogwarts in my fourth year," he explained.

James still didn't see where this was going. "And…" Really, what could be so bad about the third task of the Triwizard Tournament that his son would have nightmares about it?

Harry sighed; in James's opinion, it was like he couldn't believe that his father still didn't get it. "I was in it."

James froze for a moment. "What did you say?"

"I was in it," Harry repeated slowly. "It. You know, as in the Triwizard Tournament. I was in the Triwizard Tournament."

James didn't know what to say for a moment. Finally, he blurted out, "But… but… they canceled the Triwizard Tournament because the death toll was too high! Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed it!"

"He didn't," Harry explained gloomily. "But someone put my name in the Goblet of Fire anyway and tricked it."

"Someone put your name in the—the what?"

"The Goblet of Fire. It was the 'impartial judge'"—here Harry made quotation marks with his fingers to show that it had been someone else's description—"that would decide who be in the tournament and who wouldn't. Fleur Delacour was the Beauxbatons champion, Viktor Krum was the Durmstrang champion, and Cedric Diggory was the Hogwarts champion…" his voice trailed off.

"What happened?" James urged. "Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"How about we get to that later?" Harry suggested.

"But what was so bad about the Triwizard Tournament that it gave you nightmares?" James wanted to know.

Harry sighed. "Better get it over with sooner than later, huh?" he muttered.

"Good idea," James advised. It killed him that everyone except him, Harry's own father and closest relation, knew about exactly what had been going on in his own son's life. It was about time he found out. That and the fact that he was concerned about it. Extremely concerned.

"So basically," Harry began, "two other wizarding schools came to Hogwarts, where the Triwizard Tournament was being hosted. Like I said, Fleur Delacour was the champion from Beauxbatons. Viktor Krum—he's a famous Seeker, by the way—was the champion from Durmstrang. Cedric Diggory"—here Harry suddenly appeared slightly nervous while he was saying the name, something James decided to question later—"was the champion from Hogwarts. And then there was me."

"But…" James protested. "But… there's only supposed to be one champion per school!" This just proved how dire he thought the situation was—it took a lot to distract James Potter from a famous Quidditch player.

"I know," Harry agreed. "But someone entered my name in a different, made-up school. So I got entered. And since it's a 'binding contract'—Professor Dumbledore's words—I couldn't get out of it."

James frowned. He was almost positive that Dumbledore could've gotten his son out of the Triwizard Tournament if he had wanted to. He made a mental note to speak with the old headmaster later.

"Continue."

"So there were three tasks. The first task was… well…"

"It was…?" James prompted.

Harry sucked in his breath quickly and let it out. "Dragons," he supplied.

"Dragons," James repeated flatly.

"Yes. Dragons," Harry confirmed.

"Dragons," James repeated again.

"Yes…?"

"Are you telling me that Albus Dumbledore let four teenagers face a dragon?! Just for an event?!"

"Four dragons," Harry corrected. "And no one underage, under the age of seventeen, was supposed to be in the tournament in the first place."

"So you're telling me that Albus Dumbledore let four teenagers, one underage, face four dragons?!"

"It wasn't like defeating them or anything," Harry was quick to add. "We just had to… get past them."

"Get past a dragon."

"Yeah. One dragon for each champion. We had to collect a golden egg that would give us the clue to the second task."

James made a note to have a very strict talk with the esteemed headmaster later on.

"How did you get past the dragon, then?"

"I flew past it. We were only allowed our wand, but I summoned my Firebolt."

"You flew past a dragon?!"

"Yeah…?"

James stared in shock at his son. Harry didn't even seem to realize how amazing this was.

James shook his head. "And what as the second task?"

"Oh. We had to retrieve someone very dear to us, or something like that, from the bottom of the lake. We had to fight off grindylows and merpeople. I had to get Ron, Krum had to get Hermione, Fleur had to get her sister, and Cedric had to get his girlfriend, Cho Chang."

James noticed that Harry's face colored slightly when he said this, and he made another mental note to ask him just exactly what was going on between him and Cedric Diggory's girlfriend… later. After he finished hearing his son's tale.

"Dumbledore put people in the bottom of the lake for the champions to retrieve, while fighting off grindylows and merpeople?!" James shook his head. "I'm really beginning to think he's gone mad in his old age."

Harry smiled bitterly. "Perhaps."

"So…" this was the one thing James was both anticipating and dreading. "The third task."

"The third task," Harry repeated flatly.

James decided to get straight to the point and be blunt. "So… what happened?"

Harry flinched, like James had struck him, but answered anyway. "We had to get through a maze to the center, where the Triwizard Cup was. Whoever got there first would win."

"And…?"

"Fleur got Stunned, and Krum attacked Cedric with the Cruciatus"—he ignored James's shout of protest—"but it turned out he was under the Imperius, anyway, and so it was just Cedric and me."

Here Harry's voice began wavering slightly. "We both got to the center of the maze, and I told him to take the Cup, and he said I should take it instead, and then we both agreed to take it together, since it would still be a Hogwarts win, only it turned out to be a Portkey. A Portkey to a graveyard."

The "dread" part of the way James was feeling about his son finally telling him everything was overshadowing the "anticipation" part. "Does this have anything to do with the person who put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Yes."

"Slimy bastard. Okay, continue."

Harry gave his father a weird look, but complied with the request. "Wormtail was there."

James let out a low growl at the name. "When I get my hands on him…"

"You'll rip him to shreds, but only until right after you send him to Azkaban and get him the Dementor's Kiss, so Sirius will be freed. I know, I know," Harry said, in an almost bored tone of voice.

It was actually quite scary how much Harry seemed to know James, even though they had barely known each other for, like, a week. It was also quite scary how Harry's emotions kept pivoting between nervous (about telling his father about the third task) and almost exasperated.

"And then…?"

Harry's face clouded over, and his voice was flat when he spoke, like he was pushing all the emotions out. "He killed Cedric. That's what 'Kill the spare' means. Voldemort told Wormtail to kill Cedric. And he did."

James just stared at Harry in shock, unable to comprehend the words that had just come out of Harry's mouth. That wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. Was it?

Harry continued on like the things he had just said meant nothing to him, but James could tell it did. He could tell Harry was fighting to keep his voice neutral.

"Then Wormtail tied me to a gravestone. Voldemort's dead father."

James felt his jaw hanging open. He was now physically incapable of saying anything. A little part of him in the back of his brain was saying, No wonder everyone was making such a big deal about Harry's years at Hogwarts! In fact, they were kinda just making a whole lotta understatements about the whole thing.

Harry continued on. "He performed some ritual that would give Voldemort his body back. Bone of the father—Voldemort's father—flesh of the servant—Wormtail cut off his hand" (James cringed at the horrific mental image these uttered words gave him) "and blood of the enemy—Wormtail took a knife and cut me."

James let out a low growl. It was one thing for Wormtail to betray him—his friends—to Voldemort, the very cause they had all been fighting against. This was bad enough. Then he got Lily killed. Even worse. Sent Sirius to Azkaban. Just as terrible. But cutting his son?! This was unacceptable.

I swear, James vowed to himself, if I ever get my hands on the little rat, things will not be pretty.

Harry was watching him worriedly, like he was afraid James was preparing to jump up and declare that he was going out to hunt for Wormtail right this very minute.

James swallowed. "We'll, er, talk about that part later. Go on."

Harry blinked slowly. "Then Voldemort came out of the cauldron. And he called his Death Eaters. They all came and he gave Wormtail a silver hand to replace the one he cut off. And he started bragging about how great and mighty and powerful he was before he gave me back my wand and said we were going to duel."

James blinked at the very accurate description of Voldemort's over-inflated ego, not unlike one 1977 Head Boy's… (coughcough)

"So, er, we dueled. And then he sent out a Killing Curse, and I sent out an Expelliarmus, and, well, the wands connected."

"The wands… connected?"

"Yeah. Voldemort's wand and mine are brothers. So, er, it connected. And Priori Incantatem happened."

Before James could process this bit of information thoroughly, Harry added, "And you and Mum came out of Voldemort's wand," way too casually.

James nearly fell off the edge of the bed in shock. "Excuse me?" he sputtered.

"You and Mum came out of Voldemort's wand," Harry repeated.

"But… but how?"

"The… ghosts, or something like that, of everyone he killed came out of his wand. There was a Muggle man, some woman called Bertha Jorkins, Cedric, you, and Mum."

"…" James couldn't find the right words to use. "…Bertha Jorkins??"

Bertha Jorkins had been in the year below the Marauders at school. She was a nosy, gossipy Hufflepuff who loved to spread rumors. The Marauders had played too many pranks to count on her, although James was beginning to regret it a bit.

"Yeah. And you and Mum told me to hold on before breaking the connection, and Cedric asked me to bring his body back to his parents. And the Triwizard Cup was a Portkey back to the school. And basically, I escaped. Went back to Hogwarts."

James opened his mouth, but when Harry continued speaking he shut it again. "And when I got back to Hogwarts, it turned out Mad-Eye Moody was the one who put my name in the Goblet of Fire."

James felt his jaw drop. "Mad-Eye Moody?! The famous paranoid Auror?!"

"Yeah. Only it was actually a Death Eater—Barty Crouch Jr.—disguised as him."

"But… but… wasn't he dead?"

"Not really. He faked his own death. It was actually his mother under the Polyjuice Potion. And he really was a Death Eater. The real Moody was locked in his own trunk. At Hogwarts, too."

"But…"

James had a sinking feeling that this wasn't even the least of Harry's, er, adventures.

"But… what else happened? When you were in second year and all that?"

Harry laughed without humor. "You're not going to like it."

No, James didn't think he would. But he had to know anyway.

"Tell me."

So Harry did.

A/N: The ending scene sucked to the high heavens, around the earth, and back. I'm awful at writing romance or emotion. Light comedy is more my thing.

Please review. I swear I won't take like over three months to update again. I only checked it over once, in a rush, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. I'll look over it more thoroughly again some other time. Please tell me if you spot a mistake. (You don't have to, of course…)